Goosebumps the Movie

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  PICTURE SECTION

  COPYRIGHT

  I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that I was writing the introduction to this book. Behind me, someone murmured the strange words that bring Slappy, the evil dummy, to life: “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano.”

  I heard those frightening words in my dream, and I woke up shivering. I spun around, expecting the dummy with his cruel grin and cold stare to be standing there, ready to terrorize me. But … no sign of him.

  Luckily, nightmares like that don’t come true.

  The next morning, I had some good news. I hurried to tell my wife, Jane. “Jack Black is going to play ME in the Goosebumps movie,” I said. “Jack Black is hilarious!”

  Jane nodded.

  “He’s wonderful. He’s terrific! He’ll be a great ME!” I exclaimed, thumping the breakfast table with my fist.

  The dog looked up from her first nap of the day, wondering what the fuss was about.

  “I wonder how he’ll play me,” I said, my mind spinning. “Sophisticated, maybe? Darkly mysterious? An evil genius?”

  “Probably as a lunatic,” Jane said. “Or is that too real?”

  A few weeks later, Jack flew in to New York City, where I live, and we had lunch. We had a good conversation and a lot of laughs.

  “I know how I’m going to play you,” Jack told me over dessert. “I’m going to play you as you—only a lot more sinister.”

  That sounded right to me. In person, I’m not very sinister. An Ohio newspaper once wrote: “In person, R.L. Stine is about as scary as an optometrist.” I’m basically a jolly guy who likes to sit at a keyboard all day and write things to frighten children.

  I was delighted that Jack Black would star in the Goosebumps movie. And just as delighted when the three teenagers in the story were cast. Dylan Minnette, Odeya Rush, and Ryan Lee were all seventeen and extremely talented and nice. I had a lot of fun talking with them on the set in Atlanta, where the movie was filmed.

  Since the movie was announced, everyone asks me this question: Which book is the movie about?

  This was a difficult decision. And the question had to be answered before the movie could be written. Which story should the movie tell? Which evil character should star in the film?

  Should it be one of the Slappy the Dummy books? The Haunted Mask? Welcome to Horrorland? One of the Monster Blood tales? Dr. Maniac? Murder the Clown? Those nasty little lawn gnomes?

  I’ve written more than 125 Goosebumps books. So choosing one of them for the film was a hard decision, to say the least.

  Then the script-writing team had a brilliant idea: “Why should we base the movie on one book? Let’s try to squeeze as many of the Goosebumps characters into the story as we can.”

  And that’s just what happened.

  The writers set up a major challenge for themselves: Use dozens of monsters and villains and crazy creatures from the Goosebumps books. Create a story in which R.L. Stine and the teenagers have to battle just about every bad-news character ever to appear.

  Yes, all in one movie: the Abominable Snowman of Pasadena, the gigantic praying mantis from A Shocker on Shock Street, plus Slappy at his most cacklingest, zombies, staggering scarecrows, the Werewolf of Fever Swamp, and nasty lawn gnomes everywhere you look.

  How will these creatures ever be defeated and sent back to where they came from? Well … that’s what the film is all about.

  This book tells the whole story. It has all the scares and all the laughs—and all the surprises and startling twists—you’ll see in the movie. And you’ll also find …

  HEY! WAIT!

  What are you doing here? Slappy! Get away! Get out of here! Nightmares don’t come true! Slappy—please …

  THANKS FOR THE WARM WELCOME, R.L. I’M HAPPY TO SEE YOU, TOO. YOU KNOW WHAT R.L. STANDS FOR, DON’T YOU? REAL LOSER. HA-HA-HA.

  YOU’RE LOOKING GOOD, R.L. IS THAT YOUR NOSE, OR ARE YOU EATING A TOADSTOOL? I LIKE WHAT YOU DID WITH YOUR HAIR. AND NOTICE I SAID HAIR, NOT HAIRS! HA-HA-HA. YOU KNOW, I’VE SEEN BETTER SKIN ON AN ONION! HA-HA.

