Weirdo Halloween

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Weirdo Halloween Page 12

by R. L. Stine


  I had to prove to this Horror that I wasn’t a robot.

  We were at the front of the store. About to pass the last display shelf.

  I saw something on the shelf. It gave me a wild idea.

  I grabbed for it. Missed. Grabbed again.

  And pulled it into my hand.

  I remembered seeing it before. King Kong’s Diaper Pin. It was a gigantic safety pin, nearly three feet long.

  As the Horror stepped up beside his partner carrying the Chris robot, I pried open the huge pin.

  I waited until we were right next to the other Horror. Then I plunged the pin deep into Chris’s neck.

  The Horrors stopped. They stared at Chris. They stared at the silvery pin jabbed deep in his neck.

  Of course, the robot didn’t scream or move.

  I pulled the giant pin out of Chris’s neck.

  Both guards narrowed their eyes at me. I had their attention now.

  I took a deep breath and held it.

  Then I scraped the pin along the cut on my hand.

  The Horrors stared as red blood began to seep from the open cut.

  “This one is human!” the mustached guard cried.

  My guard uttered a low groan. “Whoa. We made a mistake.”

  He lowered me carefully to the floor. He eyed me from head to foot. “No harm done,” he said.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his uniform pocket and helped me wrap it around my cut. Then he led the way back to Jonathan Chiller.

  Chiller came walking out of the supply closet. He was standing at the front counter.

  I watched him hand a tiny Horror doll to the robot Meg. His eyes went wide in surprise as the guards brought me back to him.

  “We made a small mistake,” my guard said. “Wrong girl.”

  Chiller gasped. He squinted at the handkerchief wrapped around my hand. “I’m sorry, Meg,” he said to me. His face turned bright red. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You’re embarrassed?” I cried. “I could have had my brain erased!”

  “But you won the game after all, Meg,” Chiller said. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I just want to go home now,” I told him.

  Chiller nodded. “I’ll send you home safe and sound,” he said. “Just as I promised.”

  He placed the little Horror in my hands. “I went back to the supply closet to get this little guy,” he said. “Just wrap your hands around it and shut your eyes.”

  Was this some kind of a trick?

  I had no reason to trust him.

  But I had no choice.

  I did as he said. I wrapped the tiny Horror between my fingers and squeezed it tightly. And I shut my eyes.

  Nothing happened.

  Nothing.

  And then I suddenly felt dizzy. As if I couldn’t stand up straight.

  I felt a cold wave wash over me. The floor felt soft and quivery.

  I bent my knees and tilted from side to side as the floor started to rock.

  Was he really sending me home?

  Wave after wave washed over me. I felt as if I were falling through them … falling through the sky.

  Then it all stopped. I stood perfectly still, listening to the silence.

  I opened my eyes. And gazed into a white blur.

  A solid white blur.

  Chiller lied!

  Where did he send me?

  I shook my head hard. Slowly, the whiteness faded away.

  I blinked. Once. Twice. My vision came back.

  I was standing in my bedroom. Staring at the empty shelves where my doll collection had been.

  “YAAAAY!” I let out a long, happy cry.

  I was home! Home!

  I went tearing down the stairs. I burst into the kitchen.

  Penny was at the sink, making a cup of tea. Her face filled with surprise as I came flying into the room.

  I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tightly. “I’m back!” I cried. “Did you miss me? Were you worried?”

  Penny’s mouth dropped open. “Miss you?”

  She squinted at me. “Meg, you’re joking — right? You were only up in your room for ten minutes.”

  “Huh?” I uttered a gasp. “Ten minutes?”

  She nodded.

  I forced a laugh. “Yeah. Just kidding,” I said. “See you later.”

  I ran back upstairs. I was desperate to tell Chris what had happened to me.

  But I stopped at the doorway to my room and peered inside.

  I saw someone sitting on my bed. “Hey —” I called.

  She sat up as I strode in. The other Meg!

  She jumped to her feet and put her hands on her waist. Then she scowled at me.

  “What are YOU doing here?” she cried angrily. “How did you get in my room?”

  Gabriella and I stopped in front of the carnival game booths. I read the big green-and-purple sign: THE PLAY PEN. IT’S NOT HOW MUCH YOU WIN OR LOSE BUT HOW MUCH YOU SCREAM YOUR HEAD OFF!

  I rubbed my hands together. “These games look awesome,” I said. “Maybe we’ll win some cool prizes.”

  Gabriella tossed back her wavy black hair. “When I was little, I won a goldfish at a carnival,” she said. “It was in a plastic bag filled with water. It was totally gross.”

