Field of Screams

by R. L. Stine

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Why I’m not Afraid of Ghosts Excerpt

  About R.L Stine

  1

  I stood with the bat over my shoulder and the ball in my left hand. I narrowed my eyes and glared down the field at my friend Eve.

  “Are you ready for a hot one?” I yelled.

  “You couldn’t hit a hot one with a big old frying pan, Sanders!” Eve teased me. “You’re such a weenie!”

  “Weenie, huh?” I retorted. I ran my hand through my curly brown hair. I dug my foot into the dirt to get a good stance. Shifting my balance, I lofted the ball and hit a screaming grounder straight at Eve.

  She went down with her glove and tried to stop it. But the ball took a wicked hop and skipped right through her mitt.

  “Who’s the weenie now, butterfingers?” I yelled.

  The ball stopped about ten feet behind Eve. Her dark braids bounced as she jogged over and snatched it up. “You hit it weird, Buddy,” she complained, throwing it back. “The next one won’t get by me!”

  I plucked the baseball easily from the air. “Those balls get by you so much, I think your glove is made of Swiss cheese!”

  “Lay off, okay?” Eve grumbled.

  Sometimes, I guess, I tease her a little too much.

  “You took your eyes off the ball,” I reminded her. “Remember what Coach Burress says. Follow the ball into your glove.”

  I hit another to her, not quite so hard this time.

  Eve missed it. Again.

  I shook my head. I’d been trying to help Eve with her fielding for three weeks, but it was no use. I had to face the facts. Eve was an awesome friend. But she was a lousy ballplayer.

  The trouble was, everybody on the Shadyside Middle School baseball team was lousy. Everybody but me. And I was sick of it.

  Just once, I thought as Eve ran over to the ball. Just once I’d like to play on a really good team. Is that too much to ask?

  But no. This was our team’s third season—and it smelled like another loser.

  I felt bad about being annoyed at Eve. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t play. She always tried her best. She was great at soccer and basketball. But baseball just wasn’t in her.

  “Sorry, Buddy,” she called. “I’ll get it next time.”

  “Sure. I’ll hit you some flies for a while.” Eve was pretty good at catching those.

  And at least I was doing my favorite thing in the world—playing ball. School was out for the summer, and for once my mom didn’t have any chores for me to do. Like mowing the grass or cleaning out the garage.

  Eve and I were playing in an empty field that backed onto some of the older houses on Fear Street. These tall gray houses towered up above high wooden fences. They looked menacing and spooky. There was one in particular that got to me. It had dark windows like eyes that watched us play.

  I was careful hitting the ball. I didn’t want to have to go find it in one of those yards.

  Not that Fear Street scared me. Sure, I’d heard all those stories about it—about ghosts in the cemetery and weird things in Fear Lake. But I didn’t believe them.

  Well, not really.

  The more I hit the ball to Eve, the more that gloomy old house bothered me. Was someone really watching me behind those windows? It felt like it.

  I tossed the ball up again and gave another swing. My aluminum bat connected with a clang.

  The ball leapt off the bat like a rocket. I stared at it in surprise. I didn’t realize I had taken such a big swing.

  The ball shot through the air as if Cecil Fielder hit it. Eve craned her neck to watch it sail over her head.

  “Oh, no!” I yelled. The ball disappeared over the fence.

  Right into the one place I hoped it wouldn’t go.

  The backyard of that spooky house on Fear Street.

  2

  I stared at the creepy old house for a second.

  Then I sprinted over to Eve. I’m short, but I move fast. I reached her in a few seconds.

  “Wow!” she said as I ran up. “You really nailed that ball. No way could I have hit one that far!”

  I just shrugged. I don’t usually hit them that far either. But I wasn’t about to admit that.

  We jogged toward the fence. Its cedar boards stood warped with age. There were lots of holes to look through. I cupped my hands around my eyes to peek into the yard.

  “Do you see the ball?” Eve asked.

  “Nope,” I answered. “Just a bunch of old junk.”

  I stepped back and studied the fence. I found a place where the boards were loose. I shoved them aside.

  “What are you doing?” Eve asked nervously.

  “I’m going in to find my ball,” I told her.

  “Forget it, Buddy,” Eve urged. “This place is creepy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t believe all that Fear Street stuff, do you?”

  Eve’s cheeks turned red. “Don’t you?”

  “Hah! No way!” I said as I squeezed through the gap in the fence.

  Well, I didn’t. Not really.

  “What a mess,” I muttered as I looked the place over. Old pieces of machinery and broken furniture lay everywhere. No grass or trees grew. Just dirt and a few weeds here and there.

  I glanced up at the house. Eve was right. It was pretty gruesome. Just the kind of place you’d expect a ghost or monster to live in. That is, if you believed in ghosts or monsters.

  “Hurry up, Buddy,” Eve whispered through the fence.

  I moved toward the back porch. It was built up off the ground about three feet. I bent to peek underneath. Nothing but piled-up leaves and dirt. But then I caught a glimpse of white. Way back under the porch. My ball!

