The Dare Read online

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  A Deadly Call

  “Hello, Johanna?” a boy’s voice said.

  “Yes. Who’s this?” I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “It’s Dennis. Dennis Arthur.”

  I nearly gasped into the phone. I was so startled. Dennis was calling me?

  “Hi, Dennis,” I managed to choke out. “You’re back from vacation?”

  “Yeah. This morning,” he replied. And then he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Hey, Johanna,” he murmured, “are you ready to kill Mr. Northwood?”

  Books by R.L. Stine

  Fear Street

  ALL-NIGHT PARTY

  BAD DREAMS

  THE BEST FRIEND

  THE BEST FRIEND 2: SPECIAL EDITION

  THE BOY NEXT DOOR

  THE CHEATER

  COLLEGE WEEKEND

  THE CONFESSION

  THE DARE

  DEAD END

  DOUBLE DATE

  THE FACE

  FINAL GRADE

  THE FIRE GAME

  FIRST DATE

  HALLOWEEN PARTY

  HAUNTED

  INTO THE DARK

  KILLER’S KISS

  THE KNIFE

  LET’S PARTY

  LIGHTS OUT

  THE MIND READER

  MISSING

  THE NEW BOY

  THE NEW GIRL

  NIGHT GAMES

  ONE EVIL SUMMER

  THE OVERNIGHT

  THE PERFECT DATE

  THE PROM QUEEN

  THE RICH GIRL

  THE RUNAWAY

  SECRET ADMIRER

  THE SECRET BEDROOM

  SKI WEEKEND

  THE SLEEPWALKER

  THE STEPSISTER

  THE STEPSISTER 2

  SUNBURN

  THE SURPRISE PARTY

  SWITCHED

  THE THRILL CLUB

  TRAPPED

  TRUTH OR DARE

  WHAT HOLLY HEARD

  WHO KILLED THE HOMECOMING QUEEN?

  THE WRONG NUMBER

  WRONG NUMBER 2

  Fear Park

  THE FIRST SCREAM

  THE LOUDEST SCREAM

  THE LAST SCREAM

  Fear Street Cheerleaders

  THE FIRST EVIL

  THE SECOND EVIL

  THE THIRD EVIL

  THE NEW EVIL

  CHEERLEADERS: THE EVIL LIVES! (A Fear Street Superchiller)

  Fear Street Duet

  FEAR HALL: THE BEGINNING

  FEAR HALL: THE CONCLUSION

  Fear Street Trilogies

  The Cataluna Chronicles

  THE EVIL MOON #1

  THE DARK SECRET #2

  THE DEADLY FIRE #3

  99 Fear Street: The House of Evil

  THE FIRST HORROR

  THE SECOND HORROR

  THE THIRD HORROR

  Fear Street Saga

  THE BETRAYAL #1

  THE SECRET #2

  THE BURNING #3

  THE AWAKENING EVIL

  CHILDREN OF FEAR

  DANCE OF DEATH

  DAUGHTERS OF SILENCE

  FORBIDDEN SECRETS

  HEART OF THE HUNTER

  THE HIDDEN EVIL

  HOUSE OF WHISPERS

  THE SIGN OF FEAR

  A NEW FEAR

  Fear Street Super Chillers

  BAD MOONLIGHT

  BROKEN HEARTS

  THE DEAD LIFEGUARD

  GOODNIGHT KISS

  GOODNIGHT KISS 2

  HIGH TIDE

  THE NEW YEAR’S PARTY

  PARTY SUMMER

  SILENT NIGHT

  SILENT NIGHT #2

  SILENT NIGHT #3

  Other novels

  HOW I BROKE UP WITH ERNIE

  PHONE CALLS

  CURTAINS

  BROKEN DATE

  The Dare

  R.L.STINE

  SIMON PULSE

  New York London Totronto Sydney

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Simon Pulse edition July 2004

  Text copyright © 1994 by Parachute Press, Inc.

  Originally published as an Archway Paperback in February 1994

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6

  ISBN-13: 978-0-671-73870-9

  ISBN-10: 0-671-73870-4

  eISBN 978-1-439-12045-3

  FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.

  The Dare

  prologue

  Am I really doing this?

  The question repeated in my mind as I made my way across the backyard.

  The pistol in my hand felt hot, as if it were about to burst into flame.

  Am I really doing this?

  Do I really have a loaded pistol in my hand?

  Am I really going to use it?

  Johanna Wise, murderer.

  Is that how I will be known from now on?

  “She was always a quiet girl. Rather mousy.” That’s how the neighbors will describe me in the newspaper. “She lived with her divorced mother. They didn’t have much money. Johanna never seemed to have many friends. But she always had a nice smile for everyone. Who would ever guess?”

  Who would ever guess that Johanna Wise was a murderer?

  Or maybe I’m not.

  Maybe I’m not creeping across to the next yard to kill my teacher.

  I mean, would I really kill my teacher just because of a stupid dare?

  Maybe this is just another one of my fantasies.

  I have so many violent fantasies these days. I imagine so many frightening things.

  Maybe this is another fantasy.

  My stomach really hurts. This is the worst stomachache I’ve ever had.

