by R. L. Stine
FEAR STREET–WHERE YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES LIVE...
Honey Perkins just moved to Shadyside. But She’s telling everyone that She is Becka Norwood’s best friend from elmmentary school. Trouble is, Becka desno’t remember her at all.
But that doesn’t stop Honey. She insists on doing everything Becka does— borrowing her clothes, borrowing her boyfriend.. and then the horrble accidents begin.
Honey swears she has nothing to do with them. She’s just being a good friend. A best friend... to the end.
THE FEAR IS CATCHING
SIMON PULSE
Simon & Schuster, New York
Cover design and illustration
by Sammy yuen Jr.
www.SimonSaysTEEN.com
Best Friends Are Forever.
The bedroom door burst open. Becka dropped her knitting. Lilah sat up straight. Trish leapt to her feet.
All three of them stared in surprise as a girl with a mane of long auburn hair excitedly swept into the room.
“Becka!” the girl cried. She threw her arms around Becka and wrapped her in a tight hug. “Becka! Becka! I’m so happy to see you!” she squealed.
“I can’t believe it!” the girl cried. “I just can’t believe it! Becka—it’s you! It’s really you!”
Becka gasped, utterly speechless. Who is this girl? she asked herself.
I’ve never seen her before!
Don’t miss these chilling tales from
FEAR STREET®
All-Night Party
The Best Friend
The Confession
First Date
Killer’s Kiss
The Perfect Date
The Rich Girl
Secret Admirer
The Stepsister
Switched
After hours, the horror continues at
FEAR STREET® NIGHTS
#1: Moonlight Secrets
#2: Midnight Games
#3: Darkest Dawn
A Parachute Press book
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 1992 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of
Simon & Schuster, Inc.
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
Designed by Sammy Yuen Jr.
The text of this book was set in Times.
This Simon Pulse edition April 2006
Library of Congress Control Number 2005929887
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-1376-4
ISBN-10: 1-4169-1376-9
ISBN-13: 978-1-4424-5145-2 (ebook)
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
chapter
1
“Ow—stop. You’re hurting me!” Eric Fraser loosened his grip on Becka Norwood’s shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” His face reddened. He stared at the snow-covered windshield.
Becka slid away from him until her shoulder bumped the car door. She adjusted the collar of her coat.
Why am I sitting here kissing him? she thought. I’m going to break up with him.
Big, wet snowflakes continued to fall. The windows were completely blanketed now. It’s like being inside an igloo, Becka thought, shivering.
Turning his dark eyes to hers, Eric leaned forward, reaching for her.
She raised her arm to block him. “We have to talk,” she said, not meaning to sound shrill.
“Talk?” He giggled for some reason. Becka realized that she hated his giggle. It always burst out at the wrong time.
He stretched his arm around her shoulders and tried to pull her closer.
“No. Really,” she insisted, twisting to get out from under his arm.
He acted hurt. “What do you want to talk about?”
Becka chewed the tip of her thumb, a nervous habit.
Here goes, she thought. Her stomach felt feathery. Her throat tightened.
She realized she always felt jumpy around Eric. They’d been dating since school started in September. More than three months. But she never felt comfortable with him.
He was so ... so needy.
She stopped chewing her thumb, clasped her hands together in her lap. “I think we need to talk about—things.” It was cold in the car, parked beside the woods, the engine off, no heater. She shivered again.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Why do you always want to talk?” His voice revealed more than impatience. He sounded angry.
“Why don’t you ever want to talk?” she demanded. Her voice trembled. The feathers in her stomach turned to stone.
Don’t cry, she instructed herself, biting her lower, lip.
It’s not the end of the world. You’re just breaking up with him. You haven’t even been going out with him that long.
He turned away from her and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Why are you on my case?” he asked. “You said you wanted to come here.”
“I know.”
“So why do you want to start a fight? I said I was sorry. About holding your shoulder too tight. It was an accident.” He ran a hand back through his short, brown hair, smoothing it.
Becka’s heart was pounding. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Outside, the wind roared, piling more snow up against the windshield.
Don’t cry, she told herself again.
Be cool. For once in your life, be cool.
“I think we shouldn’t go out anymore.” There. I said it.
“Huh?”
She turned to see his startled expression.
“You heard me.”
He giggled. That hideous, inappropriate giggle again. He moved his hands on the steering wheel, circling them around and around.
“I think we should start seeing other people,” Becka added, her voice shaking.
Don’t cry.
“Okay,” he said. His face became a blank—no expression at all. “No problem.”