  ACTUALLY, I’M KIDDING. I THINK YOU’RE PRETTY. PRETTY UGLY! HA-HA-HA.

  DOES YOUR FACE HURT? IT’S KILLING ME! HA-HA-HA.

  BUT ENOUGH POLITE CONVERSATION: I JUST CAME TO TELL EVERYONE WHO THE REAL STAR OF THE MOVIE IS. LET ME GIVE YOU ALL A HINT. IT’S NOT SPELLED R.L. HA-HA-HA.

  ENJOY THIS BOOK, EVERYONE. I’M SURE YOU’LL LOVE FINDING OUT WHO THE REAL DUMMY IS!

  I never believed we would actually move away from New York City. Not when my mom put her arm around me and said, “Zach, we need a fresh start.” Not when she told me my aunt Lorraine lived in the perfect little town for us and had found her a great job. Not until we packed all our stuff into a U-Haul, hooked it up to the back of the station wagon, and drove away.

  Can you blame me? I mean, who ditches New York City to go live in some tiny, dead-end, drop-dead-boring town in the middle of nowhere?

  My mom, Gale Cooper, that’s who.

  And for some reason, she had to drag me along for the ride.

  My mom promised me I’d love Madison as soon as I saw it. Here’s what I saw as our car chugged across some rusty old bridge into town:

  A sign reading WELCOME TO MADISON, POPULATION 28,245.

  Translation: Welcome to Nowheresville, Population YOU.

  A cutesy little downtown with about four buildings and the same number of people.

  A strip of restaurants, including a noodle shop advertising “Sushi Wednesdays!” My stomach churned just thinking about what might pass for sushi here.

  My mom was gazing through the windshield all star-struck, like we were driving straight through Times Square. “You know what I love about this place? No franchises. That’s refreshing.”

  I slumped down in the passenger seat. “Did we go back in time when we crossed that bridge? Are we sure they have Wi-Fi?”

  “No, Zach, families just sit around and listen to the radio by candlelight.” My mom grinned.

  Very funny, Mom.

  “Are you positive there weren’t any other places looking for vice principals?” I asked. “Maybe Guantanamo Bay? North Korea?”

  She just laughed.

  We pulled up to a red light, right beside a Madison Township cop car. The two cops inside were fast asleep. This was clearly the kind of town where nothing ever happened, or I might have started to worry.

  Our new house was … pretty much a typical house. Yard, picket fence, welcome mat. I groaned. This was going to feel like living inside a sitcom.

  “Look, a yard!” my mom said. She’s even better at fake enthusiasm than she is at bad jokes. They must teach it at vice principal school. “You’d never have something like this in New York!”

  “Mom, you don’t have to keep
selling me on this place.” I hoisted one of the boxes out of the trunk. “I’m staying. Because I love you—”

  “Aww, honey, I love you.”

  “—and I looked into it,” I added, grinning. “Legally, I can’t live on my own until I’m eighteen.”

  She shook her head and went inside. I took a moment to look around, trying to bend my mind around it: This is your life.

  There was a flicker of movement in the next-door neighbor’s window. At least, I thought there was. But as soon as I turned to look, everything went still. There was no one there.

  Great. Spying neighbors. One more thing to love about small-town life. In New York City, you were never really alone—but you got really good at ignoring everyone around you, and they got good at ignoring you. Just the way I liked it.

  The inside of the house was pretty much what you’d expect from the outside. Sitcom-style suburban living.

  “Look at this kitchen!” my mom said, spinning in circles around the huge room. “It’s bigger than our old apartment.”

  She was right about that. It was huge. Every room in the house was huge compared to what I was used to.

  Waste of space, if you ask me.

  “We don’t cook,” I reminded her.

  “But look at all this counter space to put the takeout on!” Then she paused, cocking her ear to one side. “Do you hear that?”

