The First Horror

by R. L. Stine

  Prologue

  1960

  “Whoa! Look out!”

  Jimmy Lunt stumbled in the darkness. He grabbed the banister with his free hand and caught himself.

  “Look out, man,” his friend Andy Skowski warned from the top of the stairway. “We don’t need any more accidents on this job.”

  “How come there are no basement lights?” Jimmy called over his shoulder as he carefully continued down the narrow stairway.

  “How come? How come nothing works on this job?” Andy replied with some bitterness. His work boots thudded loudly as he followed Jimmy down to the basement. “How come nothing has gone right? How come we lost three guys building this stupid house?”

  “Morrison is getting out of the hospital today,” Jimmy reported. “After that shock he got, I never thought they’d get him breathing again.” Jimmy shuddered. “Morrison turned blue, man. I saw him. He really was blue.”

  “I don’t want to think about it,” Andy muttered, his flashlight darting over the concrete basement floor. “You know, I was there when that big guy Jones fell off the roof. No wind, no breeze, no nothing—but off he went, sailing headfirst. Poor guy.”

  “I’m just glad school is starting in a week and we’ll be done with this stupid summer job,” Jimmy said, shifting the heavy gallon can to his other hand. “Now, where are these cracks we’re supposed to caulk?”

  “This foundation was just poured two months ago. And already there are cracks. This is a bad-luck job,” Andy muttered, still thinking about all the trouble they had had.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy agreed quickly. “Ninety-nine Fear Street. I wouldn’t live here, man. Not on a bet. This place is bad news.”

  “Well—you know what they say about Fear Street. And you heard about the bodies they found here when they were digging the foundation.”

  “Huh? Bodies?” Jimmy reacted with surprise.

  “Yeah. They had to stop the bulldozers. There were all these unmarked graves down here.” Andy pointed straight down.

  “Uh—Andy—can we stop talking about it?” Jimmy replied with a shudder. “No more stories, okay? I just want to patch up these cracks. Then I’m going to jump into my Impala and bomb over to Waynesbridge. There’s a Beach Boys concert tonight.”

  “Huh?” Andy grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “Since when do you drive an Impala?”

  “Well, it’s my dad’s,” Jimmy admitted reluctantly. “He let me drive it today.”

  Andy’s flashlight swept over the white concrete walls. “There are the cracks,” he said. “Open the can. Let’s get started.”

  Jimmy dropped to his knees beside the wall. Andy held the flashlight. Jimmy began prying a screwdriver under the lid to open the can of caulking. “Ow!” Jimmy cried out as the screwdriver slipped—and the blade drove deep into his hand. “Oh, man!”

  “Careful!” Andy cried too late.

  Jimmy pulled the screwdriver blade from his throbbing hand. As his friend raised the light to it, he watched the dark blood trickle onto the concrete floor.

  “Ow, man! That hurts!”

  Andy leaned down to examine the wound. “You really stabbed yourself, Jimmy. You’d better run upstairs and get a bandage.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Jimmy replied quietly, staring at his hand. “Stupid screwdriver!” He tossed the tool against the wall. “I don’t believe this!”

  Climbing to his feet, he let out an angry groan—and furiously kicked the wall with the toe of his heavy work boot.

  Both boys uttered cries of surprise as a crack appeared in the wall.

  “Oh, man—more work for us!” Andy complained.

  In the circle of yellow light they watched the crack grow wider. An inch. Two inches.

  And then they heard scuttling sounds. The scratch of tiny footsteps.

  “Hey—” Jimmy exclaimed as the first long-snouted rat poked its head out of the crack. “This is a new house. Where’d the rat come from?”

  The rat scuttled out into the light. Followed by another rat. Then three more.

  Jimmy gaped down at the tiny black eyes, the glowing gray fur, the snakelike pink tails.

  “Hey—get lost!” Andy shouted. He kicked at the nearest rat.

  Missed.

  Then he raised his eyes in time to see the black shadow start to wriggle out from the crack.