She suddenly felt she had to explain. “I think you’re a great guy, Eric, but—”
He raised a hand to stop her. His expression remained a blank. “I said no problem. I’ll take you home, Becka.”
He raised the collar of his leather bomber jacket. Then he turned the key in the ignition. The car hesitated a second before starting up.
He’s certainly being cool about this, Becka thought, chewing the end of her thumb and staring straight ahead.
I’m a nervous wreck.
You’re always a nervous wreck, she told herself.
If only her heart woul
d stop pounding so hard. She could feel her pulse throb at her temples.
He switched on the wipers. They pushed the light fresh snow off the windshield, allowing the blackness of the night to fill the car. The headlights cut a tunnel through the darkness, illuminating the large, falling flakes.
“I’m sorry—” Becka started.
“No problem,” Eric repeated. He lowered his foot on the gas pedal, and the car slid out onto the snow-covered road.
Does he have to keep saying that?
He doesn’t seem hurt at all, Becka thought, more than a little disappointed.
She had hoped it would go easily. But not this easily.
She didn’t want a fight.
It seemed that they’d done nothing but fight for weeks. Every discussion turned into a fight. Every time they went out, they found themselves arguing. Or just bickering.
That was one reason Becka decided to break up with Eric.
Bill Planter was the other reason.
She had no intention of bringing up Bill tonight.
Staring out at the silent, falling snow, Becka thought about Bill. She wondered where he was, what he was doing.
Maybe I’ll drive over to his house in the Old Village, she thought. Just drop in on him. Mention that I broke up with Eric.
No. No way. Forget that idea.
Her parents would murder her if they even suspected she was thinking about dating Bill again. They were so relieved, so grateful when Becka had dumped Bill and started going out with Eric.
But Eric was so immature. Always picking fights. Always giggling. Always grabbing at her, pawing her.
She just hadn’t been able to get Bill out of her mind.
She turned to Eric. His eyes were focused straight ahead on the road. Caught in the glare of the headlights, the snow seemed to be swirling in every direction now.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Becka said softly.
“I’m not,” Eric told her. He shrugged.
The shrug, so casual, so cool, made her angry.
I guess he wanted to break up too, she thought. I guess he’s glad.
It wasn’t what she had expected.
She hadn’t expected that shrug. As if all the weeks they’d been going together were nothing.
Something to shrug off in a second.
Now she was angry. And upset.
Why do I always have to take things more seriously than everyone else? she wondered.
By the time he turned onto Fear Street and pulled up her driveway, she was trembling. She pushed open her door. A blast of cold air invaded the car at once.
“See you in school,” Eric said brightly. “It’s been real.”
So cruel, Becka thought miserably.
He didn’t care about me at all.
She slammed the car door behind her. He didn’t wait for her to go into her house. He backed down the drive and was gone while she still stood searching her jeans pocket for her keys.
Her thoughts swirled in crazy directions, like the falling snow.
I can’t go inside yet. I’m too upset.
She had the keys to her parents’ car with her house key.
I’ll go see Bill.
No, I’ll just drive for a bit. Try to calm myself down.
She headed for the garage, her boots crunching the fresh snow. She slowly pulled the overhead door up, raising it as quietly as she could so her parents wouldn’t hear.
A few seconds later she backed out of the drive, the headlights off, then roared off down Fear Street, the tires skidding beneath her.
The snow is so pretty, she thought, clicking on the headlights, leaning forward to peer out the windshield. I’ll just drive around town, then come back.
Her heart was still racing. Her stomach felt as if it had been tied in knots.
I was so nervous about breaking up with Eric, she thought, turning onto the Mill Road. And now that I’ve done it, I’m even more nervous.
It doesn’t make sense.
But that’s just the way I am, Becka realized. I always feel more nervous after something happens.
Face it, kid, she told herself, you’re nervous. Period.
I’ve got to call Bill, she thought. I’ve got to call Trish and Lilah too.
They’ll be surprised that I broke up with Eric.
More surprised than Eric, she thought unhappily.
She pictured his shrug again. The blank, uncaring look on his face.
Who needs him? she thought.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see the four-way stop in time.
When the side of the red Corsica appeared just ahead of her in the windshield, it was too late.
Becka gasped and hit the brakes. Her car slid hard into the other car.
She closed her eyes against the crunch of metal and shattering glass.
chapter
2
“I can’t believe you didn’t get a scratch!” Trish exclaimed.
“I wasn’t going that fast,” Becka replied. “Because of the snow. Our car wasn’t even that badly messed up. Just one headlight got smashed.”
“You were so lucky,” Lilah said.
