by R. L. Stine
These kids must think I’m a total jerk, I told myself. That Horror Byron gave me something important, and I just tossed it in the trash.
The Horror climbed behind the wheel, and the truck rumbled away. We stood there watching it go.
“Now what do we do?” Sheena asked. “We were so close.”
“I … I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“We can’t stand here feeling sorry for ourselves,” Abby said.
“Abby is right,” Carly Beth agreed. “There are eight of us, right? We should be able to think of something. Let’s get out of here — right now.”
“But how?” Billy asked. “We can’t just walk out the front exit.”
Matt’s dark eyes flashed. A smile crossed his face. “Why can’t we?” he cried. “Hey — why can’t we walk out the front exit? That’s totally brilliant!”
He slapped Billy on the back.
Billy frowned at him. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m not joking,” Matt said. “We just walk out the front gate the way we came in. No problem.”
“I don’t think so,” Carly Beth said. “The Horrors … they’ve tried very hard to keep us here.”
“But three kids have already escaped HorrorLand!” Robby said. “Molly and Britney and Michael. They escaped to the other park — right?”
“We don’t really know where those three kids are,” Sabrina said. “Maybe they’re in the other park. Maybe they’re not.”
I glanced across Zombie Plaza. Two MP’s in their black-and-orange uniforms were leaning against the wall of a souvenir store called GUTS ’N’ STUFF.
Were they watching us?
Carly Beth spotted them, too. I saw her shiver.
“Listen, guys,” she said. “We’re not going to feel safe until we’re out of this park. So I think we should head to the front gate and check it out.”
“She’s right,” Matt agreed. “We’ve got to give it a try. Maybe we can sneak out.”
“For sure,” Billy said. “We can think up a way to distract the guards. And then we can run through the exit and keep running.”
“I’ll bet our cell phones will work outside the park,” Abby said. “We can call our parents. We can call for help.”
Everyone started talking at once. Some kids didn’t believe they’d even let us get to the front gate. But we all agreed it was worth a try.
We began walking quickly. Away from the plaza, along the side of our hotel, then along the curving path that led to the exit gate.
I kept glancing back to see if the MP’s were following us. I didn’t see them.
It was early afternoon. The exit gate wasn’t crowded. Most people were staying till evening.
As we walked closer, I saw four exit turnstiles. A sign with a big arrow read: SURVIVORS — THIS WAY.
There were two small booths next to the turnstiles. One of them was empty. A Horror sat in the other one, reading a magazine.
My heart began to race. My hands were suddenly ice-cold. I knew the others were really tense, too.
“Come on. Keep walking, everyone,” Carly Beth whispered.
We stepped past the Horror in his booth and approached the turnstiles.
“Eyes straight ahead,” Carly Beth whispered. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Let’s go. We’re out of here!”
I held my breath. We all kept walking. Matt reached the turnstile first. He raised his hands to push his way out.
And behind us in the booth, the Horror shouted: “Hey, you kids — STOP RIGHT THERE!”
Caught.
Matt groaned and dropped back from the turnstile. “I knew this was too easy,” he muttered.
We turned as the Horror came hurrying over to us. He was huge and powerful-looking, with a big belly that bounced in front of him as he ran.
He had purple fur all over his body. Purple, spiky hair. Long, dark horns that stood straight up on his head. His eyes were red and angry.
“Wait right there!” he boomed. “Don’t anybody move!”
So close, I thought. We came so close.
I could see the rows of cars in the big parking lot on the other side of the turnstiles.
The Horror bulled his way in front of us. He was using his big body to block us from the exit. His hands were balled into fists at his sides.
His name tag was covered up by his fur, so I couldn’t read his name.
I took a step back. My heart raced even faster. This dude was scary!
“Are you leaving?” he boomed. His voice rumbled from his belly, like thunder.
“Do you think we allow people to escape from HorrorLand alive?” he demanded.
We stared at him in silence.
Then he laughed. “Just joking,” he said. He slapped Billy on the back. “I think I really scared you! Ha!”
“I … I …” Billy couldn’t get any words out.
The Horror pulled a small, square object from his uniform pocket. “If you are leaving,” he said, “better let me stamp your hand. You know. In case you want to return.”
Stamp our hands?
My mouth dropped open. The others were in shock, too.
We lined up. The Horror took a wooden stamp, rubbed it on his purple ink pad. Then he stamped a purple H on our right hands.
“Hope you had a HORRIFYING time!” he said.
Matt didn’t hesitate. He pushed through the turnstile. On the other side, he started to trot to the parking lot.
Carly Beth followed him out. Sabrina was right behind her.
One by one, all eight of us pushed our way out through the turnstile.
I was the last one out of the park. As I stepped into the parking lot, I turned back to see if the Horror was watching us.
No. He had returned to his booth.
We kept close together as we made our way down an aisle of parked cars.
When we were out of sight of the exit booth, Billy leaped into the air. “Awesome!” he shouted. “Awesome!” He and his sister, Sheena, pumped their fists in the air, then touched knuckles.
We all burst out laughing. It was such a relief!
Carly Beth had a huge grin on her face. “I don’t believe it!” she cried. “We’re out! We made it! That was so easy!”
The hot sun beamed down on us. The rows and rows of cars gleamed in the sunlight.
Matt glanced all around. Then he turned back to us. “Now what?” he asked.
