by R. L. Stine
Chapter 1
Kody Frasier raised one hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sunlight. The house appeared unchanged from the street.
Several trees had been cut down and removed from the front yard, she saw. But the house and the lawn were still blanketed in heavy shade.
Stepping onto the gravel driveway, Kody felt a chill.
Two years, she thought. It’s been two years since I said goodbye to this house.
Two years since I said goodbye to my sister Cally—to my little brother James.
Dead. Both of them.
Murdered by this dreadful house.
As Kody slowly made her way up the driveway, the shade swept over her, cold as an ocean wave. Her legs suddenly became weak. She tugged on the sleeves of her pale green sweater, then jammed her hands into the pockets of her white denim jeans.
And stared up at the house that had brought so much horror and pain to her family.
Ninety-nine Fear Street.
The two-and-a-half-story house was nearly as wide as the yard. Its gray shingles were as stained and weather-beaten as Kody remembered them. The dark shutters were broken and peeling.
Kody hesitated on the driveway.
It’s such a warm, sunny day, she thought. But the gloom of the house spreads over the front yard. The sunlight cannot break through.
Taking a deep breath, Kody forced herself to move forward.
The dark shingles on the porch roof were new, she saw. But the stained glass windows on either side of the front door were still faded and cracked.
She stared at the large number “99” on the warped wooden door.
Memories—frightening memories—made Kody stop again.
As she stared up at the house, the front door slowly swung open.
A girl stepped out from the darkness behind the door. She shook her blond hair and smiled at Kody.
Kody struggled to find her voice.
She opened her mouth wide and gasped in shock and horror.
The smiling girl stepped casually off the porch and waved.
“Cally—!” Kody called to her dead sister. “Cally— it’s you!”
Chapter 2
The girl flashed Kody a taunting smile. “Cally—!” Kody called again, her voice a choked whisper.
“Kody—are you okay?” the girl asked coldly.
Not Cally’s voice, Kody realized. And the girl’s dark eyes were not Cally’s eyes.
All at once Kody recognized Persia Bryce, an actress who was Kody’s age—eighteen.
“Persia, you s-surprised me,” Kody stammered.
“Have you seen Bo?” Persia demanded, not the least bit interested in Kody’s distress. Persia’s eyes searched the front yard, where workers on the film crew were busily stretching cables and setting up equipment.
Still shaken, Kody stared at Persia’s blond wig. The hair, Kody suddenly realized, was actually much shorter than Cally’s had been. “No. I haven’t seen Bo,” Kody said softly.
“If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him,” Persia instructed. She started jogging down the middle of the yard toward the row of trailers parked along the curb.
Kody watched Persia until she disappeared into one of the trailers. Persia had been the star of a TV sitcom called “Big Trubble.” She had played Angela Trubble, the little girl in the sitcom family. But now Persia was grown and ready to try movies.
She always seems so nice during TV interviews, Kody thought with some bitterness. She’s always so sweet and modest. Always acts like a girl who’s surprised by her success.
Away from the cameras, Kody had discovered, Persia acted like a spoiled brat. She walked around with her nose in the air. Her expression said: Stay away from me. I’m a star.
Persia had two assistants who followed her around as if they were on short leashes. She was always calling out orders to them, and complaining when they didn’t move fast enough.
Months before, when Kody had been introduced to the actress at the casting director’s office in Los Angeles, Persia greeted her warmly. “It’ll be fun working with you, actually playing you in this movie,” Persia told her. “We’ll be playing sisters, and I hope we can get to be like real sisters.”
She’s so nice, Kody had thought.
Then a few days later Kody learned that Persia had tried to have her removed from the movie. “I don’t want to work with an amateur,” Persia had complained.
Now, three months later, here they were in Shadyside. Ready to start filming the movie of Cally and Kody’s lives—99 Fear Street.
