Please Do Not Feed the Weirdo Read online

  I kept telling myself to chill out. Robby will be caught. Your plan is a good one. It’s going to work. You’re going to be okay.

  Before I got into the long line at the food table, I checked the evergreen tree behind the picnic table. Yes! Ferber was in place, huddled behind the tree with two of his workers. I saw a big rope net piled on the grass beside them.

  They were ready. I flashed Ferber a thumbs-up, then hurried to get in line. I piled two hot dogs on my plate and big mounds of macaroni and coleslaw. I wanted the plate to look really tempting to Robby when he showed up.

  “Wow, Jordan, you must be hungry today!” Ms. Foreman said, handing me a bottle of juice.

  “Yeah. I’m having a growth spurt,” I said. Awkward. But I didn’t know what else to say.

  I turned to carry my plate to the table near the evergreen tree. The tables were already filled with kids eating, talking, and laughing. At one table, kids were squirting each other with the ketchup and mustard dispensers. I saw Ms. Foreman trotting over to stop them.

  I was nearly to my table when someone bumped me hard from behind. I stumbled forward and my food plate went flying from my hands.

  “Whoa!” Somehow, I managed to catch it in midair—without spilling anything.

  I spun around and stared at my friend Bernardo. He had a grin on his face. “Sorry, Jordan. Guess I don’t know my own strength.” His plate was piled even higher than mine.

  “Where you sitting?” Bernardo asked. “I’ll sit with you.”

  I stared hard at him. Was it really Bernardo? Or was it Robby?

  No way to tell.

  He followed me to the table in front of the evergreen tree. I set my plate down and squeezed onto the wooden bench. Bernardo—if it was Bernardo—dropped down across from me.

  I could hear Ferber stirring behind the tree. Was he raising the net?

  Wait, I thought. Don’t bring the net out yet. This may really be Bernardo.

  “This is awesome,” Bernardo said. “We should do this every week. Right?”

  “Uh … right,” I answered.

  “Hurry up and eat,” he said. “When we’re finished we can go on the rides. Want to go into the Tunnel of Fear?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. My eyes were on his food plate.

  Should I give the signal—wave my arm—so Ferber and his guys could run out with the net raised? If it was Robby sitting across from me, and he ate some of the food, it would be too late.

  Bernardo raised a hot dog off his plate. “Hey, Jordan—how come you’re not eating?”

  I couldn’t tell him my stomach was tied in a dozen knots. No way I could eat even a bread crumb!

  What should I do? What should I do?

  Bernardo answered the question for me. He jammed the hot dog into his mouth and began to chew up big bites. Then he swallowed a chunk of macaroni and washed it down with a long slug of apple juice.

  I gritted my teeth. Gripped the bench with both hands. And waited for him to explode in a gusher of orange vomit.

  But Bernardo didn’t vomit and grow green fur and turn into a roaring monster. All he did was gobble the rest of the food on his plate and go back for a second helping.

  Bernardo was definitely Bernardo.

  Okay. But could I relax now? Of course not. I tried to nibble at a hot dog, but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow.

  Bernardo finished his second helping and ran off to join the kickball game some kids had started in the playground next to the picnic area.

  I sat on the bench, pretending to eat so no one would get suspicious. And I waited for Robby to show up.

  I knew he would. I’d told him all about the picnic last night. How could he resist?

  So I waited there. The sun was in my eyes. I began to sweat.

  But I waited … and waited.

  And waited.

  The picnic tables were nearly empty now. The other kids in my class had finished their lunch. They were playing kickball or just hanging out in the playground area. Ms. Foreman was helping the carnival staff clean up.

  “Hey, Jordan—what’s up?” Mr. Ferber called in a loud whisper from behind the tree. “Where is he?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me,” I said. “He’s coming. I know he’s coming.”

  I waited some more. And then some more.

  I shut my eyes against the bright sunlight. And waited some more.

  A hand tapped my shoulder.

  I jumped. “Hey—!”

  Ms. Foreman gazed down at me. “Jordan? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “Uh … I’m fine,” I said.

  She picked up my plate. “You hardly ate. Well, go join the others. We’re going to go on some of the rides.”

  I watched her carry my food plate to the trash can. Then I climbed slowly to my feet. “Sorry,” I murmured to Ferber behind the tree. “I really thought he would come.”

  “This is a big disappointment,” he replied.

