Streets of Panic Park Page 8

  “Do we have a choice?” I replied.

  My poor brother couldn’t hide his fear. But we were all scared.

  How much time did we have before Panic Park totally disappeared?

  RIDE THE WHIRLWIND.

  I read the sign above the entrance to the low white building as we ran up to it.

  “Here we are,” Dr. Maniac called, pointing to the sign. “Everybody in!”

  “Wait a minute!” Matt grabbed his arm. “What are you trying to do to us?”

  “Yeah,” Michael said. “The Menace told us about The Whirlwind. He said it scrambles your brain. He said it turns your brain to mush.”

  “The Menace was lying,” Slappy rasped. “He was trying to frighten you away from this building.”

  “We’ve all used The Whirlwind to go back and forth to HorrorLand,” Cranium said. “Britney and Molly used it once. It’s faster than the mirrors.”

  I turned to Britney. “Is he telling the truth? Is this the building you used to return to HorrorLand?”

  Britney scrunched up her face. “Maybe …” she replied. “I … I remember it was very windy.”

  We pushed up to the entrance. I could hear a ferocious wind inside, thundering against the walls, whistling as it blew.

  A chill ran down my back. Would it be like stepping into a hurricane?

  I heard a shout behind us. I turned and saw The Menace and Byron running across the park toward us. A big group of shadow people followed close behind them.

  “Don’t look back at them!” Slappy ordered. “Quick, you dummies! Open the door. Jump into The Whirlwind — and we’re all OUTTA here!”

  But I couldn’t turn away from the The Menace and the others, running closer … closer … As the whole park shrank away. The rides, the food carts, the buildings, the trees — every thing — growing smaller … smaller … About to vanish, as it should have forty years ago!

  Matt grabbed the entrance door handle. “It … it’s padlocked!” he shouted. “It’s locked tight!”

  I glanced back — and gasped. I saw Jillian and Jackson! The two traitors. The Menace’s spies.

  They were speeding toward us, far in front of the others. And I could see the hard glares on their faces.

  “They’re coming to stop us!” I cried. “They’re coming to keep us out of The Whirlwind!”

  “Hurry!” Slappy screamed at Matt.

  Matt tugged hard on the padlock. He pulled it, jerking it with all his strength.

  “It … won’t budge!” he cried. “We’re locked out!”

  Jillian and Jackson stormed up to the entrance.

  “Get away!” Carly Beth screamed. “Look at me! I’m a shadow! Look at all of us! Haven’t we suffered enough because of you?”

  I glanced back. Panic Park was tiny now. Like a world inside a snow globe.

  The Menace and Byron looked like little mice scrambling toward us.

  “You’ve got to believe us!” Jillian cried. “Jackson and I — we didn’t know our powers came from The Menace! We didn’t know he was controlling us!”

  “Cranium put headphones over our ears. He said it was a brain test!” Jackson cried. “But that’s when The Menace took control of us!”

  “We didn’t want to work for him!” Jillian added. “He forced us. But now he can’t control us. His power has shrunk with him!”

  “I’ll prove we’re on your side!” Jackson said. “I can open the door.”

  “I’ll help you!” Cranium cried, bumping up next to Jackson.

  The two of them concentrated on the padlock. Concentrated …

  And the lock snapped off!

  I screamed as the door flew open. A ferocious blast of cold wind slammed the door against the front wall.

  Blast after blast roared out of the building.

  I saw Matt shouting something to the rest of us. But I couldn’t hear him over the thunderous wind.

  Matt lowered his head — and dove into the wind.

  I couldn’t breathe. The cold wind slammed into me, like an ocean wave. I toppled onto my back. Luke pulled me to my feet.

  We screamed as the wind lifted both of us off the ground. Another blast swirled around us — and pulled us to the building.

  As I sailed into the swirling gusts, I glanced back. One last look at Panic Park.

  It was so tiny now … nothing left … just a shiny bubble floating against the colorless sky.

  And then the bubble POPPED.

  I spun away — and hurtled into The Whirlwind.

  A powerful gust swept under me and lifted me … carried me over the floor.

  Like flying, I thought. Flying out of control.

  Flying WHERE?

  I soared high in a long blue tunnel, then floated lower.

  I could see the other kids ahead of me. And then a tidal wave of wind swept me around, and the kids were behind me.

  I pressed my hands over my ears, struggling to shut out the roar. I closed my eyes and let the wind carry me … carry me through the long blue tunnel.

  And then I felt a hard tug, and I began to spin. Harder … harder … whirling as if I were in the center of a raging cyclone.

  And then the wind stopped.

  Silence. A sudden, horrifying silence.

  The wind stopped and let go of me —

  — and I started to drop.

  Straight down. Down …

  I screamed all the way.

  I landed gently on my feet.

  Warm air brushed my face. Dizzy. My body swayed. So hard to stand.

  The fierce wind was gone, but I could still feel it tingling my skin.