And Persia wasn’t even pretending to be friendly. She always stared at Kody with a look of disgust, as if Kody were some sort of insect. And when they weren’t rehearsing, Persia didn’t say a word to Kody. She talked only to the director, Bo Montgomery, or to her two assistants. She pretended that Kody didn’t exist.
As Persia’s trailer door slammed shut, Kody turned back to the house. Persia faded from her mind as Kody’s thoughts returned to her dead sister.
Cally—are you in there? she wondered. Cally, I promised I’d come back for you. Will I find you in there? Will I?
• • •
I’ve got to make this picture work. This is my big chance, Bo Montgomery thought to himself. Gripping his clipboard in one hand, he stepped carefully over electrical cables in the attic, his eyes on the low ceiling. “Can we light this room—or should we build an attic back in the studio?” he asked the big man at his side, Sam McCarthy.
Bo stared at the associate producer’s round, pink face and tiny blue eyes. McCarthy ran a hand over his stubby white hair. “We can light it, Bo,” he replied. “We’ve already started setting up the green goo in the floor. I think we can work with this space.”
“Think?” Behind his blue sunglasses, Bo narrowed his eyes at McCarthy. “Think isn’t good enough, Sam. You have to know.”
Bo tugged at the sleeves of his gray sweatshirt. Then he put an arm around McCarthy’s beefy shoulders. “You know what this picture means to me, Sam,” he said with emotion. “After the last two turkeys I made, I thought I’d never get to direct another movie.”
McCarthy snickered. “Hey, I helped you make those turkeys, chief. You don’t have to remind me.”
Bo’s expression remained serious. “This film—99 Fear Street—is my last chance. I’ve got to make this movie work, Sam. I can’t let anything go wrong.”
McCarthy chewed on the unlit stub of a cigar he had wedged between his teeth. “What could go wrong?” he asked.
Bo frowned. “Plenty,” he replied softly, staring around the narrow attic. “For one thing they’re making me film in this run-down old house instead of on the studio lot in L.A.”
“It’s great publicity,” McCarthy interrupted. “You’re making the movie in the house where all the horrible stuff took place.”
Bo scowled and shook his head. “The studio just doesn’t want to spend any money, Sam. That’s why they’re making me film here. And that’s why they stuck me with Kody Frasier playing Cally. I’ve got to use a total amateur in the starring role because they were too cheap to get me a real actress.”
Bo sighed. “This role has Winona Ryder written all over it. Instead, I get Kody Frasier.”
“But you said Kody tested well,” McCarthy protested. “And she’s had acting lessons, right?”
Bo didn’t reply. Lowering his clipboard, he peered out the dusty attic window.
“You already got a spread in People magazine because of the sister,” McCarthy continued. “It’s great publicity, Bo. ‘Kody Frasier Returns to the House of Horrors to Play Her Own Dead Sister.’ Maybe she’ll be terrific.”
“She’s got to be!” Bo replied heatedly. He tugged at his short ponytail. “Let’s check out t
he basement.”
As Bo led the way downstairs, a thousand thoughts bounced through his mind. Crew members he had to talk to, props to check, script problems to iron out, scheduling conflicts to be solved.
Directing a movie was never easy, Bo told himself. It was even harder when the pressure was on, when everything had to go smoothly—when a career depended on it.
As he and McCarthy explored the basement, Bo continued to think about all he had to do before shooting could begin. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see the large gray rat scuttle out onto the concrete floor.
He didn’t see the second rat, its long whiskers twitching excitedly, scamper silently out to join the first.
He didn’t see the other rats creep out from the dark walls and move to form a tight circle around the two of them.
The shrill chittering sound finally startled Bo from his thoughts. His eyes went wide behind the blue-lensed sunglasses. He grabbed McCarthy’s arm and pointed.
“Sam—we’re—surrounded!”
The rats’ eyes glowed in the darkness. The chittering sound became a shrill hiss.
As if on a signal, the rats tightened their circle and rose on their hind legs.
