Ghouls Gone Wild

  “Boys—please!” Mom shouted. “We don't want to give Mr. Grimmus the wrong idea about you two.”

  Dad glared angrily at me. “I'm warning you. No trouble,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Mr. Grimmus wasn't paying any attention to us. He had covered his nose with a checkered handkerchief. “Something rotten here,” he muttered. His eyes began to water.

  In the kitchen, I saw a package of spoiled, green meat fall out of the open freezer. It landed with a soft plop, and the shrink-wrap package broke open.

  “Uh, Mom …,” I started, pointing to the freezer.

  “Shhh. Enough out of you, Max,” Mom said. “Please be quiet and let us all enjoy our dinner.”

  Enjoy our dinner? How could we, with that disgusting, rank odor floating over the table?

  “Mom, please—”

  Why wouldn't she let me explain what was happening?

  I turned back to the kitchen.

  Another package of spoiled meat rolled out of the freezer. And then another.

  Plop. Plop.

  They landed on top of each other.

  The sour, stinging odor floated into the dining room, stronger now. My eyes began to water too.

  I held my hand over my mouth. I didn't want to puke.

  “How about those Yankees?” Dad said to Mr. Grimmus. “Do you believe they bought another All-Star pitcher?”

  Dad was trying to keep things going. But it wasn't going to work. The putrid smell was making us all choke.

  “Mom—” I tried again.

  But she hushed me with both hands.

  In the kitchen, I saw the gross, smelly meat burst from its packaging and make a big, disgusting pile on the kitchen floor.

  “Mom—?”

  I stared in shock as the pile of meat began to move. At first, I thought it was just toppling over. But then I saw the rancid green hunks squeezing together.

  They were forming one big glob of rotten meat.

  And then the pile heaved forward.

  I heard a sick squish as the meat raised itself, moving slowly, silently. The meat piled high, rising to form a shape.

  It looked like a snowman! A snowman made out of decayed, stinking meat.

  “Uh—uh—uh—” I tried to warn everyone. But I was in shock. No words would come out.

  The pile of meat shifted again. Shifted to form a new shape—a human shape with chunky legs and wobbly, trembling meat arms. It rose up as tall as me! And, with a sickening squish squish, it came lumbering toward the dining room.

  I turned, and behind Mr. Grimmus I saw Nicky and Tara enter the room. Tara had her big spell book under her arm.

  “I can't believe you did this!” I screamed. “I can't believe you brought the meat to life!”

  Mr. Grimmus leaped up from his chair. “Young man, are you talking to me?”

  The meat monster staggered into the dining room.

  “Stop it!” I screamed at Tara. “Make it stop!”

  “I … I don't know how,” she said.

  30

  MR. GRIMMUS WAS ON HIS FEET. His face turned even redder than before, and his mustache twitched. “Young man, what do you want me to stop?”

  “I wasn't talking to you,” I said. “I was talking to the meat!”

  “Max, please—” Mom said.

  But then Mr. Grimmus finally saw the huge meat monster plopping into the dining room. “Whoa!” He staggered back against the dining room wall.

  Dad saw it too. “Max, is this one of your tricks? I warned you!”

  “I didn't do it!” I screamed. “It was Tara. One of the ghosts.”

  Mr. Grimmus squinted at me. “Ghosts? Is that a ghost walking into the dining room?”

  I turned to Nicky and Tara. “Do something!”

  The rotten meat creature plopped up to the dining room table.

  I couldn't breathe. The sour stink was choking me.

  Colin jumped up from his seat, a sick expression on his face. He turned from the table, leaned over his chair, and began to retch noisily, barfing up his lamb chops onto the carpet.

  Mr. Grimmus stood pressed against the wall, frozen in wide-eyed horror. Mom and Dad hadn't moved. They stared at the meat monster as it squished and plopped toward them. They were so stunned, their faces were totally blank.

  And then I saw Tara hand the spell book to Nicky. She stepped forward, her eyes on the meat creature.

  “Go back,” she ordered it. “Go back. I created you. And now I'm ordering you to go back!”