  My hand is sweating.

  I’m really afraid.

  Am I really doing this?

  Yes. I am.

  I’m raising the pistol.

  I’m squeezing the trigger.

  Once I kill him, I’ll feel so much better.

  chapter 1

  I guess it started weeks ago at the 7-Eleven. The one at the end of Mission Street, way past the mall.

  It was a little after eight o’clock. A cold, clear night. I remember thinking the stars overhead looked a little like snowflakes.

  My best friend, Margaret Rivers, and I drove to the 7-Eleven in Margaret’s little white Geo to get hot dogs. Believe it or not, that was my dinner.

  You see, Mom’s been working two jobs ever since she and Dad got divorced. She works late every night. Sometimes I don’t see her for days. I can’t remember the last time the two of us sat down to have dinner together.

  So Margaret and I were at the front counter, ordering hot dogs. I was starving. Everyone thi
nks I don’t eat much, because I’m so skinny, but that just isn’t true.

  Margaret and I don’t look like we have a thing in common. But maybe that’s why we’re such good friends. I’m short and very thin. I’ve got long, straight black hair—my best feature—and dark brown eyes. My nose is too pointy, and I hate the cleft in my chin—but that’s another story.

  Margaret is nearly a head taller than I am and kind of chunky. She’s still trying to lose her baby fat—that’s what she always says. She has curly carrot-colored hair and a face full of freckles. She isn’t very pretty, but she’s a great friend and she can always make me laugh.

  This winter, after my parents’ divorce and all, I really needed a friend who could make me laugh. I’ve always had a tendency to look on the dark side.

  You know how people can see a glass of water, and some will say it’s half full and someone else will say it’s half empty? Well, I’m the kind of person who will say the glass is half empty and cracked, and who cares about a stupid glass of water anyway?

  I get depressed a lot. I admit it.

  That’s why it’s so great to have a close friend like Margaret Rivers.

  Margaret and I may not have the coolest clothes or drive the best cars. We’re both totally broke most of the time, but we manage to have fun sometimes, even in a little town like Shadyside.

  “We’re out of mustard,” the salesclerk at the 7-Eleven said, holding our two hot dogs out to me over the counter. He was a middle-aged man, balding in front, his stomach bulging under his green knit shirt.

  “I guess we’ll have them plain,” I told him.

  “I guess,” he muttered. He handed over the hot dogs, then threw two more raw dogs on the machine.

  “Hey, Johanna—look.” Margaret held her hot dog in one hand. She nudged me with the other hand.

  I followed her gaze to the back of the store.

  I heard laughing and loud voices, and then I saw a bunch of kids I recognized. “What are they doing here?” I whispered to Margaret.

  There were five kids back there around the Slurpy machine. I didn’t know any of them very well—they’re seniors and Margaret and I are juniors—but I recognized them right away because Margaret and I have been taking some senior classes.

  They were just about the wealthiest kids at Shadyside High. I was sure all five of them lived in North Hills, the ritziest part of town. You know. Enormous houses. Well-kept lawns. Tall hedges to keep riffraff like Margaret and me from getting too close.

  They were laughing a lot and shoving one another, knocking the Slurpy cups on the floor. You know, just goofing on each other, having fun.

  I saw Dennis Arthur and his girlfriend, Caitlin Munroe. I like Dennis. We’re in advanced math together, and he let me copy from his paper during a test once.

  He’s a pretty good guy. And really great-looking. He’s got short black hair and green eyes. He’s the star of the Shadyside track team, and he really looks like an athlete.

  A girl named Melody Dawson was there too. She’s a real stuck-up snob. She was kidding around with Lanny Barnes and Zack Hamilton.

  Zack is a big guy, built like a wrestler. He has curly red hair and wears bright blue sunglasses day and night. He was bragging in class about how he’s related to one of the Founding Fathers, Alexander Hamilton. Maybe it’s true. I don’t know.

  And do I care? No.

  I took a bite of my hot dog. It was cold. Margaret and I watched the five kids, trying to look like we weren’t watching them.

  “I dare you,” I heard one of them say. I think it was Lanny.

  “I double-dare you!” one of them shot back.

  Dennis started to pour some of the purple Slurpy stuff into a cup, and Lanny punched the cup out of his hand. The purple slush poured onto Dennis’s white sneakers.

  “Hey—!” Dennis playfully punched Lanny on the shoulder.

  Then Lanny poured a big glob of slush into his hand and shook hands with Dennis.

  Margaret and I had to laugh. I mean, it was really funny. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the store clerk had an angry scowl on his face. He was getting really steamed.

  The Slurpy fight was getting a little wild.

  Caitlin and Melody were splashing cups of purple slush at each other. A big glob fell onto Melody’s head and trickled down her perfect blond hair.

  Dennis started laughing a high-pitched hyena laugh. But he stopped when Zack and Lanny both dumped cups of the purple stuff down the front of his maroon and gray Shadyside High jacket.

  The five kids were slipping and sliding now. The floor was covered with puddles of purple slush. Lanny went down. He hit the floor and slid onto his back. And then Zack sprawled on top of him. Dennis let out that high-pitched laugh again.

