Series 2000- Attack of the Graveyard Ghouls Read online

  Series 2000- Attack of the Graveyard Ghouls

  Goosebumps Series 2000 [11]

  R. L. Stine

  Apple (1992)

  * * *

  Rating: ★★★★☆

  During a creepy field trip to the local cemetery, Spencer accidentally knocks over a headstone. Now he's face to face with the undead, a cold, ghastly ghoul who wants to take over his body!.

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  Attack of the Graveyard Ghouls

  R. L. STINE

  Look for more books in the Goosebumps Series 2000

  by R.L. Stine:

  1 Cry of the Cat

  2 Bride of the Living Dummy

  3 Creature Teacher

  4 Invasion of the Body Squeezers, Part I

  5 Invasion of the Body Squeezers, Part II

  6 I Am Your Evil Twin

  7 Revenge R Us

  8 Fright Camp

  9 Are You Terrified Yet?

  10 Headless Halloween

  Attack of The Graveyard Ghouls

  AN APPLE

  PAPERBACK

  SCHOLASTIC INC. New York Toronto London Auckland Sydney

  A PARACHUTE PRESS BOOK

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or

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  means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,

  without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding

  permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department,

  555 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  ISBN 0-590-76783-6

  Copyright S1998 by Parachute Press, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.

  APPLE PAPERBACKS and logo are trademarks and/or registered

  trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  GOOSEBUMPS is a registered trademark

  of Parachute Press, Inc.

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 42 3/0

  Printed in the U.S.A.40

  First Scholastic printing, November 1998

  1

  “MY HOMETOWN”

  by Spencer Kassimir

  My name is Spencer Kassimir and I live in a town called Highgrave.

  If you lived in Highgrave, you’d know how it got its name. You see, an

  old graveyard stands high on the hill that overlooks the whole town.

  You can see the graveyard from just about anywhere. From Main Street.

  From my classroom. I can even see it from my bedroom window.

  If you live in Highgrave, you can’t escape the graveyard.

  Even the sunniest days aren’t really sunny here. Highgrave Hill casts a

  deep shadow over the roads, the buildings, the treetops down below.

  1

  2 On clear days, you can look up and see the old gravestones on top of

  the hill. They gleam like crooked teeth in the tall green grass.

  At night, when a moon hangs low over the hill, the graveyard becomes a

  frightening place. An eerie gray mist clings to the hill. And the

  gravestones appear to float free.

  Yes. The old tombstones seem to float by themselves. To float over the

  shimmering mist. To float over the town. Over my house at the bottom of

  Highgrave Hill.

  I guess that’s why I have the nightmares.

  I cleared my throat and lowered the pages of my essay to my side.

  Reading a paper in front of the whole class makes me really nervous.

  My throat felt as dry as sandpaper. And my hands were so wet, they

  smeared the ink on the pages.

  “Very good writing,” Mrs. Webster said, nodding. She had her hands

  clasped tightly on her desk. “Good description, Spencer. Don’t you

  agree, class?”

  A few kids muttered yes. My friend Audra Rusinas smiled and flashed me a

  thumbs-up. Behind her, Frank Foreman yawned really loudly. That caused

  his pal Buddy Tanner to burst out laughing. A few other kids laughed too.

  Mrs. Webster narrowed her eyes at Frank.

  3 Then she turned back to me. “Go on. Read the rest, Spencer.”

  I glanced up at the big clock, above the chalkboard behind her. “Are you

  sure there’s time?”

  The next part of the paper was kind of personal, kind of embarrassing. I

  knew it would probably give Frank and Buddy a good laugh.

  Like the last paper I had to read to the class. I wrote about the only

  thing in the world that terrifies me - spiders.

  Frank and Buddy never let me forget that paper. After I read it, I found

  a spider in my desk every morning for a month!

  “Read until the bell,” Mrs. Webster insisted.

  I cleared my throat again and started reading.

  Some nights I dream about the graveyard ghouls. Everyone in my family

  dreams about them.

  One night, my eight-year-old brother, Jason, woke up screaming. “They’re

  coming to get me! They’re coming to get me!” It took a long time to

  convince Jason it was just a dream.

  My little brother and sister, Remy and Charlotte, also have nightmares

  about the graveyard ghouls.

  And I dream that the ghouls rise up from their old graves and float down

  the hill. They float into

  4 the foggy mist on the side of the hill and wait there. Hiding. Waiting

  for innocent victims to come by.

  And then the ghouls swarm around their victims. Sweep around them, wispy

  as the fog. And pull them up … up into the old graves at the top of

  the hill.

  Everyone in Highgrave knows about -

  “Very good!” Mrs. Webster interrupted. She clapped her hands

  enthusiastically. “Very good writing, Spencer!”

  Audra flashed me a big smile. Behind her, Frank and Buddy were giggling

  about something. They slapped each other a high five.

  “Do you think you might want to be a writer when you grow up?” Mrs.

  Webster asked me.