  “Aaaagggggh.” Colin retched up more of his dinner.

  Mr. Grimmus’ face looked green too. He covered his mouth with his handkerchief.

  The meat monster waved its arms and staggered forward.

  “Go back! Back!” Tara shouted.

  “It—it isn't stopping!” I cried.

  I tried to jump out of the way, but I was too slow. The disgusting rotten meat creature leaped at me and wrapped its foul body around me.

  “Ohhhh.” The putrid odor swept over me. I staggered back, fighting hard, struggling to punch it, to shove it off me, to heave it away.

  But the horrible meat clung to me. The cold, chunky arms pressed around my waist. The creature smothered my face. Covered me in spoiled meat.

  Still twisting and squirming, I sank to my knees. “Can't…breathe …,” I choked out.

  I knew I didn't have much time. Holding my breath against the overpowering stink, I dove forward and knocked the meat monster to the floor.

  As it tightened its clammy hold around my waist, I dug my hands into it—and began frantically pulling out chunk after chunk of the disgusting green meat.

  Gasping for breath, I tore at its head. Ripped off one arm and flung it into the kitchen. Dug my hands in and grabbed away a big glob.

  Too late.

  Too late.

  I had no breath left.

  It rolled over. Rolled on top of me and covered my face.

  I lay on the floor. Gasping…gasping…My chest about to explode, I was too weak to move. Too weak to fight.

  31

  SPREADING ITSELF OVER ME, pressing down on my face, the meat creature gurgled and slurped.

  “Max—get up!” I heard Dad shouting. He sounded so far away.

  And then I heard another sound. A light thud of footsteps.

  I heard a growl. More footsteps.

  I turned and peered out from under the meat creature—and saw a big, furry animal bound heavily into the room.

  Buster!

  How did Buster get into the house?

  Buster barged into the kitchen. He raised his snout and sniffed the air hard. He lowered his head and saw the meat monster.

  Buster's mouth dropped open, and he bared his teeth.

  My heart pounding, I froze.

  And watched Buster attack.

  He leaped onto the meat creature and attacked it—devoured it.

  Buster snarled and dug his teeth in, chewed, and swallowed big hunks of the spoiled meat, swallowed them whole.

  He downed the whole rotten thing in seconds, just the way he had gobbled up my steak!

  Then he sat on his haunches, breathing hard, licking his chops, his big tail scraping the floor. He had bits of spoiled meat stuck to his snout. He licked furiously, enjoying every morsel.

  Still flat on my back, I slowly raised my head. “Hunh? Hunnh?” I tried to clear my throat. I had chunks of rotten meat in my hair and smeared on my cheeks and chin.

  Blinking hard, I saw Nicky and Tara. Tara gripped the spell book in her hands. “Sorry about that!” she called.

  “How could you do this to me?” I cried.

  Dad reached down and pulled me to my feet. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.

  “Uh…Buster,” I said. “I just wondered how he felt after eating twenty pounds of rotten meat.”

  Actually, Buster felt just fine. He was still licking his snout, wagging his tail happily. He kept looking up at the freezer. Waiting for more meat to fall out, I g
uess.

  I stood up and followed Dad back to the dining room. Mr. Grimmus pressed his handkerchief over his nose. With his free hand, he was buttoning his vest.

  “Thanks for a most…unusual dinner,” he said to Mom. He started brushing himself off frantically with the handkerchief. He mopped his forehead. Then he wiped his jacket, his vest.

  He hurried to the front door. “Oh, the smell,” he muttered to himself. “It's like I stepped in cattle plop with both feet. I'll never get it off me!”

  “Mr. Grimmus—are you leaving?” Dad cried in alarm. He hurried after him.

  “Of course I'm leaving!” Mr. Grimmus cried. “Meat coming to life? Do you really think I'm going to hire someone whose house smells like dead cattle and has meat coming to life in the kitchen?”

  “But—but—but—the job?” Dad sputtered.

  Mr. Grimmus turned at the front door. “Let me put it in the nicest way possible,” he said. “Don't ever cross my path again. And don't ever come to Texas!”

  He slammed the door behind him.