  I listened hard. “Uh … I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  I knew what she meant. In New York, you were never far from the noise of sirens, trucks backing up, construction drills, cars honking, drivers shouting, doors slamming—people living, and doing it basically right on top of you. In Madison, there was nothing but chirping birds and a soft whisper of wind.

  So I got it. I just didn’t understand why she liked it.

  “Live, from New York …” a voice intoned behind me. I whirled around to see Aunt Lorraine, talking into her fist as if it were a microphone. “… it’s my sister, Gale, with special guest, my nephew, Zach!”

  “Hey, Aunt Lorraine.” I wondered if she’d notice if I inched backward a little. Aunt Lorraine was a cheek-pincher. “Nice to see you.”

  “Gale, he gets more handsome every time I see him,” she gushed. “So good-looking!”

  “Thanks, Aunt Lorraine.”

  Just to be clear: I’m not handsome. The only people who think I am good-looking are related to me.

  “Just a beautiful boy,” she said. “And let’s be honest, you were an ugly baby.”

  Uh … thanks?

  “Lorraine …” My mom shook her head.

  “It’s fine,” my aunt insisted. “He’s handsome now, and it’s not like he’s gonna go back to being ugly. Handsome isn’t a phase. No one goes ugly, handsome, then back to ugly. The danger’s passed.” She looked into the distance for a moment, and I could tell—from the way she wrinkled her nose—that she was remembering my baby pictures. “What an ugly baby.”

  “Yes, Aunt Lorraine, you bring that up every time you see me.”

  “Ooh, I almost forgot!” She rifled through her shopping bag and pulled out a Yankees cap. A bedazzled Yankees cap, glistening with the sparkle of a million plastic rhinestones. “From my new signature men’s line!”

  She slipped it onto my head.

  “Very … thoughtful,” my mom said. I could tell she was trying to not laugh. She gestured at me. “Say thank you.”

  There were a whole lot of things I wanted to say about that hat. Thank you wasn’t high on the list.

  “It’s a limited edition,” Aunt Lorraine said proudly. “You won’t see a lot of men wearing that hat.”

  “I can’t imagine I’ll see anyone wearing it,” I mumbled. “I’m, uh, going to go unload the car now.”

  I got out of there fast, leaving my mother and her sister to catch up. Maybe talk some more about how handsome I was these days. Especially in my sparkly new cap.

  I managed to stack about three boxes and make it halfway back up the driveway when I felt the bottom of the first box start to give way. Uh-oh. I snaked a hand underneath to prop it up, but that tilted the stack too far, and the top box started to slip, and then the whole stack teetered—

  And then I was standing amidst a heap of dented cardboard boxes. One of which busted open, spilling out a mountain of boxer shorts.

  Which was, of course, the perfect moment for the world’s most beautiful girl to poke her head out of the window next door and say hi.

  “So you’re the new neighbor,” the girl said, eyes not on me but on the boxer shorts.

  She was … wow. She had this long brown hair, all thick and wavy like from a shampoo commercial. And these bright blue eyes, the kind that made you want to write poems about the sky and the ocean and all that junk. If I were the kind of guy who wrote poems. Which, obviously, I am not.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, frantically piling my underwear back into the box.

  “How long was the drive from New York?”

  How did she know I was from New York?

  “I could tell from your pretty hat,” she explained.

  Oh. Right. The hat. The bedazzled, pink and purple, tackiness-hall-of-fame hat. I wanted to evaporate, right on the spot. Actually, I wanted the hat to evaporate. Or spontaneously combust. When that didn’t happen, I whipped it off my head and shoved it into my back pocket. “This was actually a gift from my aunt.”

  The girl had a smile like a cat. “It’s also a gift for me and everyone else who gets to see you wearing it.”

  Play it cool, I reminded myself … like I had ever, in my life, been cool. “Then you are welcome, girl-in-the-window. I’m Zach, by the way.”

  “I’m Hannah.” She looked over her shoulder then, all quick and nervous. “I gotta go.”