I fumbled in my backpack for my cell phone. I pulled it out and flipped it open.
I shook my head. I held the phone up so the others could see. “No service,” I muttered.
Robby stared at his phone. “I don’t have any bars, either. Guess we have to move farther away from the park,” he said.
Matt slapped his hand on a car roof. “Where is everyone? Maybe we can get someone to give us a lift to the nearest town.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Then we can — oh!” I let out a sharp cry. I felt kind of weird. Kind of fluttery.
My right hand started to itch really bad. I started to scratch it. That didn’t help.
I squinted at the back of my hand. “Oh, no!” I screamed. “Look!”
I held my hand up. “The purple H that Horror stamped! It’s GROWING!” I cried.
I stared in shock. I couldn’t believe it!
The lines of the H were growing longer, spreading over the back of my hand.
“Oh, wow! Mine, too!” Sabrina gasped.
“Mine, too!”
“Ohhhhh, it itches! It really itches!”
In seconds, we all began scratching the backs of our hands. Staring in horror as the purple lines grew longer.
And then … and then … the lines began to sprout. Like slender purple weeds.
They popped off the skin and stretched right off our hands.
I grabbed at mine. I wrapped my fingers around the growing, stretching strings — and gave a hard tug to pull them off.
“OUCH!” I screamed. They were attached to my hand. Stuck into my skin.
Like jungle vines, they reached up, growing faster. Growing fatter.
“It’s like SNAKES!” I cried. “It’s like snakes growing right out of my hand!”
The purple tendrils twisted in the air, rising higher. Like they were reaching up toward the sun.
“Help! Oh, help!”
“I can’t pull it off! OUCH!”
I tried snapping my hand back and forth. I tried tugging at the tendrils again.
But they were as strong as electrical cords — and stretching fast.
We were all screaming and thrashing our hands around, trying to fight the growing vines. But there was no way to stop them.
They grew so fast! The tendrils snaking from my hand were at least six feet long now!
They stood up high. Then lowered themselves quickly. And began to wrap around me. They wrapped around and around me — tightening like elastic.
Tightening … tightening …
“HELP!”
“SOMEBODY!”
We were all screaming now. Trying to squirm out from under the thick vines growing from our own hands.
They wrapped around my body … climbed higher … stretched around my head now. So hard to see.
I realized the vines were tying us together … all eight of us … trapped inside their tight net.
Holding us … holding us down …
Couldn’t move. So hard to breathe. Tightening … tightening around us …
Is someone going to help us?
Are we going to suffocate out here?
Is this … the END?
You know that jumpy kind of feeling when you just can’t keep still? You want to hop around or run really fast or do a crazy dance?
That’s the feeling I had as I climbed onto the camp bus. Yeah, my sister, Heather, and I were totally psyched.
We love summer camp. We love being outdoors and hanging out with other kids — and no parents around. Heather and I are really into animals and learning about bugs and snakes and all kinds of creatures.
We have two rabbits we keep in a pen behind our garage. And we have a hamster and an old box turtle and two dogs — Rusty and Max — one for each of us, although they both like Heather better than me.
Camp Hither is supposed to be an excellent wilderness camp. At least, that’s what Mom and Dad said. So yes, Heather and I were excited.
My little sister — I’m twelve and she’s ten — had only one complaint. “I’m always away from home for my birthday,” she said. “So I can never have a birthday party.”
“So?” I said. “Who told you to be born in the summer?”
She gave me that cold stare she always gives me, with her eyes half closed and her mouth all twisted. “Boone, give me a ding-dong break.”
That’s one of her favorite expressions. She heard it from our grandmother. Mom and Dad think she’s a riot. I don’t really get it. Who talks like that who isn’t, like, eighty years old?
Heather doesn’t look like she’s in the same family as me. I’m tall and thin. I have short, straight black hair and dark brown eyes.
I’m a jumpy kind of dude. I mean, I’ve got a lot of energy. It’s hard to sit still. I’m always tapping my fingers on something or bopping around.
Dad says I’m the original Energizer Bunny. Ha-ha. Why does everyone in my family think they’re a comedian?
Heather has very curly hair and green eyes. She’s about a foot shorter than me, and a little chubby. I’d never tell her that. I mean, I learned my lesson.
Once I was kind of angry, and I called her Chubs. I know. It was dumb.
She gave me a really hard punch in the stomach. Which I still think about. I walked around bent over, looking like the number seven, for about a week.
Heather likes to punch people. She thinks she’s so cute, she can get away with it.
She’s very strange. She likes to wear all kinds of bracelets and rings and sparkly things and dangly plastic earrings.
I told her no one else in her class wears that stuff. And she stuck her tongue out at me and made a loud spitting noise.
Anyway, we heaved our bags into the luggage compartment of the yellow camp bus. Then we said good-bye to Mom and Dad, with hugs all around.
Heather gave me a push toward the bus door. I told you, she’s always pushing and punching me. She’s totally dangerous.
I climbed the three steps onto the bus. It took a while for my eyes to adjust. I could see a lot of kids were already on board.
Heather followed me as I started down the narrow aisle to the back. And I heard the bus driver mutter, “Two more victims.” Then he shut the door.
What did he mean by that?
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.
Goosebumps HorrorLand #8: Say Cheese — and Die Screaming!
copyright © 2009 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, March 2009
e-ISBN 978-0-545-84042-2
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.