  I got on my hands and knees and crawled after it. The day was so bright that when I ducked under the porch into the darkness I couldn’t see a thing. I blinked a few times, and my eyes adjusted.

  “Gross,” I said as I moved forward. A horrible stink invaded my nose. It smelled like a sewer. I saw a big pipe way in the back with a crack in it. Thick brown goo seeped out.

  I pinched my nose shut. The sooner you get the ball, the sooner you can get out of here, I thought. I started toward it again. Something sticky brushed against my forehead.

  I reached up and pulled at whatever it was.

  Ugh! A clump of cobweb came off in my hand. I reached up again to feel my hair. Webs stuck to it in thick gobs.

  Something tickled the back of my neck. I swiped at it. A spider fell from my neck to the ground. “Oh, man,” I moaned.

  Then I felt more tickling. Like things moving in my hair, crawling across my ears. I swatted at them.

  Dozens of little spiders swarmed over my fingers!

  I fell flat on the ground, slapping at my head with both hands. “Get off me!” I yelled. “Get off me!”

  When I was pretty sure I’d gotten rid of them all, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  What am I, nuts? I thought. Who cares about the baseball? I have another one at home. This place is bad news. I’m leaving.

  But then I glanced ahead of me. The ball was within reach. All I had to do was grab it.

  I stretched
out as far as I could. My fingertips touched the ball. I rolled it toward me. I almost had it. …

  Something cold and hard suddenly locked around my ankle. “Yipe!” I squawked, and tried to jerk away.

  Whatever had me held on tight. I felt it pulling at me. I kicked with my free foot. But the grip was like iron!

  It dragged me backward. I fought as hard as I could. But it was no use. I was helpless.

  I was caught!

  3

  I slid backward so fast, my face scraped against the dirt. I tried to yell, but dry leaves filled my mouth.

  Then bright sunlight hit my face, blinding me. I blinked hard, trying to make my eyes adjust, but they wouldn’t. Whatever had me in its clutches, I couldn’t see it. The thing grabbed my shoulder. I felt myself being lifted up off the ground.

  Finally, my eyes began to focus. I lifted my head and stared into the face of a wrinkled old man. He gazed down at me with cold, dark eyes. Only a few wisps of gray hair dotted his bald head. His lips parted, and I could see stained, yellowed teeth.

  He was holding me three feet above the ground. His hands clamped my shoulders like vises. I squirmed, trying to get loose, but he hung on. Talk about strong!

  “What are you doing under my house? You looking for something?” he demanded in a hoarse, rough voice.

  “Let me down. Ow! Let me down!” I yelled. My heart pounded in my ears. What did this old man want with me?

  Then, all of sudden, he let go. I fell to the ground and tumbled in the dirt.

  “Ow!” I glared at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  The man’s lined face crinkled up like old paper as he grinned. He seemed to think I was funny.

  “It’s dangerous under that porch. I couldn’t let you crawl under there. Besides, how do I know you’re not trying to rob me? How do I know you aren’t some kind of thief?”

  “I am not a thief!” I protested. “I was just trying to get my baseball back. I got up and brushed the dirt from my pants and shirt. “I hit it over the fence by accident, and it rolled under your porch.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. He scratched his chin.

  “Baseball, huh?”

  “It’s the truth. I almost had it, when you grabbed me. If you don’t believe me, look for yourself.”

  “I think I’ll just do that,” he said.

  The old man grunted and crouched down on his hands and knees. He was wearing old, faded slacks and a suit jacket that dragged in the dirt as he peered under the porch.

  He stuck his whole head underneath.

  Maybe the spiders would get him, I thought. It would serve him right for scaring me.

  He reached a hand back toward me, his head still under the porch. “Fetch me that rake by the wall.”

  I brought the old iron rake and put the handle in his hand. He stuck it under the porch and began to poke around.

  “As I was saying, these old houses are dangerous, boy,” he called up to me. He was under the porch up to his shoulders now. His bony rear stuck up in the air. “There’s all kinds of stuff under here. Old rusty metal, black widow spiders . . . ”

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered under my breath.

  The old man started backing out. He drew out the rake. My baseball came with it. “There you go, son,” he said, handing me the ball. “Next time, try fishing the ball out like I did, instead of diving under a stranger’s porch without thinking.”

  I felt embarrassed now. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad old guy after all.

  “I guess you’re right,” I admitted. “Uh—thanks for getting my ball.”

  “What’s your name, son?” the old man asked.

  “Buddy Sanders,” I answered.

  “Ernie Ames. Call me Ernie,” the old man said. He extended his hand to shake.

  I grabbed it. It felt hard and scratchy, like sandpaper. I pulled my hand away fast. I hoped he didn’t notice.

  I glanced back at the fence. Was Eve still watching?

  “So you’re a ballplayer, eh? You on a team?” he asked.

  “Sure. I play third base for the Shadyside team.”

  Ernie grinned. “That’s not a team. That’s a joke.”

  “Aw, we do all right.” I felt myself blush.

  “Really? Won any games lately?”

  I stared down at the dirt and dug around with my toe. “Well—not really.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  I scowled. Okay, so it was a bonehead move for me to crawl under the guy’s porch. But he didn’t have to insult my team.