  Jimmy saw it too. Both boys stepped back, their eyes wide with surprise.

  At first they thought it was a snake.

  But the shadow grew and changed shape. It floated out of the crack in the wall, darkening, rising up—then sweeping around them.

  It swirled faster and faster. Surrounding the two boys. Then lowering and covering them like a dark, heavy blanket.

  They didn’t even have time to struggle or cry out.

  When the billowing shadow lifted a few seconds later, they were dead. Both of them. Sprawled open-mouthed and wide-eyed on the concrete floor.

  Surrounded by the screeching rats.

  Chapter 1

  “How old is the house?” Cally Frasier asked. “Is it really old?”

  “It’s pretty old,” Mr. Frasier replied, slowing the car for a stop sign. “I think it was built in the early sixties.”

  “It needs work,” Cally’s mother chimed in, her eyes focused out the passenger window on green lawns. “The house hasn’t been lived in for years.”

  “I don’t think it’s ever been lived in,” Mr. Frasier said, making a left onto a street called Park Drive.

  “Huh? The house is over thirty years old, and no one has ever lived in it?” Cally’s twin sister Kody asked shrilly, leaning forward from the backseat. “How come?”

  “Stop shoving me,” their nine-year-old brother James said grumpily. He was sitting between Cally and Kody and had been complaining the whole way to Shadyside. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m not touching you,” Kody declared.

  “Yes, you are!” James insisted. “Move over!”

  “I wouldn’t touch you. You’ve got cooties!” Kody exclaimed.

  “Well, you’ve got dog breath!” James shouted. “You stink!”

  “Stop it, James!” Mr. Frasier called back sharply. “We’re almost there—I think.” He glanced over at his wife. “Could you check the map? Are we going the right way?”

  “What school is that?” Cally asked, staring out at a long, redbrick school building.

  “I think that’s the high school,” her mother replied, struggling to unfold the map.

  “That’s Shadyside High?” Cally cried. “I didn’t picture it like that. It’s so—”

  “Old-fashioned looking,” Kody finished her sister’s sentence for her.

  Cally and Kody were fraternal twins—not identical. But they were always finishing each other’s sentences and thinking the same things at the same time.

  They passed by the school quickly. Its windows were dark, the doors all shut. Cally caught a glimpse of an empty football stadium behind the school. Two teenage girls on bikes rode slowly along the sidewalk, laughing happily.

  Cally sighed. She wondered what it would be like to start eleventh grade in a new school.

  Oh, well. I have all summer to worry about it, she told herself.

  “These houses are nice. Is this our new neighborhood?” Kody asked.

  “Can I have a dog?” James demanded. “You promised I could have a dog when we moved.”

  “We’re going the wrong way, dear,” Mrs. Frasier said softly, biting her bottom lip. “I think you have to turn around. Fear Street is the other way.”

  Mr. Frasier uttered an unhappy groan.

  “What kind of a name is Fear Street?” Kody demanded. “That’s so weird. Who would name a street Fear Street?”

  “When can I get the dog
? Can I get it today?” James asked.

  “I think the street was named after one of the town’s early settlers,” Mrs. Frasier replied fretfully, still studying the road map.

  “It was named after Mister Street?” Cally joked. She took pride in her sense of humor. She was always cracking jokes and making puns. It was one of the ways she differed from her twin. Kody was smart and quick. But she didn’t have much of a sense of humor.

  James gave Kody’s shoulder a hard shove. “Stop pushing me!” he screamed. He leaned toward the front seat. “What about my dog?”

  “The dog will be for all of us,” Kody told him.

  “No way!” James insisted. “He’s mine! They promised!”

  Mr. Frasier braked the car and eased it to the curb. “Please!” he wailed. “Could we please have five minutes of silence? Just till I find the house? Please?”

  Everyone was silent for at least ten seconds.

  Then, as his father eased the car away from the curb, James asked, “So when do I get the dog?”

  • • •

  Mr. Frasier pulled the car up the gravel driveway about ten minutes later. Cally strained forward to see her new house through the windshield.

