The Boy Who Ate Fear Street

  “What curse?” Kevin asked.

  “The curse your Aunt Sylvie put on me!” I cried.

  “Sam, you really are crazy!” Lissa shrieked.

  “No, I’m not!”

  I told Kevin and Lissa about eating the sponges. I reminded Kevin about the paste and the weird shocks. I told them how I wanted to eat Fred’s dog food.

  I told them about talking so fast yesterday, I couldn’t even understand myself.

  I told them that I ate fleas.

  “And it all started after Aunt Sylvie put those black flakes in my rice pudding,” I finished. “I was fine before that. Perfectly fine.”

  “Fleas! You ate fleas!” Lissa gagged. “That’s disgusting.”

  “But we all ate the rice pudding,” Kevin said. “Nothing weird happened to us.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I reminded him. “I was the only one who tasted the rice pudding. Then Aunt Sylvie poured the black flakes down the drain. Remember—she wouldn’t even taste them. She just threw them out. Then everyone ate ice cream.”

  “Why would Aunt Sylvie put a curse on you?” Kevin demanded.

  “Because she doesn’t like picky eaters!” I exclaimed.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lissa declared.

  “Then how would you explain what’s been happening to me?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not Aunt Sylvie’s fault,” she replied.

  “It is!” I insisted, totally frustrated. “Aunt Sylvie put a curse on me. You’ve got to believe me.” I banged my hand on the table hard.

  “Look, Sam. You cut yourself,” Kevin said, gazing down at my hand.

  “I don’t care about my hand!” I shouted. “I’m under a curse!”

  “Look at your hand, Sam!” Kevin exclaimed.

  “Look!” Lissa said, her eyes growing wider and wider.

  I gazed down at my hand.

  Blood oozed from the cut and dripped onto the table.

  A thick stream of blood.

  Bright blue blood.

  16

  “Blue blood!” I shrieked. “I have blue blood!”

  “Is—is it real?” Lissa stammered.

  “Of course it’s real!” I shouted. I grabbed a napkin from the table and pressed it to my hand. The napkin soaked up the blood and turned bright blue instantly.

  “Why—why is it blue?” she asked.

  “I don’t know why it’s blue,” I cried. “Something made it blue—or someone.”

  I lifted the napkin from my hand and a thick stream of blue blood squirted from the cut. It splattered all over Lissa’s light yellow T-shirt.

  “Ewww!” She jumped back. “Wipe it off me!”

  Kevin grabbed a napkin and tried to blot the blood from Lissa’s shirt.

  “Now do you believe me?” I asked. “Something weird is going on. Something really weird! And it started after I ate those black flakes.”

  “I can’t believe this is Aunt Sylvie’s fault,” Lissa argued. “She would never hurt anyone.”

  Kevin agreed. “But I bet she can figure out what’s wrong with you,” he said. “She knows all kinds of cool things.”

  Right, I thought. Like how to poison someone.

  I glanced down at my hand. Fresh blood dripped from the cut. Fresh blue blood.

  “I’m going home!” I told them. “I have to find my parents and tell them what’s been going on. I have to tell them before it’s too late.”

  I wrapped another napkin around the cut and ran all the way home.

  “Mom! Mom!” I called from the front door. “Come quick.”

  Fred trotted over to greet me. He sniffed at my bandaged hand and backed away.

  “Mom! Where are you? I need you.”

  My mother wasn’t home.

  I raced into the kitchen to find Dad’s telephone number at work. I called his office, but the man who answered the phone said Dad was out to lunch.

  What am I going to do now?

  I don’t know where Mom is. Or when she’ll be back. I can’t wait for Dad to come back from lunch—I don’t know how long someone can live with blue blood.

  A doctor! That’s it—I’ll call a doctor.

  I searched through Mom’s phone book.

  I skimmed every single page.

  But I couldn’t find the name of a single doctor—except for Dr. Stone, Fred’s veterinarian.

  Should I go to the vet?

  Yes. I had no other choice.

  I dashed out of the house and ran right into Kevin and Lissa.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “We came to help you,” Kevin said. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to see Dr. Stone,” I said.

  “Where’s Fred?” Lissa asked, searching for Fred.