The two men didn’t have time to cry out—as the rats leaped to the attack.
Chapter 3
Uttering a startled cry, Bo swung the clipboard hard. It made a loud thwack as it connected with one rat. The stunned rodent went flying toward the wall.
Bo spun around, pulled a fat rat from the front of his sweatshirt. Kicked away another rat that had dived for his ankle.
Beside him, he could see McCarthy flailing his big arms, ducking low, slapping a screeching rat off his leg.
“Run! Move it!” Bo swiped at another hissing rat with the clipboard, catching it in the snout, sending it falling to the floor.
“Move!” he screamed over the shrill, excited rat cries. He shoved McCarthy hard toward the stairs.
They stumbled up the narrow steps, kicking rats off their sneakers, pulling them off their pants legs. Up to the hallway. Past several startled crew members. Out to the front yard.
Breathing hard, Bo stopped when he saw Kody Frasier in front of him on the walk. He could still hear the shrill hissing of the rats. He could still feel the prick of their claws on his skin.
“Bo—what’s wrong?” Kody demanded.
“Uh—we have a bit of a rat problem,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. No need to get the actors all excited. He called to one of the assistants. “Can you get an exterminator out here? Maybe two or three? Or ten?”
Kody shuddered, remembering the rats, their evil red eyes and how they had once attacked her. She pushed the thought aside. “Persia is looking for you,” Kody told him.
Bo sighed. He raised his clipboard and glanced at the top page. “I’d better go see what she wants,” he murmured. He gave Kody a quick wave and, forcing the leaping rats from his mind, jogged down to Persia’s trailer.
• • •
“Kody—what’s up?”
The voice made Kody turn. Rob Gentry, another actor, stepped toward her, his pale blue eyes trained on hers. Rob moved with an easy grace. Thin but athletic looking, he was at least a foot taller than Kody. “You okay?”
“Well . . .” Kody hesitated.
Rob slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. She had known him for only a week, but Rob was warm and outgoing. He acted as if everyone were an old friend. He was always flirting with Kody, putting an arm around her, teasing her as if he had known her forever.
“I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” Rob said, guiding her toward the caterer’s trailer at the bottom of the driveway. “It must be really weird for you. Being back here, I mean. Making a movie about your own life.”
He knows all about my life, about what happened to my family here, Kody realized. Everyone working here knows. They’ve all read the movie script.
The caterers had spread a long table with sandwiches, muffins, salads, fruits, and all kinds of cold and hot drinks. The food was available to everyone on the crew from morning till night. The caterers’ table was a very important part of movie making, Kody had quickly discovered.
Rob poured a cup of coffee from a large silver pitcher and handed it to her. Kody added a lot of milk and two packets of sugar. She didn’t really like the taste of coffee.
Rob poured himself a cup, then guided her away from the line of trailers to the next yard. He dropped onto the ground in front of a tall hedge and patted the grass, motioning for Kody to join him.
He has such a great smile, Kody thought. Rob’s eyes caught the sunlight. His auburn hair was long and wavy, and brushed straight back.
He’s the handsomest boy I’ve ever met, Kody found herself thinking as she lowered herself onto the grass beside him. “I didn’t expect to feel so nervous,” she told him. “I’m all jittery.”
“I’m nervous too, you know,” Rob confessed, sipping the steaming coffee slowly. “I mean, Anthony isn’t exactly the biggest role. But this is my first film.”
Rob had done some TV acting and a few commercials, Kody knew. His father was a Hollywood studio executive. “How else do you think I got this job?” he joked when Kody had first met him.
“Persia is being so awful,” Kody said, sighing. “She orders me around as if I’m her dog.”
“She’s jealous,” Rob replied, staring down into his cup.
“Huh? Persia? Jealous of me?” Kody cried in surprise.
Rob nodded. “She wanted your part. She wanted to play your sister Cally. She doesn’t want to play you.”