  I could feel my face turn hot. “I … I don’t know,” I stammered. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe.” I heard Frank mimic me in a high, shrill voice. Buddy burst out

  laughing again.

  “Frank, would you like to read your paper next?” Mrs. Webster demanded.

  Frank’s mouth dropped open. “Well … it isn’t quite finished.”

  Mrs. Webster leaned over her desk. “What is your essay about?” she asked.

  Frank hesitated. Then he finally replied, “I’m not sure.”

  6 The whole class broke up laughing. Frank tried to keep a straight

  face, but he laughed too.

  Mrs. Webster shook her head. “I don’t think it’s funny,” she murmured.

  She turned back to me. “Finish reading your piece, Spencer. Maybe you

  will inspire Frank.”

  Frank let out a loud groan.

  Mrs. Webster ignored him and motioned for me to read.

  Why can’t I be cool like Frank and Buddy? I asked myself.

  They are total goofs. They never do any work at all. They spend the

  whole day laughing and talking and messing around.

  And everyone likes them. Everyone thinks they are the coolest guys in

  school.

  I want to be cool too. I want to make kids laugh. I don’t want to be

  standing up here, having the teach
er tell me what a goody-goody I am.

  Asking me in front of everybody if I want to be a writer.

  How totally uncool can you be?

  I glanced at Frank. Even though he sat toward the back of the room, I

  could see him clearly. His head towered over all the others.

  Frank is a big, strong, muscular guy.

  I’m short and kind of scrawny and I wear glasses.

  That’s what I am, I thought, a scrawny goody-goody.

  5

  I could feel my face growing hot again. I raised the pages in front of

  my face and continued reading

  Everyone in Highgrave knows about the graveyard ghouls. Some kids told

  me about them on the day my family moved here.

  They said that the dead people buried in the Highgrave graveyard can’t

  rest. They can’t rest because the graveyard is up too high.

  The dead have become restless, angry ghouls. Rotting and decayed, they

  climb out of their graves. They cannot sleep. They can only pace the

  graveyard and look down on the houses below.

  At night, their howls and moans float over the town. If you look really

  closely, you can see the ghouls. You can see them shuffling through the

  fog that rolls low over the hill.

  And if you go up there at night, the ghouls -

  The bell rang.

  Books slammed shut. Kids cheered.

  “Thank you, Spencer. Sorry we couldn’t finish. But that was excellent.”

  Mrs. Webster jumped to her feet. “Okay, everyone. That’s all for today.”

  She had to shout over the loud voices and scraping chairs.

  “But Spencer has given me a really good idea,” Mrs. Webster called out.

  The room grew quieter.

  8 “Tomorrow, pack a lunch and wear your hiking boots,” Mrs. Webster

  instructed. “Tomorrow, we will all climb up to the graveyard.”

  “Huh? Why?” someone called out.

  The teacher’s eyes flashed. “To summon the ghouls,” she replied.

  7

  2

  What is metamorphosis?” Jason asked.

  Dad squinted across the dinner table at him. “Excuse me?”

  “What is metamorphosis?” my brother repeated.

  Next to him, Remy and Charlotte were poking each other with string

  beans, having a very wimpy sword fight. Mom was standing across the

  kitchen, talking on the phone.

  I shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth - and screamed in

  pain. “Hot! Too hot!”

  Dad reached into the cardboard bucket for another chicken leg.

  “Metamorphosis? Where did you hear that word, Jason?”

  Jason scratched his curly brown hair. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  9 “Well, it means change” Dad explained. “Changing from one thing to

  another.”

  “You mean like changing your clothes?” Jason asked.

  “Remy! Charlotte! Stop playing with your food,” Mom called from across

  the room.

  “No,” Dad replied, waving the chicken leg in front of him. “Like a

  caterpillar changing into a butterfly. That’s metamorphosis.”

  “Oh,” Jason replied.

  “Why did you ask about it?” Dad wondered.

  Jason shrugged again. “Beats me.”

  “He probably heard the word in a cartoon,” I suggested.

  Jason kicked me hard under the table.

  “Ow!” I cried out. “Why did you do that?”

  “Just felt like it,” he replied.

  Remy and Charlotte thought that was funny. They both laughed and then

  started poking each other with string beans again.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Mom screamed. “String beans are not weapons!”

  “Wouldn’t it be cool if Duke could change into something else?” Jason

  asked. He bent down to pet Duke, our black cat. “Maybe Duke could change

  into a butterfly. That would be metamorphosis, right, Dad?”

  Dad didn’t get a chance to answer. Remy and Charlotte had dropped their

  string beans. Now

  10 they were tossing handfuls of mashed potatoes at each other.

  Dinner can be difficult in my house.

  Sometimes you have to duck a lot.

  After dinner, Mom and Dad hurried off to a parents’ meeting at school.

  They left me in charge of the three kids. I sat them down in front of

  the TV and put on a cartoon video. A long one.

  Then I went up to my room. I tried to call Audra, but the line was busy.

