[Goosebumps 35] - A Shocker on Shock Street Page 5

  We crossed the road and stepped into a town. I mean, it was a movie set of a town. A small town with low, one- and two-story buildings, small shops, a country-looking general store. Big, old houses in the block beyond the stores.

  “Do you think this is a set they really use in the movies?” I asked, hurrying to catch up to Marty.

  He turned to me, his dark eyes flashing with excitement. “Don’t you recognize it? Don’t you know where you are?”

  And then my eyes fell on the crumbling, old mansion half-hidden by the twisted trees. And across from it, I saw the crooked picket fence that ran around the old cemetery.

  And I knew we were on Shock Street.

  “Wow!” I exclaimed, spinning around, trying to take it all in at once. “This really is Shock Street. This is where they filmed all of the movies!”

  “It doesn’t look the way I imagined it,” Marty said. “It looks even scarier!”

  He was right. As the sky darkened to evening, long shadows fell over the empty buildings. The wind made a moaning sound as it swept around the corner.

  Marty and I made our way down the street, trying to see everything. We kept crossing from side to side, peering into a dark, dust-covered shop window—then running to examine the front yard of a rundown, old mansion.

  “Check out that empty lot,” I said, pointing. “That’s where The Mad Mangler hung out. Remember? In Shocker III? Remember—he mangled everyone who walked by?”

  “Of course I remember,” Marty snapped. He stepped into the empty lot. Tall weeds bent low, blown by the moaning wind. Shadows moved against the fence at the back.

  I stayed on the sidewalk and squinted hard, trying to see what cast the shadows.

  Did The Mad Mangler still lurk back there?

  The lot was totally empty. So how could there be tall, shifting shadows on the fence?

  “Marty—come back,” I pleaded. “It’s getting dark.”

  He turned back. “Scared, Erin?”

  “It’s just an empty lot,” I told him. “Let’s keep walking.”

  “People always thought it was just an empty lot,” Marty replied in a low, scary voice. “Until The Mad Mangler jumped out and mangled them!” He let out a long, evil laugh.

  “Marty—you’re losing it,” I murmured, shaking my head.

  He came trotting out of the lot, and we crossed the street. “I wish I had a camera,” he said. “I’d really like a picture of me standing in The Mangler’s lot.” His eyes lit up. “Or even better—!”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he took off, running full speed.

  “Hey—wait up!” I cried.

  A few seconds later, I saw where he was headed. The old cemetery.

  He ran up to the cracked and peeling wooden gate and turned back to me. “Even better, I’d like a photo of me standing in the cemetery. The actual set where they filmed Cemetery on Shock Street.”

  “We don’t have a camera,” I called from the street. “Get away from there.”

  He ignored me and started to open the gate. The bottom was stuck in the grass. Marty tugged hard. Finally, the gate started to pull open, creaking and groaning as it moved.

  “Marty—let’s go,” I insisted. “It’s getting late. Dad is probably waiting for us, wondering what happened to us.”

  “But this is part of the tour!” he insisted. He tugged the heavy gate open just wide enough to squeeze inside the cemetery.

  “Marty—please! Don’t go in!” I begged. I ran up beside him.

  “Erin, it’s just a movie set,” he replied. “You didn’t used to be such a total wimp!”

  “I—I just have a bad feeling about this cemetery,” I stammered. “A very bad feeling.”

  “It’s part of the tour,” he repeated.

  “But this gate was closed!” I cried. “It was closed so that people don’t go in.” I raised my eyes to the cemetery. I saw the old graves tilting up from the ground like crooked teeth. “I have such a bad feeling…”

  Marty ignored me. He tugged the gate open a little wider and slipped into the cemetery.

  “Marty—please—!” I gripped the low fence tightly with both hands and watched him.

  He took three steps toward the old graves. Then his hands shot straight up in the air—and he dropped out of sight.

  15

  I stared into the darkness, blinking hard.

  I swallowed. Once. Twice.

  I couldn’t believe that he was gone, that he had vanished so quickly.