  Maybe Robby knew it was a trap, I suddenly thought.

  But how could he? And how could he resist a picnic outdoors with all kinds of food?

  My head was spinning as I wandered over to the other kids. They were lining up, getting ready to go on some of the carnival rides.

  Bernardo grabbed my arm. “Jordan, let’s move, dude,” he said. He began pulling me away.

  “Hey—where are we going?” I cried. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see,” Bernardo replied, grinning.

  And that’s how I ended up in the Tunnel of Fear.

  I had no choice. Bernardo wouldn’t let go of me. Was this the last place on earth I wanted to be? Three guesses.

  But here I was, alone in the moving car. Bernardo sat in the car ahead of me. And I gripped the sides of the car and tried to ignore the horrible screams and cruel laughter and skeletons and zombies that popped out at me every few feet.

  When the car stuttered and stalled, I cried out, “I don’t believe it.” Not again! But yes, the car had stopped in total darkness, and the evil laughter stopped with it.

  A cold shudder ran down my back. And I remembered how terrifying it had been the last time I was on this awful ride.

  But this time, the lights came on immediately. All the lights flashed on overhead, and I blinked in the sudden brightness.

  And when I could finally focus my eyes, I let out a scream that echoed off the tunnel walls. I screamed because I was staring at myself.

  Yes. It was me. Climbing beside me into the car. Except I knew who it was. I knew it was Robby. This time, he had turned himself into an exact copy of ME.

  “You—you can’t do this!” I cried.

  “Hi, Jordan. It’s me—Jordan,” he said. A grin spread over his face—MY grin.

  “No. You can’t. You can’t—” I stammered.

  “Sure I can,” he said.

  I gasped, hearing my own voice come out of him.

  “I’m going to take over your life, Jordan,” he continued. “I’m going to live in your house, and stay in your room—and eat all your food!”

  “And—and what am I supposed to do?” I cried.

  He lowered his voice to a cold whisper. “Go away. Go away, Jordan. Take a long trip somewhere. You’re no longer needed here.”

  “No. You can’t do this! You can’t!” I cried.

  He gave me a hard shove. He was trying to shove me out of the car.

  Panic choked my throat. What could I do?

  Then I saw Mr. Ferber and his two workers. I saw them running toward us with the net raised.

  “Catch him! Catch him! Don’t let him get away!” I choked out.

  Then I screamed as the net came down.

  Wouldn’t you know it?

  Ferber captured the wrong Jordan.

  I screamed and yelled and begged. I tried to let him know he had the wrong Jordan. But, of course, he didn’t believe me.

  Would you?

  And that’s why I’m sitting in this cage at the back of the carniva
l. People are coming by, reading the sign that says PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE WEIRDO. They’re staring at me like I’m some kind of freak.

  I’m not real worried. I know they’ll discover their mistake soon. Then they’ll come and let me out.

  But in the meantime, I’m really hungry.

  Doesn’t anyone have any food they could share with me?

  “Please, everyone—just ignore the sign. Can anyone share a little food? I’m really starving.”

  Every time I see the huge, old mansion, my mouth goes dry, and I feel a chill tighten the back of my neck. When you step into the yard, you can feel the temperature drop at least ten degrees.

  I guess that’s because the ancient trees are so tall, they block out most of the sunlight. But I think the cold is coming from the house, seeping out through the cracked windows and crooked doors.

  With its black slate roof and high stone towers, the house rises above the treetops and casts a deep shadow, no matter the time of day.

  The house is nearly hidden by the trees. You have to step far into the yard until its dark walls and even blacker windows come into view.

  By that time, it’s too late. Too late to escape its ghostly coldness … too late to escape the evil as it curls around you and freezes you in its icy grip.

  Okay, okay.

  I know I got a little carried away there. You don’t know me yet. If you knew me, you would know that sometimes I get excited and go a little overboard.

  I am Riley Shiner. I’m twelve. My twin sister, Scarlet, knows me best. Scarlet says I’m just like her guitar. Sometimes the strings get wound too tight and make a shrill sound.

  She says I’m just like those strings. Wound too tight.

  LOL, right? I can’t argue with Scarlet. And I can’t get angry at her because she makes me laugh. Scarlet is funny.

  People expect a lot from you when you’re twins. For one thing, they expect you to look alike. Well … Scarlet and I don’t.

