Stinetinglers--All New Stories by the Master of Scary Tales

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  To Dylan and Mia

  INTRODUCTION

  READERS, BEWARE. I wrote these new stories to give you a chill.

  You know. That tingle you get at the back of your neck when you begin to feel afraid. Your skin turns cold and the little hairs stand on end. Your heart pumps and your teeth begin to chatter.

  That tingling feeling when …

  * * *

  You think someone evil is watching you …

  You don’t know where you are or how to find your way home …

  The terrifying howls are coming from your basement …

  You can’t stop yourself from becoming a creature you don’t recognize …

  The darkness surrounds you and there’s no way out …

  * * *

  We all enjoy a good scare when we know the story isn’t true. The stories in this book couldn’t happen to you—could they?

  I wrote them to take you to a Stinetingling world just beyond the real world … a world of shadows and fright and startling twists and surprises.

  I hope these stories bring you to a place where the cold tingle becomes a SCREAM!

  —R. L. Stine

  WELCOME TO THE IN-BETWEEN

  Have you ever felt that time has stopped moving? A long, long day in school. And every time you look up at the clock, it seems it hasn’t moved at all. There are still hours to go!

  I remember the intense pain of Christmas Eve, waiting for morning, for it to be late enough to open presents. Checking the clock beside my bed again and again—and the clock had barely moved.

  I’ve written lots of stories about going back in time. But this is the first story I ever wrote about being stuck in time.

  “Gabe, promise you won’t be late,” my friend Carver said. He slapped my hockey stick with his. We were shooting a puck back and forth on Willmore Pond. The pond was frozen hard, and the ice was slick and smooth. It was a cold December afternoon, and I shivered under three layers of sweaters and a parka.

  “Promise,” I said. I swung my stick hard and sent the puck sliding past him. Carver spun around to chase after it and nearly fell off his skates.

  He’s a better skater than I am. He’s on the Blazers, our middle school hockey team.

  I’m not on any team. I’m not really into sports. But Carver likes to go on the ice with me. I guess because it makes him feel like a superstar.

  “You always promise, and you’re always late,” he said. He circled the puck and sent it back to me. “You’re late for everything, Gabe, and I get tired of waiting for you.”

  “I think I’m getting one of those smart watches for Christmas,” I said. “That should help.”

  The puck slid into the snow at the edge of the pond, and we both went after it. My breath steamed in front of me. I was getting a real workout.

  “Know what?” Carver said. “It’s bad news having my birthday on the day before Christmas. No one ever remembers or makes a fuss.” He tapped the puck back onto the ice.

  “But you’re having a party—” I started.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe my parents actually remembered I wanted a birthday party,” Carver replied. “So it’s special, see. Please don’t come late.”

  I raised my gloved right hand. “I swear I’ll be early. Trust me. If I’m late, I’ll eat this puck.”

  Carver grinned. “I’m going to remember that. Do you want it with ketchup or mustard?”

  * * *

  At home, I found Mom and Dad in the den, watching a reality show on Netflix about an octopus. “I never knew an octopus could have a personality,” Dad said.

  “Maybe we need a small one for the aquarium,” Mom said.

  “I don’t think there are any small ones,” Dad said.

  They were so into the octopus show they didn’t even see me in the doorway. “Can I talk to you?” I said.

  They both turned. “You should watch this, Gabe,” Dad said. “You’d learn a lot about undersea life.”

  “I learn about undersea life on SpongeBob,” I replied.

  They both laughed. They think I’m a riot.

  I stepped in front of the TV. “Listen, I need a present for Carver,” I told them.

  Mom squinted at me through her glasses. “A Christmas present?”

  “No. A birthday present. His birthday party is tomorrow afternoon.”

  They both shook their heads and frowned at me. “Why did you wait till the last minute?” Dad asked.

  “Why are you always late, Gabe?” Mom added. She glanced at the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the den. “It’s after six. All the stores will be closed.”

  “Well, can we go right after breakfast tomorrow?” I asked. “I really need to get him something.”

  “No way. Who has a birthday on Christmas Eve?” Dad asked.

  “It wasn’t his choice,” I said.

  They both laughed at that, too.

  “We can go shopping tomorrow morning,” Mom said. “Do you know what you want to buy him?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Maybe a hockey jersey or something. He’s really into hockey.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Mom said. “But you should have thought of it sooner so we wouldn’t have to go shopping on the day before Christmas.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I need to start planning in advance.” I turned to leave the den. “You know what? I’m going up to my room to work on my book report right now, even though school is on winter break.”

  I climbed the stairs to my room. I didn’t tell them that my book report was over a week late. I also hadn’t finished reading the book. But I thought I could write the report anyway.

  We have a long hall upstairs. There are four bedrooms up here. Mine is down at the end. I stopped halfway, in front of the guest room. The room was small with bright yellow wallpaper, a bed and a dresser, and one chair.