  The wind moaned between the jagged, tilting gravestones.

  “Marty—?” My voice came out in a choked whisper. “Marty?”

  I gripped the picket fence so hard, my hands ached. I knew I had no choice. I had to go in there and see what had happened to him.

  I took a deep breath and pushed myself through the opening. The ground was soft. My sneakers sank into the tall grass.

  I took one step.

  Then another.

  I stopped when I heard Marty’s voice. “Hey—be careful.”

  “Huh?” I gazed around. “Where are you?”

  “Down here.”

  I peered down—into a deep, dark hole. An open grave. Marty stared up at me. He had dirt on his cheeks and down the front of his T-shirt. He raised both hands. “Help me out. I fell!”

  I had to laugh. He looked ridiculous, standing in that hole, covered in dirt.

  “It’s not funny. Help me out,” he repeated impatiently.

  “I warned you,” I said. “I had a bad feeling.”

  “It smells down here,” Marty complained.

  I leaned down. “What does it smell like?”

  “Like dirt. Get me out!”

  “Okay, okay.” I grabbed his hands and tugged. He kicked his feet, digging his toes of his sneakers into the soft dirt.

  A few seconds later, he was back on the ground, frantically brushing himself off. “That was cool!” he declared. “Now I can tell people I was in a grave in The Shock Street Cemetery.”

  A chill ran down my back as the wind picked up. “Let’s get out of here,” I pleaded.

  Something gray floated silently between two old gravestones. A wisp of fog? A gray cat?

  “Check out these graves,” Marty said, still brushing dirt off his jeans. “They’re all cracked and faded. I can barely read the names. That’s so cool. And look how they sprayed cobwebs over that row of stones. Creepy, huh?”

  “Marty—can we go?” I begged again. “Dad is probably worried by now. Maybe the tram started up again. Maybe we can find it.”

  He ignored me. I watched him lean over a tombstone to read the words cut into it. “Jim Socks,” he read. “Eighteen forty to eighteen eighty-seven.” He laughed. “Jim Socks. Get it? And look at the ones next to it. Ben Dover. Sid Upp. These are all funny!”

  I laughed. Ben Dover and Sid Upp were pretty funny.

  My laugh was cut short when I heard a soft cry from the back of the graveyard. I saw another gray wisp dart behind a tombstone.

  I held my breath and listened hard. The wind whistled through the tall grass.

  Rising above the wind came another shrill cry.

  A cat? I wondered. Is the cemetery filled with cats? Or is it a child?

  Marty heard it, too. He moved down the row of stones until he stood beside me. His dark eyes glowed excitedly. “This is so cool. Did you hear the sound effects? There must be a speaker hidden in the ground.”

  Another shrill cry.

  Definitely human. A girl?

  I shivered. “Marty, I really think we should try to get back to my dad. We’ve been here all afternoon. And—”

  “But what about the rest of the tour?” he argued. “We have to see everything!”

  I heard another cry. Louder. Closer. A cry of terror.

  I tried to ignore it. Marty was probably right. The cries had to be coming from a loudspeaker somewhere.

  “How can we finish the tour?” I demanded. “We were supposed to stay on the tram—
remember? But the tram—OHH!”

  I cried out as a hand shot up from the ground in front of us. A green hand. Its long fingers unfolded, as if reaching for us.

  “Whoa!” Marty cried, stumbling back.

  Another green hand shot up from the dirt. Then two more.

  Hands reaching up from graves.

  I let out a frightened gasp. Hands were bursting up through the grass. Hands all around us. Their fingers twisting and arching, reaching out.

  Marty started to laugh. “This is totally awesome! Just like in the movie!”

  He stopped laughing as a hand poked up beside him and grabbed his ankle. “Erin—help!” he cried.

  But I couldn’t help.

  Two green hands had wrapped around my ankles and were pulling me down, down into the grave.

  16

  “Come dowwwwwnnnnn,” a soft voice moaned. “Come dowwwwwnnnn with us.”

  “Nooo!” I shrieked.