  “I’m—I’m not taking Fred. I’m going for—me.”

  “You’re going to a veterinarian!” Lissa cried. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I don’t know what else to do!” I shouted. “Mom’s not home. Dad’s at lunch. I can’t find the name of a regular doctor. And my blood is still blue!” I held up my hand and showed them the dried blue blood.

  “No way!” Kevin protested. “You are not going to a vet. You are coming with us.”

  “I am not going home with you!” I declared.

  “Something is wrong with you, Sam,” Lissa said. “And Aunt Sylvie will know what to do.”

  “She’s done enough!” I yelled.

  “What if we sneak into her room and search through her stuff. See if we can find anything about a black-flake curse,” Kevin suggested, rolling his eyes.

  I thought about that for a moment.

  Maybe that made sense.

  Maybe we could find a cure in her room for the curse.

  Dr. Stone probably wouldn’t know anything about the black-flake curse.

  “Okay.” I gave in. “But I don’t want her to know I’m there. We have to sneak into the house.”

  Kevin and Lissa agreed.

  As we walked along Fear Street, I noticed a tall maple tree a few houses from the corner—in the Knowltons’ front yard.

  I’d never seen such a tall tree before. Its branches towered over all the houses around it.

  “How long has that tree been there?” I asked.

  “Probably about a million years,” Lissa said.

  I stared up at the tree. At its red and gold leaves as they floated to the ground. “I wonder why I never noticed it before.”

  “Why would anyone notice a maple tree?” Kevin said. “They all look alike.”

  “How could you miss that tree?” Lissa declared. “It must be thirty feet tall.”

  I stopped at the Knowltons’ gate. I pushed it open and walked into their front yard. I gazed down at the ground.

  “Sam, what are you staring at?” Kevin asked.

  “The leaves,” I replied. “They look so delicious.”

  I sank to my knees—and began stuffing the red and gold leaves into my mouth.

  I grabbed handful after handful from the ground. I stuffed my mouth full with leaves. They tasted drier than sand, but I couldn’t stop.

  “Sam!” Kevin shouted. “Get up!”

  “We have to stop him, Kevin,” Lissa wailed. “We have to do something!”

  Kevin and Lissa each grabbed one of my arms. They tried to tug me away from the leaves.

  “Let me go!” I shouted. “I have to eat these leaves!”

  Lissa grabbed my head in one of her karate holds and yanked me back.

  “Please, just one more leaf,” I begged. “Just one more.”

  “Don’t believe him, Lissa,” Kevin shouted. “I’ve seen him eat paste. Once he starts, he can’t stop. If you let him go, he’ll eat every tree on Fear Street!”

  Lissa and Kevin dragged me back to the sidewalk.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Thanks. I’m okay now,” I told them.

  “Boy, you really do need help,” Lissa said, shaking her head. “That was
disgusting, Sam. Really disgusting.”

  I picked a leaf out from between my teeth. “I know,” I moaned.

  We walked a few steps—right by my front door.

  I thought about Aunt Sylvie.

  About her mocking laugh. Her evil chant.

  I decided to go home.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Kevin pulled me back. “We’re going to my house, remember?”

  Kevin tugged me past my house. We walked by Mrs. Kowalski’s front lawn—and I took a dive. Right into her flower garden.

  “Sam, please. No more leaves!” Lissa cried.

  Not leaves, Lissa. Dirt. Dark, rich, wet dirt.

  I threw myself to the ground.

  I didn’t even bother scooping up the dirt with my hands.

  I lowered my head to the ground—and licked it up with my tongue.

  Delicious dirt.

  “Oh, noooo,” I heard Lissa moan.

  I paid no attention.

  I buried my head in the dirt and lapped it up.

  My eye caught a chrysanthemum. A pretty yellow mum. I snapped its stalk and shoved the flower into my mouth.

  And then I spotted a worm. A big, juicy worm.

  I opened my mouth and dangled it over my waiting tongue.

  I dropped it in. I felt its slimy body slither across my teeth.

  I bit into it.

  Mmmmm. So moist. So tasty.

  I reached down into the soil for another one—and everything went black.