  Audra invited me to a dance at the place where she takes dance lessons.

  I hate to dance. In fact, I never dance. Not even by myself in my room.

  So I planned to call and tell her I broke my leg or something. No way

  I’d go to a dance with a bunch of kids who really knew how to dance!

  I tried her number again. Still busy.

  Sighing, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared out the window. It was a

  cold November night. Gusts of wind rattled the windowpane.

  I gazed out at Highgrave Hill. Silvery moonlight made the hill shimmer.

  All the way up the steep slope, bare, scraggly trees poked up like

  skeletons.

  I pressed my face against the window glass to see to the top of the

  hill. And I gasped.

  Lights!

  Flickering flashes of light. Tiny, but so bright they lit up the old

  tombstones.

  11 My mouth dropped open as I watched the lights, darting, blinking,

  floating over the graves.

  Like ghostly fireflies.

  And then the lights faded behind a curtain of fog. The fog shimmered up,

  over the dark grass, over the bent, scraggly trees. Covering the hill,

  covering the old graveyard.

  And I heard a horrifying moan. Through the windowpane, I heard a long,

  low moan floating from the hill.

  Human and animal at the same time.

  So cold. So sad.

  So near …

  12 Next morning, a raw, damp morning, we all followed Mrs. Webster to

  the hill.

  I lifted my eyes to the sky. No puffy white clouds. No bright patches of

  blue. No sun. Just a solid slab of gray that stretched as far as I could

  see.

  An icy wind blew down from the hill. The scraggly trees shivered. Their

  bare limbs waved at us, as if trying to warn us away.

  “Listen up, explorers of the past,” Mrs. Webster called, gathering us in

  a circle around her. “Let’s see what the old gravestones reveal about

  our town’s history.”

  I shifted the backpack on my shoulders. I couldn’t find my backpack this

  morning, so I had to borrow Jason’s. It was a babyish backpack, bright

  13 purple - the same color as Barney! - and way too small for me.

  Jason loved it. I knew he’d be really angry if he knew I borrowed it. I

  planned to get it back home before Jason missed it.

  I heard someone hurrying up behind me. But I couldn’t move out of the

  way fast enough. “Cool backpack!” I heard Frank exclaim.

  He tugged it down hard with both hands - and I stumbled back into a

  group of girls.

  Frank and Buddy laughed. Some other kids laughed too.

  “Is that a toddler’s backpack?” Frank demanded.

  “It’s called My First Backpack!” Buddy declared.

  More laughter.

  Ha ha.

  Ignoring them, I pulled my baseball cap down on my forehead and started

  to climb the hill, taking long, fast strides.

  “Hey -
what’s your rush?” Audra trotted up beside me. She pointed to the

  graveyard. “Take your time. They’re not going anywhere.”

  I slowed down. “Hey, how’s it going?” I asked. I tried to turn so she

  couldn’t see the babyish purple backpack.

  I usually don’t care what people think of me. But I care what Audra thinks.

  14 I really like her. She’s smart and funny, and she’s the prettiest

  girl in Highgrave Middle School.

  Audra has long black hair and beautiful olive skin. But the most amazing

  thing about her are her eyes. They’re light green, flecked with gold.

  I always try to act cool around her. That’s one reason I won’t go to

  that dance with her. If I did, she’d see what a klutz I am!

  “I’m hurrying because I can’t wait to check out the graveyard,” I lied.

  “It’s cold up here,” Audra said as we reached the broken wooden gate

  that led into the graveyard. She zipped up her purple satin jacket.

  “It’s not so bad,” I said. I wanted Audra to think I was rugged. So I

  unzipped my jacket.

  I stepped past the gate - and saw a spider dangling from the fence.

  “Hey!” I cried out. I couldn’t help it. I’m terrified of spiders.

  I kept my eyes on the spider as I walked by it. I wasn’t watching where

  I was going. I stumbled over a broken fence picket - and fell onto a low

  gravestone.

  “Are you okay?” Audra asked.

  I let her help me up. “I told you I couldn’t wait to check out the

  graves!” I joked.

  Mrs. Webster began passing out long sheets of tracing paper and chunks

  of charcoal. “Collect as many gravestone rubbings as you can,” she

  15 instructed. “When we get back to class, we’ll read them and see what

  the old tombstones tell us.”

  “Oooooh! I’m a ghoul! I’m a graveyard ghoul!” In the next row of graves,

  Frank staggered around, pretending to haunt a group of girls.

  They laughed and wrapped him up in tracing paper.

  The girls all think Frank is so cute! Yuck.

  “Let’s start here,” I told Audra.

  We held out our papers and charcoal and started rubbing. The wind began

  to blow harder. It whipped fall leaves from the trees. They whirled in

  the strong current, then settled at our feet.

  Another gust of wind swept dry dirt into my eyes, my nose, my throat. I

  started to cough.

  “William Swift.” Audra read the tombstone. “Died on the hanging tree. 1852.”