“Well .. . I wouldn’t exactly call it lucky,” Becka told them. “My dad really yelled at me for taking the car without permission.”
Trish and Lilah tsk-tsked.
It was the next afternoon, a bright, blue-skied Saturday, the ground covered with snow, still fresh and white. Becka and her two friends were upstairs in Becka’s room, warm and comfortable, the old radiator against the wall making hissing sounds.
Becka, dressed in black yoga pants and an oversize blue wool pullover, sat on her bed, back pressed against the wall, legs crossed. She was knitting furiously, a ball of olive green yarn in her lap. “I’ll never get this sweater finished by Christmas,” she muttered.
“Becka, who’s it a present for?” Lilah asked, raising her head from the shaggy white carpet where she lay on her stomach, flipping through an old copy of Teen.
“My cousin. Ow!” Becka cried. “I poked myself.” She held up her finger to examine the small, bright red circle of blood. “Now I’m going to drip on the sweater.”
She tossed the knitting down and scrambled over to her dresser to get a tissue.
“I knit to calm me down, but it doesn’t seem to be working today,” Becka told them, pressing the tissue against the cut. “Every Christmas my cousin Rachel and I knit sweaters for each other. Hers is always perfect, with these perfect little stitches, and perfect little patterns, and mine .. .” Her voice trailed off.
“Take it easy,” Lilah said, closing the magazine and rolling onto her back, her hands under her head. Lilah wore a maroon-and-white Shadyside High sweatshirt over faded jeans, ripped at both knees.
“You need a Band-Aid,” Trish said from the window seat across the room. She had been staring out at the snow-covered front yard, but turned to check out Becka’s injury.
“How can I knit with a Band-Aid on my finger?” Becka snapped.
“Badly?” Trish joked. Her blue eyes lit up. She grinned, exposing her braces, braces she had worn for a year but still made her self-conscious. Dressed in gray sweats, Trish was short and chubby with curly auburn hair that capped her lively, mischievous face.
“Love the haircut,” Lilah called up from her place on the carpet.
“Yeah. It’s awesome,” Trish added enthusiastically.
Becka peered at her reflection in the dresser mirror. “It’s too short,” she said uncertainly.
“No way,” Trish declared.
Becka had seen the ultra-short haircut on a model in Seventeen. The model looked a lot like Becka. Light blond hair, almond-shaped green eyes, high cheekbones, pale white skin, and just the hint of a cleft in her chin. So Becka had taken a chance and had almost all her hair cut off, emerging with a sleek, chic new look.
“I look like a boy,” Becka insisted.
“You look great,” Trish told her.
“Stop fishing for compliments,�
�� Lilah said, rolling her eyes. “You look great and you know you do.”
“I’m so jealous,” Trish said from the window seat. “With my round face, I could never wear my hair short like that. I’d look like a bowling ball with legs!”
“I’d rather look like a bowling ball than a stork!” Lilah grumbled. She secretly liked being tall, but constantly complained about it.
Becka removed the tissue from her finger. “There. I think it’s stopped bleeding.” She stepped over Lilah on her way back to the bed and picked up her knitting. “Like this color?” she asked Lilah.
“Yeah. It’s great. Your cousin’s color blind, right?”
Trish laughed.
“Don’t encourage her,” Becka said to Trish, frowning. “Hey, you know, my neck is a little stiff. From the accident, I guess.”
“What a night you had,” Trish said, shaking her head. “First you wreck Eric. Then you wreck the car.”
Lilah laughed. “You should be a writer, Trish. You have such a way with words.”
“Eric wasn’t too wrecked,” Becka said dryly, trying to remember where she was in the pattern.
“Give us more details,” Trish demanded, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. “We want more details.”
“I already told you everything,” Becka said. “I broke up with Eric. I told him I thought we shouldn’t go out anymore. And he sat there like a lump. He barely said a word. He acted so cold, the coldest thing I ever saw.”
“He didn’t burst into tears and beg for one more chance through pitiful sobs?” Trish asked.
Lilah laughed. “I can just picture that. Poor Eric.”
“No. No tears. No nothing. He just shrugged,” Becka said. “Really. It was so obnoxious.”
“He was speechless, that’s all,” Lilah offered. “He was in shock.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Becka said sarcastically. “Does this look long enough to you?” She held up the knitting.
“Long enough for what?” Trish asked. “For a scarf?”
“It’s a sleeve,” Becka told her.
“Is it one sleeve or two?” Trish demanded.
“Huh? It’s one.”
“It’s long enough,” Trish said.
All three girls laughed.
Becka was starting to relax, to feel a little calmer.
