Aaron greeted me at the door and led me to his room. He closed the door behind us. “Shhhh.” He put a finger to his lips. “I brought home a jar of honey.”
I squinted at him. “Honey? Why?”
“I'm going to pour it into my sister's bed,” he whispered.
“Why?” I asked.
“Revenge,” he said.
Aaron spends a big part of every day getting revenge on his six-year-old sister, Kaytlin.
Aaron giggled. “Tonight she'll climb into bed. She won't see the honey till it's too late. She'll be sticky for the rest of her life.” He giggled some more.
“I came over to tell you something,” I said.
“Shhhh. Not now,” he whispered. “I'll show you the jar of honey.” He grabbed his backpack and pulled it open.
His mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged. He let out a groan. “Oh, noooo.”
I peered into the backpack. The lid had come off the jar. The thick, sticky honey had spilled all over Aaron's books and binders.
“Ruined,” Aaron moaned. “I'm ruined.” He dropped the soaked textbook into the backpack. “Kaytlin did this!” he cried, shaking a fist. “She did this. This means war!”
“But, Aaron, I need to tell you something,” I said.
He tossed the backpack down and flew out the door. I followed him to the kitchen. He pulled open a food cabinet and began shoving jars and bottles out of his way.
“Here it is,” he said. He held up a jar. “Honey. We haven't lost. This war is just beginning.”
“We?”
He pulled off the lid and tossed it aside. Then he ran past me with the jar raised in front of him. His eyes were wild.
I followed him back down the long hall. He stopped at his sister's room and peeked in. “She's not home,” he said. “Come on.” He tiptoed to Kaytlin's dresser. He slid open the top drawer. He giggled. “It's her underwear drawer. Check it out.”
I tried again. “Aaron, I really have to tell you something.”
But he motioned for me to hush. Then he held the honey jar over the drawer and tipped it upside down. Slowly, slowly, the thick gloop started to pour out, onto Kaytlin's underpants.
Aaron moved the jar slowly back and forth. He had covered two rows of underpants when his mother stepped into the room.
“Aaron? What on earth are you doing?” she asked.
Aaron turned around, the jar still over the drawer. “Uh … nothing,” he said.
“You are going to be doing nothing for a long, long time,” she said. “Because you are grounded for life.”
“Not again,” Aaron said.
So I had to leave. I didn't have a chance to tell Aaron my sad news. I decided I'd e-mail him when I got home.
The sun had gone down. Dark storm clouds hung low in the sky. The wind howled around me as I started to walk the two blocks to my house.
I kept my head down and walked with my hands in my pockets. How did it suddenly get so cold?
I'd only gone past a few houses when I heard a scraping sound behind me.
I spun around. Was someone there?
I saw a blur of motion. Something moved behind a low hedge. I shrugged and started walking again. But now I was listening carefully.
And again, I heard a scrape. A few soft thuds. The sounds of footsteps.
Someone was definitely following me.
I stopped. And the sounds behind me stopped, too.
I spun around again. Hard to see anything in this pitch-black night.
The dark clouds seemed to lower over me. The wind howled, shaking the trees.
A chill tightened the back of my neck.
I heard a cough. From behind a nearby pine tree.
“Aaron?” I called, shouting over the wind. “Hey—Aaron? Is that you?”
A head poked out from behind the tree.
I squinted through the heavy darkness, trying to see the face.
A boy?
He stepped away from the tree. Yes. A boy. Dressed all in black. Creepy.
He took a few steps toward me. His face was hidden in shadow.
I turned and started to run. I could hear his pounding footsteps. He was chasing me! What did he want? I didn't stop to find out. Gasping for breath, I forced myself to run harder.
I ducked my head as large raindrops began to patter down. The sidewalk ended. I darted across the street. Only half a block to go.
I heard the boy's footsteps on the pavement behind me. He was catching up. Leaning forward, I tried to lay on more speed.
And then I let out a cry as my shoes slid out from under me. No way to stop myself. I fell hard. Fell facedown. Into a deep muddy trench.
“Owww!” I landed hard. Gasping, choking, I struggled to my knees. And stared up at the boy in black, faceless, his head covered in darkness.
“Who are you?” I cried. “What do you want?”
Silence. He didn't move. The only sounds now were my wheezing breaths and the hard patter of raindrops all around.
And then finally, the boy whispered, whispered in a low, hoarse voice, “I'm watching …. I'm watching ….”
Excerpt from Ghouls Gone Wild copyright © 2005
by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
Published by
Delacorte Press
an imprint of
Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Published by
Delacorte Press
an imprint of
Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Copyright © 2005 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except
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eISBN: 978-0-307-53775-1
January 2005
v3.0
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