  Dad slumped back into the dining room. Colin was still sitting at the table. “Hey, Dad,” he said. “Does this mean I don't get my own gym?”

  32

  LATER IN MY ROOM, Nicky, Tara, and I celebrated with big glasses of Coke and a bowl of tortilla chips. I made sure that my door was closed so our party wouldn't be interrupted.

  “I'm not moving to Texas!” I cried, pumping my fists in the air.

  I couldn't control myself. I climbed onto my bed and started leaping up and down for joy. “No Texas! No Texas! Yaaaaay!”

  Tara grinned at me. “You're stuck with us, Max,” she said.

  I jumped up and down some more. My bed is an excellent trampoline. “You're my best friends,” I said. “I didn't really want to leave you.”

  Nicky climbed onto my bed and tried jumping up and down too. But he kept floating too high. His head was shooting right through the ceiling.

  Finally, we stopped. We slapped high fives and low fives all around.

  “That spell book really works,” Nicky said to Tara.

  She grinned. “Did you like my meat spell, Max?” she asked. “Am I a great magician? Bringing meat to life?”

  I stared at her. “Great magician? Are you kidding me? That meat thing almost killed me!”

  Tara's grin grew wider. “I guess we owe Buster one. I had no idea the meat creature I made would become so attached to you!”

  Nicky and I laughed at Tara's joke. But it wasn't funny. It had really been a close call.

  “That spell book is dangerous,” I said.

  “Well, the sour milk spell worked really well,” Nicky said. And then he covered his mouth. “Oops!”

  I grabbed at the front of his shirt. “Sour milk spell? You mean…you two did that?”

  Tara frowned at her brother. “Nicky, you blabbermouth. You weren't supposed to tell him.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You two did the milk bottle thing? And you dropped the pie on Mr. Marvin's head?”

  They stared back at me and didn't answer.

  “There were no ghouls in this house, were there!” I said. “It was you all along.”

  Again, they didn't answer. But their smiles gave them away.

  “We had to do it, Max,” Tara said finally. “We knew you'd be angry at us. But we didn't want you to leave.”

  I stared at them with my mouth open. “Well, that was a dirty trick. But…I'm home to stay,” I said.

  We partied some more. Then Nicky and Tara said good night and vanished.

  I heard a noise outside. A car? Was Mr. Grim-mus back?

  I stepped over to the window and peered down at the driveway. No. No car.

  I was about to turn away—when I saw a flash of black behind our tall evergreen hedge. I let out a gasp when the boy in black came into view.

  What was he doing out there?

  I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I had to find out who he was and what he wanted.

  I flew down the stairs, half sliding down the banister. I grabbed the knob to the front door—but changed my mind.

  I'll sneak up on him, I decided.

  I trotted to the kitchen and went out the back door. Then I crept around the side of the house, pressing myself against the wall, keeping out of sight.

  I stopped at the corner of the house and squinted into the front yard.

  Yes. He hadn't moved. He was hunched behind the hedge, gazing up at my bedroom window.

  “Don't move!” I shouted. I darted away from the house, running straight to the hedge. “Don't move!”

  To my surprise, the boy didn't run.

  Breathing hard, I stopped across from him, on the other side of the hedge. I stared hard at his face. He had smooth skin, like a boy. But his dark eyes seemed very old.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “Why are you watching me?”

  His face wrinkled as his expression turned to one of surprise. “Don't you know?” he asked. He had an old man's voice, hoarse and dry.

  “Know?” I cried. “Know what?”

  “Don't you understand?” he asked in his strange, raspy whisper. “They're going to kill you! They're going to kill you!”

  TO BE CONTINUED

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Robert Lawrence Stine's scary stories have made him one of the bestselling children's authors in history. “Kids like to be scared!” he says, and he has proved it by selling more than 300 million books. R.L. teamed up with Parachute Press to create Fear Street, the first and number one bestselling young adult horror series. He then went on to launch Goosebumps, the creepy bestselling series that gave kids chills all over the world and made him the number one children's author of all time (The Guinness Book of Records).