  My arms thrashed the air. I tried to kick, but the hands gripped me so tightly, so firmly.

  My whole body frantically jerked and tilted back and forth, as I struggled not to fall. If I fell, I knew they would grab my hands, too. And pull me facedown into the earth.

  “Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us.”

  This isn’t a joke, I thought. These hands are real. They are really trying to pull me underground.

  “Help! Oh, help!” I heard Marty’s cry. Then I saw him fall. He toppled to the grass, onto his knees.

  Two hands gripped his ankles. Two more green hands poked up from the dirt to grab his wrists.

  “Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us,” the sad voice moaned.

  “Noooo!” I shrieked, tugging wildly, desperately.

  To my surprise, I pulled free.

  One foot sank into the soft grass. I glanced down. My sneaker had slid off. The hand still gripped the sneaker—but my foot was free.

  With a happy cry, I bent down. Pulled off the other sneaker.

  I was free now. Free!

  Breathing hard, I bent and quickly pulled off my socks. I knew it would be easier to run barefoot. I tossed the socks away. Then I hurried over to Marty.

  He was flat on his stomach. Six hands held him down, tugging at him, tugging hard. His whole body twisted and shook.

  He raised his head when he saw me. “Erin—help me!” he gasped.

  I dropped to my knees. Reached for his sneakers. Tugged them off.

  The green hands gripped the sneakers tightly. Marty kicked his feet free and tried to climb to his knees.

  I grabbed a green hand and pulled if off his wrist. The hand slapped at me. A cold, hard slap that made my hand ring with pain.

  Ignoring it, I grabbed for another green hand.

  Marty rolled over. Rolled free. Jumped to his feet, gasping, trembling, his mouth hanging open, his dark eyes bulging.

  “Your socks—” I cried breathlessly. “Pull them off! Hurry!”

  He clumsily tore them off his feet.

  The hands grabbed wildly for us. Dozens of hands stretching up from the dirt. Hundreds of hands reaching up for us from the tall graveyard grass.

  “Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us,” the voice moaned.

  “Come dowwwwurwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn,” a dozen other soft voices called from beneath the ground.

  Marty and I froze. The soft, sad voices seemed to hypnotize me. My legs suddenly felt as if they were made of stone.

  “Come dowwwwurwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn.”

  And then I saw a green head pop up from the dirt. And then another head. Another. Bald green heads with empty eye sockets and open, toothless mouths.

  I saw shoulders, then arms. More heads poking up. Bright-green bodies pulling up from beneath the ground.

  “M-Marty—” I choked out. “They’re coming up after us!”

  17

  The cemetery rang out with grunts and groans as the ugly green figures pulled themselves up from the ground.

  I took one last glance at their tattered, shredded clothing, at their blackened eye sockets, their toothless, grinning mouths.

  And then I started to run.

  Marty and I both ran without saying a word. Side by side, we darted across the tall grass between the rows of crooked tombstones.

  My heart thudded in my chest. My head throbbed. My bare feet sank into the cold dirt, slipped on the tall, damp grass.

  Marty reached the wooden gate first. He was running so hard, he banged into the fence. He let out a cry—then slipped through the gate onto Shock Street.

  I could hear moans and groans and eerie calls of the disgusting green people behind me. But I didn’t look back. I dove for the gate. Squeezed through. Then I shoved it shut behind me.

  Running into the street, I stopped to catch my breath. I bent over and pressed my hands against my knees. My side ached. I sucked in breath after breath.

  “Don’t stop!” Marty cried frantically. “Erin—keep going!”

  I took a deep breath and followed him down the street. Our bare feet slapped the pavement.

  I could still hear the moans and calls behind us. But I was too scared to glance back.

  “Marty—where is everybody?” I called breathlessly.

  Shock Street was empty, the houses and shops all dark.

  Shouldn’t there be people around? I wondered. This is a big movie studio. Where are the people who work for Shocker Studios? Where are the people who work on the studio tour?

  Why isn’t anyone around to help us?