  I squinted at her. “Totally gross?”

  She nodded. “When I carried it into the house, the bag broke open. The goldfish and all the water gushed out, and my dog swallowed the fish. I cried for hours.”

  “You always were a big crybaby,” I said.

  “Was not!” She gave me a hard push, and I stumbled into the PLAY PEN sign.

  I rubbed my shoulder. “Pick on someone your own size,” I said.

  She’s three inches shorter than me. But she’s tough and likes to punch and shove a lot.

  We’ve been friends since first grade. But people think we’re brother and sister because we look so much alike. We both have slender, serious faces, black hair, and dark eyes.

  My name is Marco Gonzalez, and she is Gabriella Grant. I guess we became friends because they made us sit alphabetically in first grade. We are both twelve. But everyone says I look older and more mature than she does. I’m not bragging. It’s just true.

  My parents drove us to HorrorLand for a vacation. After the first day, they let us wander off on our own. It’s an okay place. Gabriella likes all the scary stuff. I’m into superheroes more than horror. Doctor Shark-Tooth, Coyote Boy-X, and The Ooze are my favorites.

  Gabriella gave my arm a hard pull. “Let’s go on some rides, Marco.”

  “No, I want to play carnival games,” I said. “I want to win a prize. I promised Zeke I’d bring him home something. Poor guy had such a bad cold, he had to stay home with Grandma.”

  “Your little brother was way angry,” Gabriella said. “He really wanted to come with us.”

  “Zeke is always angry,” I said. “Didn’t you notice? He gets angry if his toast is too crumbly. Angry is his thing. Mom and Dad think it’s adorable. He’s a total pain.”

  Gabriella grinned. “Is that why you give him piggyback rides all the way to school?”

  I rolled my eyes. “If I didn’t carry him, he’d make me late every morning.”

  Her grin grew wider. “I know what you do, Marco. You put Zeke on your shoulders and pretend you’re a superhero, flying him to school.”

  “That’s a total lie,” I said. I could feel my face grow hot. I knew I was blushing.

  I turned away from her. A Horror waved to me from behind an ice cream cart. The Horrors are big, furry, green-and-purple characters. They are the guides and helpers who work at HorrorLand.

  “Try our special flavor today?” the Horror called.

  “What flavor?” I asked.

  “Cookies ’n’ Cow Brains,” he replied. He held out an empty cone. “I’ve also got Chocolate Chip Toilet Bowl Cleaner.”

  “Uh … no thanks,” I said.

  It was a clear, cool night. A tiny sliver of a moon hung low in the sky.
People crowded around the game booths. I heard a balloon pop. A few seconds later, a kid started to cry.

  Down the long row of games, a raspy-voiced Horror was shouting, “Who’s a loser? Come on — try your luck. Who’s our next loser?”

  I stepped up to the first game booth. SKULL TOSS.

  A big Horror in purple overalls leaned on the counter. Behind him, I could see a mountain of grinning human skulls. He shoved three eyeballs across the counter toward me. Actually, they were Ping-Pong balls painted to look like eyeballs.

  Gabriella stepped up to the counter. “What do you have to do?” she asked the Horror.

  “Toss an eyeball into an empty eye socket,” he growled. “If the eyeball sticks, you win a fabulous prize you’ll never forget. Three eyeballs for a dollar.”

  “A fabulous prize?” she asked.

  “I’m lying about that part,” the Horror said. “Wanna play?” He tapped the eyeballs on the counter.

  I pulled two dollars from my pocket and handed them over. “We’ll both play,” I said.

  Gabriella’s first ball bounced off a skull’s forehead with a clonk. Her second toss hit an open nose hole and bounced away. Her third toss missed the skulls and hit the canvas at the back of the booth.

  “You lose,” the Horror said.

  I grabbed a Ping-Pong ball, pulled back my hand, and tossed. “Yes!” I cried. The ball slapped into an open eye socket and stuck!

  And then I gasped as the skull opened its jaws and let out a shrill scream!

  I froze. I stared in shock as the skulls all started to move. Their jaws made disgusting clicking sounds. Whoo! Whoooo! Their breath made a whistling sound as it escaped their mouths. The air suddenly smelled sour.

  The Horror uttered a cry and staggered back. His eyes went wide with fear. “No! Oh, no!” he wailed. “No! Did you wake the DEAD?”

  R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.

  Goosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.

  Copyright © 2010 by Scholastic Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, GOOSEBUMPS, GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, July 2010

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-30124-4

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication 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 the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 


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