  R.L. Stine lives in Manhattan with his wife, Jane, their son, Matthew, and their dog, Nadine. He says he has never seen a ghost—but he's still looking!

  Be sure to check out the next book in the

  Mostly Ghostly series,

  Let's Get this party Haunted!

  A TERRIFYING SURPRISE PARTY …

  MAX'S BIRTHDAY PARTY WASN'T supposed to be a surprise. He'd planned it for weeks! He wanted to impress his friends—especially Traci Wayne, the girl he's a little nuts about.

  But when two ghosts live in your house, every party is a surprise party!

  Nicky and Tara—the two ghosts who live with Max—are angry that he didn't invite them. They decide to turn Max's party into a SCREAM!

  Poor Max has even bigger problems. He can't shake the frightening figure in black who is following him, watching his every move. And Max discovers a shocking secret about his new best friend!

  Happy haunted birthday, Max….

  MY NEW FRIEND, QUENTIN, came over to practice magic tricks. My party was only a few days away. I wanted to rehearse and rehearse until our act was perfect.

  After all, Traci Wayne was coming. I wasn't allowed to get near her. But this was my big chance to impress her.

  “Let me show you a hat trick that everyone loves,” Quentin said. “Do you have a real hat I could use?”

  I rubbed my chin, thinking hard. “No. I only have baseball caps,” I said. “Oh, wait. My dad has a really good hat he uses for weddings and funerals and things.”

  “Go get it,” Quentin said. “You'll like this trick.”

  I hesitated. “But it's my dad's only hat, and it's very expensive. You have to be very careful.”

  “No problem,” Quentin said. “The trick is perfectly safe. I've done it a thousand times.”

  I went down to my parents’ bedroom closet to borrow Dad's hat. He and Mom were in the den, watching wrestling on TV. They were both shouting at the screen: “Kill him! Kill! Kill! Break him in two!”

  They both love wrestling. But sometimes they get carried away. Last week after a big match, Mom jumped on Dad and started slapping his bald head with both hands. He had to pick her up and carry her into the shower to snap her out of it.

  I pulled D
ad's hat down from the top shelf. And I also borrowed one of his neckties. He only has three, but I don't think I've ever seen him wear one. I had learned a nifty new necktie trick that I knew Quentin would love.

  “Kill! Kill! Ruin him!” My parents’ shouts rang out from the den.

  Back in my room, I handed Quentin the hat. “What's the trick?” I asked. “Will it be good for the party?”

  He nodded. He pulled a few things from his magic kit. He held up two eggs. “I crack these two eggs into the hat,” he said. “Then I pour in this jar of honey. Then I turn the hat right side up, and it's perfectly dry.”

  I gulped. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Of course, I'm sure,” Quentin said. “It's an easy trick. Watch.”

  He pushed his blond hair off his forehead. Then he cracked the two eggs and let them run into the hat. Then he opened the honey jar, turned it upside down, and the honey slowly oozed into the hat with the egg yolks.

  “Say the magic words!” Quentin cried. “Hat be good!” He turned the hat over—and honey and yellow egg yolk came dripping out.

  “You—you ruined my dad's hat!” I wailed.

  Quentin squinted at the sticky mess inside the hat. “I don't get it. That trick always works.”

  My heart started leaping around in my chest. I shoved the hat under my bed. Later I'd have to figure out a good hiding place for it.

  “What's up with the necktie?” Quentin asked, picking up the tie and pulling it through his fingers.

  “Here's a good trick for the party,” I said. “And this one is totally safe.”

  I took the tie from him and picked up a pair of scissors. “See? I make it look like I've cut the tie into four pieces. But I don't really cut it. I cut this piece of cloth instead.”

  I pulled the cloth from my magic kit and tucked it under the tie. “Now watch,” I said. “It looks like I cut the tie up. But when I tug on it, it's all together again.”

  “Cool,” Quentin muttered.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I boomed, holding the tie in front of me. “The Amazing Indestructible Necktie!”

  I snipped it into four pieces. I balled the pieces up in my hand. And then I gave a hard tug. “Back together again!” I exclaimed.