  We were expecting my cousins from Michigan to come for Christmas. But my uncle got sick and they had to cancel. So, the guest room was empty.

  But I had a good reason to stop there. The guest room closet was where my parents always hid my Christmas presents. Always the same closet. They didn’t know that I knew.

  Should I sneak in and take a peek? Why was I asking the question? It’s what I do every year.

  I turned toward the stairway and listened. My parents hadn’t moved from the den and their octopus movie. I took a deep breath and plunged into the guest room.

  The closet was long and narrow. A ceiling light flashed on when I slid open the door. The closet held some old winter coats and a pile of beat-up sneakers. I could see a bunch of wrapped presents down on the floor against the back wall.

  Ducking under the coats, I dropped to my knees to examine the gifts. The first box I picked up was long and pretty heavy. Did the
y buy me a new PlayStation? I shook it. No. It felt like clothes.

  I set it back down and picked up a few more boxes. I raised a thin rectangular box wrapped in silver paper. It was very light. Maybe Bluetooth earbuds?

  It was getting warm in the closet. Or was it just me? I listened hard. I didn’t hear anyone approaching. Working fast, I tore open the wrapping paper.

  “Yes!” I whispered. “They bought it for me!”

  A smart watch. I unfolded the wristband and studied it. Awesome!

  This was the coolest! Now I could send texts and make calls and do all kinds of amazing things right on my watch.

  I couldn’t resist. I had to try it on. My hand was actually shaking as I wrapped the red plastic band around my wrist and fastened it. I raised it to my face and read the dial: 6:10.

  Now I’ll never be late, I told myself. Because I’m never taking this watch off.

  I gasped when I heard a soft thud and then a scraping sound. Footsteps? One of my parents was climbing the stairs.

  I had to put the watch back in the wrapping paper and get out of the closet. But a wave of panic swept over me. I couldn’t breathe. I tugged the watch off, tugged harder than I should have.

  The watch slipped from my hand. Hit the hard closet floor. Bounced. And hit again.

  I let out a cry as I heard a cracking sound.

  Oh no! The dial shattered. The battery flew out onto the floor.

  I’m going to be caught! I thought, my heart suddenly pounding. How can I ever explain?

  I grabbed the broken watch off the floor and jammed it into my jeans pocket. It took three tries to fumble my fingers around the tiny battery. I shoved it into my pocket, too.

  I scrambled from the closet. Crept out into the hall. No one there. Whew. I ran back to my room and closed the door.

  * * *

  I dropped down in front of my laptop and tried to start my book report. I was writing about a book of Greek myths and legends. The stories were pretty awesome. I’d read almost half the book, enough to write a good report.

  But my heart was still fluttering from my close call. And I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about the broken watch. How would I ever explain it to my parents?

  I couldn’t tell them the truth. That I’ve been sneaking looks at my Christmas presents since I was seven. But I couldn’t think of a good explanation for how the watch got messed up.

  Maybe if I wrapped it up again and put it back with the other presents? Then I could open it on Christmas morning and everyone would think the watch had arrived broken from the store?

  It just might work. Or maybe not. I was so excited to see the watch, I tore the gift wrapping. I couldn’t make it look like new if I tried.

  Thinking about this terrible problem, I didn’t get a single sentence of my book report written. And now, I was yawning and my eyelids felt heavy.

  It must be late, I thought. I climbed up from my desk and walked downstairs to say good night.

  I was surprised to find my parents still in the den. An octopus uncurled its tentacles on the TV screen. They turned as I stepped into the room.

  I yawned. “I got a good start on my book report,” I told them. “But I started to get tired. Just wanted to say good night.”

  They both blinked. Dad’s mouth dropped open. “Gabe, since when do you go to bed before dinner?” he said.

  “Dinner?” I turned my eyes to the grandfather clock against the wall. It read 6:10.

  But how could that be?

  “You have time to finish your report,” Mom said. “I’m not going to start dinner until this octopus show is over. It should be around seven.”

  I yawned again. Something was weird here, but I was too sleepy to think about it clearly.

  “If you’re sleepy,” Dad said, “go upstairs and take a nap. We’ll wake you in time for dinner. It’s your favorite tonight. My homemade pizza with hot dogs on it.”

  “Awesome,” I said. On the TV, a man was feeding something to the octopus.

  I climbed back upstairs and lay down on top of my bed. I fell asleep very quickly, a deep, dreamless sleep. I’m not sure how long I was out. When I woke up, the sky outside my window was still evening gray.

  I felt rested. So I sat back down at my keyboard and started to write the book report. I wrote quickly, my fingers tapping away. Writing is easy for me, I guess, because I enjoy it. I almost never have to struggle to write reports and essays.