  Just like that, she was gone. And in her place? A middle-aged creeper with thick black glasses and a tight-fitting black suit. He looked kind of like a professor … if there were such a thing as a professor of weird.

  “Hi. We’re just moving in,” I said, figuring that was the kind of neighborly thing you said out in the sitcom suburbs.

  The guy just stared at me, no expression whatsoever. It was like his face was made out of wax.

  “Just me and my mom,” I added, then indicated the hat, in case that was throwing him off. “This hat was a gift.”

  Maybe the guy couldn’t talk? Or maybe this was like one of those creepy movies where the weird guy next door is a serial killer?

  Professor Weird raised an arm and pointed. “See that fence?”

  “Uh, yup?” Tough not to see it: black, high, wrought iron, running straight down the border between our houses.

  “Stay on your side of it,” he said. “Stay away from my daughter, stay away from me, and we won’t have any problems.” He slammed the window shut and pulled down the blinds. I could hear him turning what sounded like a lock.

  A big lock.

  And they say New Yorkers aren’t friendly!

  I got the boxes together again and headed back inside. Mom and Aunt Lorraine were already unpacking. I guess we really did live there now. “Just met our neighbor,” I told them. “What a sweet teddy bear.”

  “Mr. Shivers?” Lorraine brightened. “He moved to town a few years ago. Very mysterious, very sexy. I love his scent. It’s like this sensuous, sweaty pine tree.”

  “Not my type,” I told her, shuddering. Aunt Lorraine is great and all, but when she starts talking about sensuous pine trees, I kind of want to stick my finger down my throat and gag for a while.

  My mom ripped off the packing tape on another box and opened it up. She pulled out a wooden plaque that’d been sitting on top, and we all fell silent.

  Mom swallowed. “Oh.”

  It was a big, fancy plaque, with NEW YORK FIRE DEPARTMENT MEMORIAL spelled out in big, fancy letters.

  I hated the sight of it.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” she asked in That Voice, the wobbly one that said: I can keep it toge
ther, but only if you can.

  “Yeah, sorry.” I cleared my throat and made my face a total blank. I could hold it together for her, keep her from worrying about me. My dad would have wanted it that way. “I’m gonna go to my room and unpack. Knock it off my bucket list.”

  I got out of there before either of them could say anything that might make one of us cry. I hated crying.

  Plus, I’d done enough of that lately.

  See, here’s the thing about my mom and me. We’re doing a pretty good job of being just the two of us. But we both know that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be the three of us. Me, my mom, and my dad.

  Once I was safe in my new room, door shut behind me, I cued up the video on my dad’s old camcorder. The video I’ve watched more times than I would ever admit. There was my dad, all dressed up in uniform, getting a medal from the mayor.

  I was so proud of him that day. I wanted to climb up on the roof and shout it to the whole world: That’s my dad.

  I’d watched the video so many times, I knew the mayor’s speech by heart:

  “We have forgotten what the word hero means. It’s not about throwing the winning pass or being on the cover of a magazine. A true hero is someone who gives of themselves, who sacrifices, who throws themselves in harm’s way to protect others. Lieutenant Neal Cooper is one of those heroes.”

  Sometimes I worried I would never be able to live up to that, never be the kind of hero my dad was.

  Sometimes, though, I wished he hadn’t been quite so eager to throw himself in harm’s way for someone else. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a good hero, he would still be here for us.

  My mom swung the door open, and I quickly shut off the video. There was no reason for her to know how often I watched it. That would just make her worry, and these days, my mom worried enough.

  “You okay, honey?”

  “Just found some old baby pictures,” I told her, trying to sound cheerful. “I really did look like baby King Kong.”

  She bought it. I could tell from how the fake, tense smile on her face turned into a real one.

  That’s when I decided I really would try to make this whole move-to-nowhere thing work. For her. Now that my dad wasn’t around, it was up to me to make some sacrifices of my own.