  But there were so many old shade trees covering the front yard, the house was nearly buried in darkness.

  “Ninety-nine Fear Street! Everybody out!” Cally’s father announced cheerfully.

  They piled out of the car, stretching their arms and gazing through the trees at the sprawling house that awaited them.

  “Well—it’s big at least,” Kody said quietly. Cally could see the disappointment on her sister’s face.

  “It’s really big,” Mr. Frasier said enthusiastically. “Wait till you see your bedrooms!”

  “Just think,” their mother chimed in, “you two won’t have to share a room anymore! We were so cramped in that old apartment. You kids won’t know what to do with all this space!”

  “I’ll know what to do!” James declared. “I’m going to have my own game room, with a wide-screen TV for my Super Nintendo—and a real pinball machine!”

  “Good luck!” Cally told James sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She reached down and messed up his wavy red hair.

  He jerked away from her, playfully swinging a fist in her direction.

  “Isn’t this great!” Mr. Frasier exclaimed, his dark eyes glowing behind his silver-framed glasses. “Isn’t this great! Our own house!”

  Cally forced a smile to her face. She could see that everyone else in the family was forcing a smile too.

  The house wasn’t exactly great.

  In fact, it was really dark and depressing.

  Between the gnarled old trees, the lawn’s wild, tall weeds poked up at every angle through thick clumps of uncut grass. Fallen tree limbs littered the ground.

  The two-and-a-half-story house was nearly as wide as the yard. Its gray shingles were stained with brown streaks and were weather-beaten. The dark window shutters were peeling. Several were missing.

  Two upstairs windows appeared to stare back at Cally like dark, unseeing eyes. The gutter at the side of the house was bent and hanging loose.

  Stained-glass windows on either side of the front door had once been beautiful. But now the panes of glass were faded and cracked. The pillar supporting the roof of the small porch tilted at an awkward angle and appeared about to topple.

  Cally swept her blond hair behind her slender shoulders. She felt a cold shiver run down her back.

  It’s such a beautiful, sunny day, she told herself, staring up through the thicket of trees. Yet no sunlight filters down to the house. No light at all. It’s nearly as dark as night in this yard. And the house is so cold and uninviting.

  “It’s going to take some work,” Mr. Frasier said suddenly, as if reading Cally’s gloomy thoughts. “But that’s why we got such a good deal on it.”

  “I think it’s cool!” James chimed in. He picked up a piece of gravel from the driveway and heaved it at a fat tree trunk. The stone made a loud thonk as it hit.

  “Get those worried expressions off your faces,” Mrs. Frasier said to Cally and Kody. “We’ll work on the house till it feels like home.” She raised her eyes to the overhanging trees. “First thing we’ll do is cut down some trees and let the light in.”

  “The house is haunted! I know it is!” Kody burst out all at once.

  Cally laughed. “You and your ghosts!” she said, rolling her eyes. “You thought our apartment was haunted too—remember? And it turned out to be a squirrel trapped in a wall.”

  “But this house is old!” Kody insisted. “Old and creepy. I’ve read so many books about haunted houses. One book said—”

  “You’ve really got to stop reading those books,” Mrs. Frasier murmured.

  “Lots of old houses are haunted by spirits of the people who used to live in them,” Kody continued, ignoring her mother. “Lots!”

  “But no one ever lived in this house!” Cally declared. “You’re going to be the first one to haunt it, Kody!” Cally stretched her hands straight out and let out a long, ghostlike wail. “Oooowooooooo!”

  “Give me a break,” Kody moaned. “You’re not funny, Cally. I get a little sick of you making fun of me all the time—you know?”

  Cally cut her ghost howl short, startled by Kody’s anger. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Really.”

  Cally never wanted to hurt her sister’s feelings. She knew that Kody was jealous of her in some ways.

  Cally is the pretty one. Cally is the funny one. Cally is the one with all the friends.