Kody let out a bitter laugh. “Who would want to play me?” she asked sarcastically.
Rob sipped his coffee thoughtfully. Then he raised his pale blue eyes to her. “You’re not upset about Persia,” he told her. “You’re upset about being back here at your old house. Where it all happened.”
“I—I thought I could handle it,” Kody stammered, holding the cardboard cup between her knees. “I mean, seeing the house again. But as soon as I stepped onto the driveway, all the memories—all the horrible memories came flooding back.”
“It must be tough,” Rob murmured, shaking his head.
“I could feel them,” Kody continued emotionally. “I could feel the memories. Pushing me back. Pushing me away from the house.”
Rob raised his eyes to hers. Kody realized she was breathing hard. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“So why did you take the part?” Rob asked with genuine concern. “You knew it would be hard to face this place again—right?”
Kody nodded. “Two reasons,” she replied thoughtfully. “One, it was such an incredible opportunity. I mean, my life was so terrible, Rob. My parents and I got as far away from Fear Street as we could. We moved to L.A. But our lives were—ruined.”
She stifled a sob, took a deep breath, and continued. “My dad was blinded by something in this house. He never regained his sight. And my mother—she was never the same after James and Cally died. I tried to forget it all. I finished high school. I went to acting school. I guess I was desperate to be someone else. Anyone but me. And then I tried out for this movie— and they offered me the starring role. It—I had to do it.”
A station wagon filled with kids rolled past slowly. They all gawked at the row of trailers, the workers, and the movie equipment in the front yard. “Are you a movie star?” a girl in the back called out to Kody.
Kody waved to the girl. The station wagon rumbled away.
“I had to do it,” she repeated to Rob. “I have a second reason.” Her hand trembled as she raised the cup to her lips and took a sip of coffee.
“What?” Rob asked, setting his cup on the grass, leaning back against the hedge.
“I made a promise to my sister that I’d come back,” Kody revealed. She stared at the woods across the street. “I saw Cally in the window, the front window, on the day my mom and dad and I left. I saw Cally. Watching me from the window.”
Kody nodded solemnly. “I know. But I saw her in the window. Seeing her there, pressed against the glass, so lost, and so sad—it’s haunted me ever since.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. She saw him staring at her thoughtfully. She knew he didn’t believe her story.
Who would believe it?
She continued anyway. “I promised Cally I’d come back. I promised her on that day two years ago that I’d come back, that I’d save her somehow.” Kody sighed. “So here I am.”
They were silent for a while. Then Rob climbed to his feet. He shook his head. “Weird,” he muttered.
He started to say something else, but the assistant director called to him. He turned and trotted off toward the house.
Kody took a last sip of coffee. She crumpled the cup in her hand and stood up.
Brushing off the back of her white jeans, she made her way to the driveway. I should get my script and go over the scene we’re shooting tomorrow, Kody thought.
Thinking about the next day, the first day of shooting, made Kody’s stomach feel fluttery. What if I can’t do this? she wondered. What if the camera starts to roll and I freeze?
The rehearsals back in Los Angeles had gone pretty well. Bo Montgomery was a very understanding director. Very patient. Very soft spoken and kind.
But sitting around a table, reading lines from a script, was a lot different from standing in front of a movie camera and acting with two dozen crew members standing around watching, Kody told herself.
Kody could picture the gloating grin on Persia Bryce’s face if she blew it.
Well, I’m not going to blow it, Kody assured herself.
She was so lost in her own troubled thoughts, she stumbled over a crate of special effects materials and nearly fell onto the driveway.
“Watch out—that box is filled with blood!” a crew member shouted.
“Sorry,” Kody murmured, stepping around it.
Blood?
Yes. The movie will need lots of blood, Kody thought sadly.
She remembered the night more than two years before, when the blood started dripping from the ceiling in her parents’ bedroom. The bright red blood, puddling on her parents’ bed.