  “Something is wrong!” Marty choked out, running at full speed. We passed The Horror Hardware Store and Shock City Electronics. “The robots are out of control or something!”

  At last! Marty agreed with me. He finally agreed that something was terribly wrong.

  “We’ve got to find your dad,” Marty said, running across the street to the next block of dark houses. “We’ve got to tell him there’s a problem.”

  “We have to find the tram,” I called, struggling to keep up with him. “Ow!”

  My bare foot came down on something hard. A rock or something. Pain shot up my leg. But I hobbled on.

  “If we can get back on the tram, it will take us back to Dad,” I called.

  “There has to be a way out of Shock Street,” Marty said. “It’s only a movie set.”

  We ran past a tall mansion with two turrets. It looked like an evil castle. I didn’t remember it from any of the Shocker movies.

  Beyond the mansion stretched a big, empty dirt lot. At the back of the lot stood a low brick wall, just a foot or two taller than Marty and me.

  “Cut through here!” I told Marty. “If we can climb up on that wall, we can probably see the studio road.”

  I was just guessing. But it was worth a try.

  We both turned into the empty lot.

  My bare feet thudded over the soft dirt.

  The dirt felt cold and wet. As we crossed the field, our feet tossed up big clumps of mud.

  I pumped my legs harder as the mud grew softer. My bare feet were sinking into it. As I ran, the cold mud rose up over my ankles.

  Marty and I were nearly to the brick wall when we ran into the sinkhole.

  “Yaaaaaiiii!” We both uttered hoarse cries as the ground gave way beneath us.

  The mud made a sick splussssh as we sank.

  I tossed up both hands. Tried to grab onto something.

  But there was nothing to grab.

  The mud oozed around me. Over my ankles. My legs. Up over my knees.

  It’s sucking me down, I thought. I tried to cry out again—but panic choked my throat.

  I glimpsed Marty beside me. His arms were waving wildly. His whole body twisted and squirmed as he sank. The mud was up over his waist—and he was still sinking fast.

  I kicked hard. Tried to raise my knees.

  But I was trapped. Trapped and dropping down, down into the dark, wet ooze.

  My mud-covered arms slapped
against the surface.

  I couldn’t stop myself.

  The mud bubbled up over my neck. And I was sinking fast.

  18

  I held my breath. The mud rose up to my chin.

  In a second, it will be over my head, I thought.

  A sob escaped my throat.

  The mud crept higher, up over my chin. I started to spit as it reached my mouth.

  And then I felt something grab my arm. Strong hands slipped under my arms. I felt the hands slide in the mud.

  They gripped me harder.

  I felt myself being tugged up, tugged by someone very strong.

  The mud made a loud plop as I rose up. I felt the mud roll down my chest, my legs, my knees.

  And then I was standing on the surface, still held by the two powerful hands.

  “Marty—!” I called, tasting the sour mud on my lips. “Are you—?”

  “I’m up!” I heard his hoarse reply. “Erin, I’m okay!”

  The strong hands finally let go. My legs trembled. I wobbled but remained standing.

  I turned to see who had rescued me.

  And stared into the glowing red eyes of a wolf.

  A human with the face of a wolf. Clawed hands covered in black fur. A long, brown snout curved in an open, toothy grin. Sharp, pointed ears above a thick tuft of black wolf fur.

  A female. She wore a silvery catsuit. Sleek and tight-fitting. As I stared in shock, she opened her mouth in a throaty growl.

  I recognized her at once. Wolf Girl!

  I turned to see her companion—Wolf Boy. He had pulled Marty out of the mud hole. Marty’s whole body was caked in mud. He tried to wipe his face, but only managed to smear more mud over his cheeks.

  “You—saved us! Thank you!” I cried, finally finding my voice.

  The two werewolves uttered low growls in reply.

  “We—we lost the tram,” I explained to Wolf Girl. “We need to get back. You know. Back to where the ride began.”

  She let out a sharp growl. Then she snapped her toothy jaw hard.

  “Please—” I begged. “Can you help us get back to the tram? Or can you take us to the main building? My dad is waiting for me there.”