  I worked for maybe an hour. I kept stopping, listening for my parents to call me to dinner. I stood up when I realized my stomach was growling. I was seriously hungry.

  I hurried down the stairs, taking them two at a time. My parents were still on the couch in the den. “Is it dinnertime?” I called from the doorway. “I’m starving!”

  “Too early,” Dad said. He kept his eyes on the underwater scene on the TV. “I’m going to put the pizza in the oven when this is over at seven.”

  “Huh? Seven?” I turned to the big clock in the corner of the den. It read 6:10.

  No way.

  “I think that clock stopped,” I said.

  “No, it didn’t.” Mom glanced at the phone she held in her lap. “The clock is right. It’s six ten.”

  “Do you want to watch with us, Gabe?” Dad asked. “This is the best part. The octopus is starting to understand some words.”

  “Uh … no thanks,” I said.

  My brain was spinning. I hauled myself back up to my room, sat down on the edge of my bed, and texted Carver. What time is it?

  My phone rang two seconds later. “Is that a joke?” Carver asked. “Why are you asking me what time it is?”

  “Just answer the question,” I said. “I think my phone is—”

  “It’s six ten,” Carver said. “What time did you think it was?”

  “Well, I have a little problem,” I started. “You see—”

  “I can’t talk,” Carver interrupted. “We’re having supper. My parents are trying to grab my phone. I’m not allowed to use it at the table.”

  “Okay. Sorry,” I said. “See you at your party tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be late,” Carver said. Then he clicked off.

  “Late?” I said to myself. “How can I be on time if I never get past six ten at night?”

  I tugged the smart watch from my pocket and sat down at my desk to study it. Did I somehow stop time when I accidentally smashed the watch? What a weird thought. Of course, something like that only happens in scary TV shows and movies.

  I squinted at the watch in the bright light from my desk lamp. The screen had a jagged crack across it. It looked like a bolt of lightning. The time stood in orange numbers against a black background: 6:10.

  I shook the watch. I raised it above my head and shook it some more.

  The numbers didn’t change. Under the cracked lens, the watch still read 6:10. I tried pushing the tiny buttons on the side. Then I shook it some more.

  6:10.

  “This isn’t happening,” I told myself.

  I had an idea. I’ll go to sleep. I’ll sleep for hours. When I wake up, it will have to be later. It will be breakfast time, and everything will return to normal.

  I tucked the broken watch back into my jeans pocket. Then I pulled on my pajamas and tucked myself into bed.

  I’m not sure how long I slept, but it had to be several hours. I dreamed that Carver and I were being chased down the street by an octopus. We tried to fight it off with hockey sticks. But the octopus just kept on coming.

  The dream stayed in my mind as I made my way downstairs to breakfast.

  A cold feeling of dread made me stop at the doorway to the den. Mom and Dad sat on the couch watching an octopus swirling around underwater.

  “Time for breakfast?” I asked in a tiny voice.

  They both turned toward me and laughed. “Are you being funny, Gabe? Why are you in your pajamas? We haven’t had dinner yet. It’s only ten after six.”

  “Are you totally confused?” Dad
asked.

  “Maybe,” I replied. I squinted at them. “Didn’t I come down here a couple of times already and ask you what time it was?”

  “No,” Mom answered. “You didn’t. Are you trying to play some kind of joke on us?”

  “Why are you acting weird?” Dad demanded. “Just because Christmas is the day after tomorrow?”

  I sighed. Maybe Christmas will never come.

  I suddenly felt dizzy, kind of woozy, like an octopus was swimming in my brain. I made my way to the front closet and grabbed my down jacket. Then I crept out of the house, closing the door silently behind me.

  I needed to think. I needed fresh air. A burst of cold air made me shiver. I zipped my jacket to the top. A pale full moon was rising in the gray sky.

  I didn’t pay any attention to where I was walking. Cars rumbled past. I saw some people just getting home from work in time for dinner. I passed the empty lot at the end of the block and kept walking.

  I kept thinking that maybe, if I took a really long walk, the time would move again and it would be dinnertime when I returned home. The truth is, I didn’t know what to think.

  I started to run. Maybe I could outrun time.

  I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. But how could I?

  I found myself at the playground in front of the elementary school. How far did I run? My heart was pounding and my legs throbbed.

  Two large dogs were growling and grunting, having fun wrestling and jumping on each other near the soccer field. No one else around. I plopped down on a playground swing and waited to catch my breath.

  I started to reach into my pocket for the watch—when everything went dark. I mean, it was like someone turned off all the lights. I gazed up at the sky, which was a solid black now. The pale full moon had vanished.

  I blinked a few times, waiting for my eyes to adjust. After a few seconds the trees and houses across the street came into view, black against the charcoal sky.

  It took me a while to realize I was no longer alone.