  “So what?” I argued. “Just because the team isn’t very good doesn’t mean it isn’t fun. And I can be a good third baseman even if my team doesn’t always win.”

  Ernie’s lips curled in a mean smile. “So you think you’re pretty good, huh? Aren’t you kind of short for a ballplayer?”

  He was making me mad! I guess that’s why I started bragging.

  “Maybe I am short. But I’m good,” I declared. “Coach thinks I’m the best third baseman he’s ever had. Maybe the best ever to play for Shadyside.”

  “Impossible!” Ernie snorted. “Gibson was the best third baseman ever to play for Shadyside. Buddy Gibson. He had it all—the glove, the bat. . . ” He stared off into the distance as if he were remembering.

  “Oh, yeah? Then how come I never heard of him?” I sneered.

  The old man’s gaze snapped back to mine. His eyes suddenly looked like two holes. Dark. Empty.

  “Because for all his talent, Buddy Gibson was unlucky.”

  His voice sent chills through me. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  Ernie leaned in close and whispered, “Buddy Gibson—and his whole team—were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “And now they’re buried in the Fear Street Cemetery!”

  4

  Buried in the Fear Street Cemetery?

  I sucked in my breath. “You—you mean they all. . . ”

  Ernie Ames nodded.

  “What happened to them?” I asked.

  His face twisted as if he were in pain. “They were called the Doom Squad,” he said slowly. “Folks called them that because they beat everybody. To play them meant doom. But once I—I mean once they had their accident, well—then they really were the Doom Squad. They all died. Every single one of them.”

  I shuddered. A whole baseball team—dead!

  “What accident?” I asked. “How did it happen?”

  Ernie turned without answering. He shuffled to the porch steps. “Wait here,” he said.

  “But—” I started to say.

  Too late. He’d already gone inside. I ran over to the fence.

  “Eve? Eve? Are you still there?” I called.

  No one answered. Eve must have run off.

  “Weenie,” I muttered.

  Should I take off myself? Ernie kind of gave me the creeps. On the other hand, I was curious about this Doom Squad.

  Before I could make up my mind, Ernie came back out of the house. He shuffled down the porch steps, holding a shoe box. “Here we go,” he said. “I’ve been saving these for years.”

  He pulled an old, creased paper from the box. I took it from him and stared at it. An old black-and-white picture of a kids’ baseball team. Twelve guys—no girls. All about my age, twelve.

  “That’s the Doom Squad,” Ernie explained. He moved behind me and pointed over my shoulder to different players.

  “That one’s Jimmy Grogan, the first baseman. Wade Newsom—he was the pitcher. Fielders Boog Johnson, Chad Weems, and Johnny Beans. Catcher, Billy Fein.”

  I checked the picture out. Everyone looked funny in their baggy, pin-striped uniforms. Their hats had little crowns with long bills. They look more like the duck squad than the Doom Squad, I thought.

  “Which one is this Gibson kid?” I asked.

  “That one.” The old man’s finger trembled as he pointed. “That’s Gibson.”

  Buddy Gibson stared out of the photograph with a wide gr
in. He seemed more comfortable than the others, like he’d been born in that uniform.

  Ernie must have guessed what I was thinking. “Looks like he belongs on a baseball card, doesn’t he? Well, he did. Every player on that team was good, but Buddy was special. He had the real stuff. He was going to the majors.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. Did Ernie have to stand so close? His clothes had a funny, musty smell. Like they’d been sprinkled with soil or something.

  “What year was this taken?” I asked.

  “Nineteen forty-eight. Their last year. Right before the championship game.”

  “Did they win?” I asked.

  “That’s where the unluckiness comes in. They lost,” the old man explained. “It was the bottom of the ninth. Bases were loaded and there were two outs. Shadyside led by two runs.”

  I nodded. I could picture it.

  “A left-handed hitter came up to the plate. The coach moved everybody over, expecting him to hit the ball to the right, but he didn’t. He hit a line drive to the left, down the third base line. It was a triple. Three runs scored. And Shadyside lost.”

  “Wow! That is a tough break,” I agreed. “But why did it land them in the cemetery?”

  “Losing the championship was only the beginning. There was supposed to be a party after the game for everyone—the winners and the losers. But the Doom Squad was so disappointed, they just left. On the way home their bus stalled on the railroad tracks. An oncoming train hit the bus. Killed them all.”

  “That’s awful!” I gasped.

  Ernie’s lips were clamped tight. I didn’t know what to say. He probably knew these guys.

  Then he seemed to shake himself. “So tell me, what do you want, Buddy? What do you really want out of baseball?”

  What a weird question. I shrugged. “Gee, I don’t know. I want to be a pro ballplayer someday, I guess. Doesn’t everybody?”

  “No, I mean right now. What do you want most in the world?”

  He stared at me. His burning gaze made me nervous. I guess that’s why I suddenly blurted out the truth.

  “I—I want to play on a good team for once. No—it’s more than that. I want to play on the best Shadyside team ever!”

  Ernie nodded slowly. Without another word he turned and walked back to his house. He opened the door to go inside.