  Everyone was laughing. Margaret and me too. It was such a riot.

  “Stop it right now! I’ll call the cops! I really will!”

  The clerk’s angry shout made everyone stop laughing. I turned and saw that his face was nearly as purple as the Slurpy slush, and the veins were bulging at the sides of his neck. It looked like his head was going to explode. Really.

  At the back of the store, Lanny had climbed to his feet. But Zack was still sprawled on the floor. The Slurpy machine was running. The purple slush poured out in a thick stream onto the linoleum.

  Dennis tried to help Zack up, but Zack only pulled him to the floor. And everyone started laughing all over again.

  “You kids think you can do whatever you like!” the red-faced clerk was shrieking. He burst out from behind the counter, shaking his fist at them.

  Oh, no, I thought, glancing warily at Margaret. Is he going to fight them?

  This was getting intense.

  Margaret grabbed my arm. I don’t think she even realized she was holding on to me.

  The store clerk lumbered over to the five kids, his stomach heaving as he walked. He was breathing really hard and still shaking his fist angrily. “I’m calling the cops! I’m calling them right now!”

  Dennis and Zack climbed to their feet. Melody and Caitlin suddenly had frightened looks on their faces.

  “No, you’re not,” Dennis said quietly.

  “Huh? What did you say?” the clerk screamed furiously.

  “I said you’re not calling the cops,” Dennis replied calmly.

  And then I saw the gun in Dennis’s hand.

  Margaret must have seen it too, because her grip tightened on my arm.

  I didn’t have time to cry out or anything.

  “You’re not calling anyone,” Dennis told the clerk coldly.

  And then he pulled the trigger.

  chapter 2

  A stream of water sprayed from the gun. It splashed onto the front of the store clerk’s green shirt.

  The kids all went bananas, laughing wildly and slapping each other high-fives.

  “Dennis, you’re the man!” Lanny cried gleefully. “You’re the man!”

  The store clerk was so angry, I thought I could see steam rising up from his bald head.

  Margaret and I were still huddled together in the front of the store. We were laughing pretty hard too.

  There was a pay phone against the back wall. The clerk angrily grabbed the receiver. He pulled it so hard, I thought he was going to jerk the phone off the wall.

  “I’m calling the cops,” he said in an angry growl.

  But then Zack reached for his wallet. I saw him take some bills from it, and he stuffed them into the clerk’s shirt pocket. “This should pay for the Slurpys,” he said. “And the mess.”

  And then the five kids paraded past us, big, pleased grins on their faces, and headed out the glass door to the parking lot.

  “Just because they’re rich, they think they can get away with anything,” the store clerk muttered. He was looking down at the big puddles of purple slush.

  “Is he talking to us or to himself?” Margaret whispered.

  I shrugged.

  They went by so fast, I wasn’t s
ure if the Shadyside kids had seen Margaret and me. But I glanced out the front window—and caught Dennis Arthur staring in at me.

  That’s weird, I thought, feeling my face grow hot.

  Why is he staring at me with that weird grin on his face?

  I was trying to decide whether to wave to him or not. But before I could decide, his girlfriend, Caitlin, pulled him away.

  Mr. Northwood, my history teacher, is tall and very lean. He kind of stoops his head and his shoulders all the time, as if he doesn’t really want to be as tall as he is. He has thick, wavy hair. I think it used to be brown, but now it’s mostly gray. He has watery blue eyes and a craggy face with lots of deep lines running down his cheeks.

  He sort of looks like a beardless Abe Lincoln or maybe Clint Eastwood on a really bad day.

  He’s a weird guy.

  For one thing, he always wears turtlenecks. Never any other kind of shirt or sweater. It’s not the most flattering style for him because he has a big, bulging Adam’s apple that always bobs up and down right where the turtleneck ends.

  Another weird thing about Mr. Northwood is that he tape-records everything. Really. Everything. He has this little silvery mini-recorder that he carries in his pocket.

  When class begins, he sets the recorder on the desk and clicks it on. When he’s ready to dismiss the class, he clicks off the recorder, removes the tiny cassette, and slips it back into his pocket.

  Weird, huh?

  The other weird thing about having Mr. Northwood as a teacher is that he’s also my next-door neighbor. On Fear Street. But let’s not get into that now.

  The afternoon after the 7-Eleven incident, I was sitting near the back of my history class, half listening to Mr. Northwood, half daydreaming. I kept glancing at the clock above Mr. Northwood’s head. The school day was almost over.

  Outside the windows the sky was gray and growing darker. I wondered if it was cold enough to snow. I hoped not. I remembered that I had lost my red wool gloves somewhere, and I didn’t have any money to buy another pair.

  When Mr. Northwood clicked off his little tape recorder and slid it into his pocket, I sat up straight and began shoving my Trapper Keeper into my backpack.

  “Dismissed,” Mr. Northwood said in his reedy, thin voice.

  I jumped to my feet, straightening the bottom of my white cotton sweater, pulling it down over my faded denims. I left my backpack on the floor, told Margaret I’d meet her in the hall, and started to the front of the room.