  Those were Kody’s complaints when she was feeling down, feeling sorry for herself. Cally always tried to encourage her sister, always tried to boost her spirits, to remind her of her own terrific qualities.

  “Maybe there’s a ghost in my room!” James exclaimed excitedly. “Then I’d have someone to talk to at night!”

  “Enough ghost talk. You guys are giving me the creeps,” Mr. Frasier said. He placed one hand on Cally’s shoulder and one hand on Kody’s shoulder and gently guided them back to the driveway. “Let’s start unpacking and go inside.”

  “Yeah!” James cried enthusiastically, following them to the U-Haul trailer hitched behind the car. “I want to see my new room. And I want to see where my game room is going to be. And I want to see where my dog is going to sleep!”

  “Whoa,” Mrs. Frasier said softly. “One thing at a time.”

  Mr. Frasier pulled the trailer door open. He handed Cally the first carton.

  “Hey, this is heavy!” Cally cried.

  “Be careful with it,” her mother warned. “It’s got our good china inside.”

  James stuck his foot out and pretended to try to trip Cally.

  “You’re a riot,” Cally told him, making a face at her brother. “Remind me to laugh later.”

  Walking unsteadily, both hands gripping the bottom of the heavy cardboard carton, Cally made her way toward the front door.

  “What do I get to carry? Give me something heavy too!” she heard her brother declare behind her on the driveway.

  Cally was nearly to the front door when she heard the loud cracking sound above her head.

  It sounded like dress fabric ripping. Only much louder.

  She looked up in time to see a heavy tree branch break off the tree.

  No time to scream.

  She dropped to her knees, and her hands shot up to cover her head.

  First the shadow from the branch fell over her.

  Then the branch itself plummeted—and landed with a shattering crash.

  Chapter 2

  Cally heard the shrill screams of her family.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. She sucked in a deep breath of cool damp air.

  She blinked. Once. Twice.

  Cally forced herself to take another breath. Then another. Until her breathing started to happen automatically.

  Gazing down, she saw that the crash had been the crash of china. When the branch fell, s
he had dropped the carton.

  She gazed at the branch. One end had caught on the porch roof. The porch roof had stopped it from falling on her.

  The roof, she saw, was damaged. The heavy branch had driven a hole right through it.

  The crash of china. The crunch of the branch through the shingled roof.

  Not her skull.

  I’m alive, Cally thought.

  She turned to her family. Her legs trembled. Her knees felt all rubbery. She didn’t know if she could stand.

  With cries of relief and joy, they had all surrounded her.

  Her mother wrapped her in a tight hug.

  “You’re okay? You’re okay?” her father repeated like a chant.

  They all stood still for a long time in the shade in front of the house. Stood gratefully. Glad to be alive.

  “You broke the china.” James’s accusing voice cut through the silence finally.

  Cally glanced down at her brother. He was bent over the open carton, shaking his head, studying the shattered contents of the box.

  Then suddenly they all began to talk at once.

  “What a great greeting!” Cally declared shakily. She stared at the fallen branch tilting out from the porch.

  Mr. Frasier made his way over to it and, with great effort, hoisted it off the roof and lowered it to the ground. “Now we have even more work to do,” he said, sighing. “Now we have to fix the porch.”

  Cally opened her mouth to say something—but stopped when the man appeared behind her father.

  The man stepped silently out of the darkness, his face almost all in shadow. His eyes fixed on Cally. And as he drew closer, she saw that he had the strangest smile on his face, a tense smile that appeared to be painted in place.

  “Hello. Everyone okay?” the man said in a thin, scratchy voice.

  Mr. Frasier spun around, startled. But his expression quickly softened. “Mr. Lurie? When did you arrive?” he asked.

  Mr. Lurie, Cally remembered, was the real estate agent. The man who had sold her parents this house.

  As he stepped over the fallen tree branch and made his way toward them, his smile didn’t waver. He was a short, wiry man dressed in an expensive-looking gray suit. He appeared to be fairly young, but his hair was white and cut very short, almost like brush bristles. He had round black eyes that remained locked on Cally.