  17

  “Hey! What’s going on?” I cried, kicking my arms and legs.

  “Hold still, Sam,” Lissa demanded. “It’s just my jacket over your head. It’s the only way we could get you to stop.”

  I touched the top of my head, feeling for Lissa’s jacket. Yes, that’s what it was. She was telling the truth.

  Kevin and Lissa guided me down the sidewalk, block after block, with Lissa’s jacket over my head.

  “Are you okay in there, Sam?” Lissa asked.

  “No. I am not okay. Take this thing off my head! Now!”

  “I don’t think we should, Sam,” Kevin said. “If we do, we’ll lose control over you. Sorry.”

  I guess I couldn’t blame them.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Anyway, with this jacket over my head I don’t feel like eating dirt anymore. I guess if I can’t see it, I don’t want to eat it.”

  I couldn’t wait to get to the Sullivans’ house. I needed a drink of water badly—to wash away the horrible, sour-worm-juice taste in my mouth.

  Worm juice.

  Ugh.

  I can’t believe I bit into a worm.

  We have to find a clue in Aunt Sylvie’s room, I prayed. We have to!

  “Okay, Sam!” Lissa whisked the jacket from my head. I blinked in the bright light of the Sullivans’ hallway.

  I caught my reflection in the hall mirror. My hair was matted with mud. Dirt streaked across my cheeks, my nose, my lips. What a mess!

  “Anybody home?” Kevin called out.

  “What are you doing?” I clamped my dirty hand over his mouth. “I told you—I don’t want Aunt Sylvie to know I’m here.”

  Kevin yanked my hand away. “Hey, relax. I just wanted to make sure she was gone, that’s all.”

  Aunt Sylvie didn’t answer.

  No one did.

  “Come on.” Kevin motioned us toward the steps. “Let’s go up to Aunt Sylvie’s room.”

  Aunt Sylvie’s room was exactly as I remembered it. The mat where she slept rested in the middle of the floor. The ancient wooden medicine mask and the Indian dream catcher still hung on the wall. Crystals in every hue and tint lined the dresser.

  “Where should we look first?” I asked.

  “The books,” Kevin suggested. “Maybe that’s where we’ll find out what happened to you.”

  I gazed around the room. “I don’t see any books.”

  “In here,” Kevin said, opening the door to Aunt Sylvie’s closet.

  Kevin snapped on the closet light. Rows and rows of bookshelves lined the closet walls.

  I grabbed a few books from a shelf. “Come on, let’s start reading.” I handed one book to Kevin and one to Lissa. “Maybe we can find the black-flake curse in one of these.”

  Kevin read the title of his book. “You Don’t Have to Whisper—How to Talk to the Dead.”

  Then Lissa read hers. “Herbs and Berries.”

  Mine said The Magic of Spices. “Hey! I bet I can find out what’s wrong with me in this one!” I exclaimed.

  I eagerly flipped through the pages. But all I found were recipes for one kind of ailment or another. Nagging backache, clogged sinuses, hacking cough. You name it, this book had a cure for it.

  I knew I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in there. The book explained how to make people better—not what made people sick.

  Kevin and Lissa searched through the bookshelves. “Do you see any books on poisons?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Lissa called out.

  “Well, keep looking!” I pleaded.

  I wandered around the room searching for a clue.

  I gazed up at the wooden mask.

  A medicine mask from an ancient mountain tribe.

  I remembered what Kevin and Lissa had told me about it. They said it was supposed to drive germs right out of a sick person’s body.

  But how did it work? Did the sick person wear it? Or did a witch doctor have to wear it and say some weird chant?

  I didn’t know—but I decided to try it. Maybe it could help me.

  I carefully lifted the mask from the wall.

  I slipped it over my face—and waited.

  I could see out of the eyeholes. And I was breathing through a hole for the mouth.

  I didn’t feel any different.

  With the mask over my face, I continued to roam around the room. I ran my fingers over the dream catcher’s feathers, over Aunt Sylvie’s crystals, over a jar of face cream that sat on the dresser.

  I unscrewed the lid and dipped my fingers into the pure white cream. Then I licked my fingers.

  Mmmm. So smooth. So good.

  I scooped out a bigger glob and ate that.

