I heard another low howl.
And then my phone rang.
So late at night?
I clicked it on. “Hello? Marnie?” I said. “What’s up? What’s the problem?”
“Well …” She hesitated. “Andy, I have a confession to make,” she said.
Outside, the dog howls sounded angry.
“Confession?” I asked. I pressed the phone to my ear. “Marnie, what are you talking about?”
“I … uh … I found the tooth in the driveway,” Marnie said. “Don’t kill me, okay?”
“You what? I cried.
“I found the tooth,” Marnie said. “I … couldn’t resist it. I took it back.”
I swallowed. I suddenly felt very cold. “You mean the Blue Kerlew Hound didn’t get its tooth?” I said in a weak cry.
“I guess not,” Marnie said. “I’m wearing the tooth. But I promise I’ll share, Andy. This time, I’ll share.”
How could I sleep? I sat straight up in bed, listening to the dog howl outside. The clock said it was two in the morning. But I was wide-awake.
Suddenly, I saw a bright green-yellow glow on the wall in front of me. It was coming from the top of my bookshelf.
“Huh?” Was I dreaming again? Going crazy?
Blinking into the shimmering light, I made my way across the room.
I stared at the little Horror. The toy Horror that the shopkeeper at HorrorLand had attached to my souvenir package. The green-yellow glow flared all around it.
I remembered what the old guy said. Jonathan Chiller. I remember he put the tooth in a box. And wrapped the box in ribbon. And attached the little Horror to the ribbon.
And then he said, “Take a little Horror home with you.”
And now the Horror was suddenly glowing on my bookshelf. Glowing like a candle.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I was drawn to it. Pulled …
Pulled into its gleaming light.
Surrounded by the shimmering green-yellow flames. They swept around me. Lifting me from my room. Pulling me … pulling me into their strange fire.
“No!” I uttered a cry. I realized instantly I was no longer at home.
My eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw shelf after shelf of weird objects, gifts and souvenirs.
I was back in the little shop. Back in Chiller House.
And Jonathan Chiller stood in front of me with a grin on his face. Not a friendly grin. It was somehow cold and menacing.
“H-how did I get back here?” I choked out.
He didn’t answer my question. Instead, he pushed the little square spectacles back on his pointed nose. Then he said, “Welcome back, Andy.”
“But — why?” I cried. “Why am I here?”
“It’s payback time,” Chiller replied in his croaky old man voice. “Time to pay for your gift.”
“Excuse me?”
“Time for you to pay me back for all the fun you’ve had with your wishing tooth.”
“But — but —” I sputtered. “I didn’t have any fun!”
Chiller’s smile tightened against his pale face. “Don’t worry, Andy,” he whispered. “The fun is just beginning! MY kind of fun!”
Let me start out by saying that I love animals. And I’m desperate to have a pet of my own.
I’m so desperate, I even enjoyed petting the werewolves in the Werewolf Petting Zoo at HorrorLand Theme Park.
Yes, there is a big pen outside Werewolf Village. You go inside, and you can pet the werewolves, rub their bellies, and scratch their furry backs.
A big sign says: JUST DON’T PUT YOUR HAND IN THEIR MOUTHS.
Pretty good advice.
Should I back up and tell you who I am and stuff like that? Sometimes, I get so psyched about animals I forget to do anything else.
My name is Sam Waters. I’m twelve, and so is my friend Lexi Blake. Lexi and I spent a week at HorrorLand, and we had some good, scary fun. Especially since our parents let us wander off on our own.
Lexi is tall and blond and kind of chirpy and giggly and very enthusiastic. I guess she comes on a little strong, but I’m used to her. We’ve been friends since we were three.
I’m not exactly the quiet type, either. My parents say that sometimes when Lexi and I get together, we’re like chattering magpies. I’ve never seen a magpie, so I don’t really know what they are talking about. I keep meaning to Google magpies. Maybe they make good pets.
I’m shorter than Lexi. Actually, I’m one of the shortest guys in the sixth grade. But I could still have a growth spurt, right?
I have short black hair and dark eyes, and my two front teeth poke out a little when I smile, just like my little brother, Noah.
Bunny teeth, Dad calls them. And then I always say, “Could I have a bunny for a pet?” He’s so sick of me asking, he usually doesn’t even answer. Just makes a groaning noise.
Anyway, it was a hot, sunny summer afternoon. Lexi and I walked out of the Werewolf Petting Zoo into the crowded park.
“Those werewolves were totally gross,” Lexi said, wiping her hands on the sides of her dark green shorts. “Their fur was sticky, like they were sweating or something.”
“I don’t think wolves sweat,” I said. “I think the bristles on their fur feel sticky because — HEY!”
Lexi pulled me out of the way of a rolling food cart. The side of the cart said: FAST FOOD. A green-and-purple Horror was chasing after it.
“They couldn’t be real werewolves,” Lexi said. “But they didn’t look like regular wolves — did they?”
“They had human eyes,” I said. “I mean … the way those werewolves looked at us. Like they were smarter than animals. And their fangs were longer than wolf fangs.”
Lexi shivered. “You’re creeping me out, Sam.” She crinkled up her face. “They sure smelled like animals. Yuck. I can’t get the smell out of my nose. They stunk!”
I pinched my nose. “Are you sure it was the werewolves?”
She grabbed the park map from my hand and smacked me on the shoulder with it. We wrestled around a little.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m hungry. Hungry enough to bite a werewolf!”
She snapped her teeth at me a few times. I had to push her away. “Down, girl! Down!”
I grabbed the map away from her. “Let’s see where we are. There’s probably a restaurant somewhere….”
I unfolded the map and raised it to my face. The sun was so bright, I needed to squint to read it.
“Let me help,” Lexi said. She tugged at the map — too hard — and ripped it in half. She burst out laughing. “Hey — I don’t know my own strength!”
“Please don’t help me,” I groaned. “You’re always trying to help me.”
“What’s the big deal, Sam?” she said. “You read your half and I’ll read my half.”
“We don’t have to read the map,” I told her. I pointed. “Look. That’s a little restaurant right there.”
We crossed the wide path and peeked into the open door. It was a lunch-counter place. Round red stools in front of a long yellow counter.
I read the sign beside the door. THE SPEAR-IT CAFÉ: IF YOU CAN SPEAR IT, YOU CAN EAT IT!
“Huh?” I read the sign again. “What does that mean? This doesn’t sound too good.”
“I don’t care,” Lexi said. She grabbed me around the waist and pushed me inside. “I’m starving. We’re eating here.”
I stumbled into the little restaurant. We took seats at the end of the counter.
And that’s when all the trouble began.
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.
Copyright © 2010 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, January 2010
e-ISBN 978-0-545-30117-6
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.
R. L. Stine, When the Ghost Dog Howls
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