  She is tall and thin and has wavy red hair and blue eyes. I’m about three inches shorter and a little chubby, and my hair and eyes are dark brown.

  When people meet us for the first time, they don’t think we’re twins. They don’t even think we’re brother and sister! “Actually, we’re identical twins,” Scarlet tells people. That always cracks us both up. Most people just get confused.

  “You have to listen to me, Riley,” Scarlet says. “Because I’m twelve minutes older than you.”

  I don’t know if she means that or not. Does she really think she can boss me around because she’s the big sister?

  So, it was after school and she was leading the way through the trees in back of Shudder Mansion. Yes. Shudder Mansion. The name of the house says it all. It was maybe the last place I wanted to be.

  I stepped in front of her to block her path. “Scarlet, why do we have to go this way? You know the stories about this place.”

  “It’s a shortcut,” she said.

  “And we’re in a hurry because … ?”

  “I’m late for my Wednesday guitar lesson,” she said.

  “But today is Thursday!” I protested.

  “That means I’m really late!”

  I told you. She’s funny.

  She pushed me out of her way and started walking a zigzag path through the trees. I gazed at the back of the house. The stone walls were cracked—long cracks that looked like lightning bolts. Two back windows were boarded up, the glass missing.

  I felt another chill.

  “Scarlet, this isn’t going to save us any time,” I said.

  “Not if you keep stopping,” she said. She narrowed her blue eyes at me. “You don’t really believe the stories about this mansion—do you?”

  “Maybe,” I said. The word came out in a squeak. “Look at this place,” I said, motioning with one hand. “It has to be evil.”

  She shook her head. “Seriously. You have got to stop playing that video game.”

  You have to understand. Shudder Mansion is so scary and so famous, there is an awesome, bestselling video game about it. The game is called Escape from Shudder Mansion. And to tell the truth, I’m kind of obsessed with it.

  I mean, how many games take place right in your neighborhood? The game starts two blocks from my house!

  I’d played it so much, I knew every room, every twist and turn of the dark halls. It’s about these evil spirits that are trapped in the house. They want revenge for their fate on anyone who ventures into the house.

  As you play, you accumulate weapons. The idea is you have to destroy each evil spirit before it can kill you—or you will become one of them, trapped in Shudder Mansion forever.

  I’ve made it to the Fourth Level. It wasn’t easy. I had a lot of scary moments and close calls and I died a lot.

  Scarlet keeps telling me it’s just a game. But … where did the idea for the game come from? It came from the real Shudder Mansion. And what if the game makers were telling the truth? What if they didn’t make the story up?

  A lot of horror movies are based on true stories, right?

  So I think you can see why I didn’t want to take a shortcut through the back lawn. Even if Scarlet was late for her guitar lesson.

  “Come on, Riley. Hurry,” she said. “Stop looking at the house.”

  Standing in a small clearing of trees, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I squinted into the shadowy, flickering light—and thought I saw something. Something like smoke, narrow and black. I watched it float out of one of the broken windows.

  I gasped. “Scarlet—look—”

  But she was far ahead of me, making her way through the trees.

  Unable to breathe, or move, I watched the black shadow grow larger as it whirled away from the mansion. Blacker than the shadows, like a cloud of ink, it curled low to the ground, taking the shape of a snake, slithering, folding in on itself, raising a fanged, triangle-shaped head.

  It’s coming for me, I realized.

  And then I remembered this black snaky creature—from the video game!

  I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it—and I’ve never defeated it.

  Silently, it slid and curled over the grass, in a straight line now, a straight line toward me. This black serpent shadow.

  My whole body went cold. As it slithered closer, I could feel its evil washing around me.

  I could feel it. I could feel it. The whole yard turning dark now.

  I opened my mouth in a scream—spun around—and started to run.

  R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.

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  Also available as ebooks

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  ONE DAY AT HORRORLAND

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  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

  SAY CHEESE AND DIE!

  THE HORROR AT CAMP JELLYJAM

  HOW I GOT MY SHRUNKEN HEAD

  THE WEREWOLF OF FEVER SWAMP

  A NIGHT IN TERROR TOWER

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  THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN OF PASADENA

  THE BLOB THAT ATE EVERYONE

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  THE HAUNTED CAR

  ATTACK OF THE GRAVEYARD GHOULS

  PLEASE DON’T FEED THE VAMPIRE

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