  “Ahhhh!” Lissa screamed.

  Kevin whirled around to face me. “It’s just Sam wearing a mask, Lissa. Get a grip.”

  “It’s not the mask, you jerk,” she yelled. “He’s eating Aunt Sylvie’s face cream.”

  Lissa and Kevin threw the coat over my head. “Let’s get him out of here before he finishes the jar,” Kevin said.

  They dragged me from Aunt Sylvie’s room. They pulled me along the hall and down the stairs. When they reached the kitchen, they let me go.

  I threw the coat off.

  “Aunt Sylvie’s going to be mad now,” Kevin said. “Very mad.”

  “Yeah,” Lissa agreed. “That cream is two hundred years old. She told us it contains ancient powers for long-lasting beauty. And it was her last jar.”

  “Her only jar,” Kevin corrected his sister.

  “How can you worry about her jar of face cream?” I yelled. “Your aunt is evil. She put a curse on me!”

  But Lissa wasn’t listening. She gazed over my shoulder—at something out the back door.

  I turned and scanned the garden.

  Flowers, trees, shrubs, a wooden bench.

  Then I saw her. Aunt Sylvie.

  Lissa grabbed my hand. “You have to tell Aunt Sylvie what’s going on. She can help you!” she pleaded.

  “NO!” I declared. “Never.”

  Lissa and Kevin dragged me out the back door—and I gasped.

  Aunt Sylvie sat on the ground, cross-legged, with her eyes closed.

  Six black snakes slithered around her neck, her arms, her legs.

  I watched in horror as they twisted along her body, their long, pointed tongues darting in and out.

  Aunt Sylvie swayed back and forth, in a deep trance.

  “Ondu . . . ondu . . . ondu,” she chanted.

  She wave
d her hands over a big iron kettle that bubbled over with a dark brown liquid.

  Then she lifted a wooden mask from the ground. A mask with black lips twisted into a sickening leer. She placed it over her face.

  “She’s a witch doctor!” I cried.

  “Aunt—Aunt Sylvie,” Lissa stammered. “Are you a witch doctor?”

  Aunt Sylvie slowly removed the mask from her face.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  She leveled a steady gaze at us.

  “Yes, dear, I am.”

  18

  Aunt Sylvie slowly rose to her feet—as though some strange power we couldn’t see lifted her up. Singing softly to her snakes, she swayed back and forth on her heels.

  The snakes around her arms slithered across her body.

  Aunt Sylvie gently stroked them. “Odru kan toka,” she crooned to them.

  The snake around her neck waved its head in the air. Its tongue darted in and out. Aunt Sylvie kissed the top of its head.

  “Odum ruba kantan,” she chanted softly. “Odum ruba kantan haroo.”

  “Wh-what are you saying?” Lissa stammered.

  “Shhhh!” Aunt Sylvie whispered, placing a finger on her lips. “You’ll break the spell.”

  Aunt Sylvie carefully unwrapped the snakes from her arms and legs and set them down in a tank behind her. The snake around her neck remained coiled around her neck.

  “Okay, children.” She turned toward us. “Now you can ask your questions.”

  “Wh-what language were you speaking?” Kevin asked.

  “The language of all witch doctors.” Aunt Sylvie smiled and kissed the snake on the top of its head once more.

  Then she moved toward me slowly.

  “Sam, would you like to meet Rabia Wan?” she asked, petting the snake. “I don’t believe you’ve met her yet.”

  Aunt Sylvie walked closer to me. Closer. Until she stood only inches away.

  The she grabbed the snake—and thrust it into my face. Its fanged tongue darted out, barely missing my cheek.

  I leaped away and screamed.

  “I see you’re still a bit nervous, Sam.” Aunt Sylvie laughed. “Are your hands still shaking? Perhaps I need to say another chant.”

  “Don’t touch me!” I backed away. “Don’t come near me!”

  “Are you really a witch doctor?” Lissa asked.

  “Of course I’m not a witch doctor.” Aunt Sylvie laughed louder this time. “But the tribe I lived with in Brazil thought I was. They loved my snake-charming act. Too bad Sam doesn’t. Sorry if I frightened you, Sam.”