  I took a deep breath and held it. And gazed around. “Luke? Are you okay?”

  “I … I guess.” My brother stood right next to me, shaking off the chill of the swirling winds. “Where are we?”

  I spun around. And saw Carly Beth. Not a shadow.

  She and Billy were staring at each other, their faces shocked at first, and then grinning with relief.

  “We’re back! We’re not shadows!”

  Robby held his hands in front of his face. “I can see myself! I’m not invisible! Yaaaay!”

  And we all cheered when we saw Britney with her normal head. Abby and Julie had stopped shaking. And Michael was back to having only one face.

  “We’re back! We’re back to normal!”

  And we started to celebrate even before we realized we were standing in a parking lot. I saw the green-and-purple entrance sign, rows and rows away from us.

  “It’s HorrorLand!” I shouted, pumping my fists in the air.

  Yes. We were standing in the HorrorLand parking lot. And before we could celebrate for long, there were our parents.

  Everyone’s parents. Moving down the row of cars toward us.

  Dad studied his watch. “You’re late,” he said. “Where have you all been?”

  “Where have YOU been all this time?” I blurted out.

  Mom wrinkled up her forehead. “Didn’t they tell you, Lizzy? They took all of us adults to our own hotel. We had a great time. We made so many new friends.”

  Dad frowned. “But we’ve been waiting for you kids here. Time to go home.”

  I glanced around at the other family reunions. Lots of hugs and happy greetings.

  I whispered to Luke. “None of them have any idea of the danger we were in. Look at them all, grinning and laughing. Clueless.”

  “Let’s keep them that way!” Luke said. “How could we ever explain it?”

  A green-and-purple Horror watched from the side. He had a smile on his face.

  I walked over to him. “You’re Ned, aren’t you?” I asked.

  His smile grew wider. “Monster X to you!” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I think we all want to thank you!”

  “Come on, you two!” Dad called. “We have a long drive ahead of us.” He gave us a push toward the car.

  “Lizzy, look at your hair,” Mom said, brushing it down with her hand. “It’s al
l wild and crazy. Why is it such a mess?”

  “Uh … I went on a very fast ride,” I said.

  * * *

  That night, how happy was I to be back in my own bedroom?

  Three guesses.

  But as I started to unpack, I couldn’t get Panic Park out of my mind.

  I thought about the little shadow girl, pleading with me in that faraway voice: “Find me … Can you find me?”

  I pictured that black-and-white world … the dark, empty buildings … the rides and shops and restaurants, all closed, all shades of gray. Shades from another world.

  And again, I saw the park shrinking away … growing smaller and smaller. So tiny — and then gone.

  A whole park. A whole world. Gone with a tiny pop.

  I yawned. I was so tired, I could barely keep my eyes open.

  I pulled out pairs of jeans from the suitcase. They were still folded. I never had a chance to wear them.

  And what was this? My hand felt something hard. And big.

  Something taking up all the room in the suitcase.

  I pushed aside some T-shirts and gasped. “Oh, noooo.”

  I lifted it out of the case. A ventriloquist dummy.

  I rubbed its painted hair. It had an ugly grin on its wooden lips.

  “How did this thing get in my suitcase?” I murmured.

  And then I let out a cry as the dummy’s eyes slowly opened. And its ugly grin grew wider.

  “Well, well,” it rasped in a tinny voice. “Lookin’ good, Lizzy.”

  It blinked its eyes and gazed up at me. “Ready to start a whole new story? This one will really give you goosebumps! Hahahahaha!”

  “Andy, trade popcorn bags with me,” Marnie said. She made a grab for my bag.

  I swiped it away from her and spilled popcorn all over my lap. “Marnie — give me a break,” I said with a groan. “Why do you want mine?”

  “Yours looks like it tastes better,” she said.

  “Huh?” I squinted into my popcorn bag. “They’re exactly the same.”

  “Then you don’t mind trading — right?” She laughed.

  My cousin, Marnie Myers, may be the grabbiest person in the world. And she always wants everything that’s mine. But at least she has a sense of humor.

  I like her laugh. She’s twelve, the same age as me. But she laughs like a little kid.

  She looks younger than me, too. In fact, even though we’re cousins, we don’t look anything alike.

  She’s short and thin. She has a narrow face with straight brown hair down to her shoulders and big green eyes.

  Dad says I could be a middle linebacker. I guess that’s his polite way of saying I’m big and maybe a little chubby. I have a round face with short black hair and brown eyes.

  Dad says I always have a worried look. I don’t think he’s right. But yes, kids are always asking me, “Hey, Andy, are you okay?” when nothing is wrong.

  Marnie and I get along really well — except when she’s grabbing my popcorn or taking handfuls of French fries off my plate at lunch.

  I handed her my popcorn. “Well? Aren’t you going to give me yours?”

  She shoved my hand away. “I have to taste them both first.”

  We were in HorrorLand Theme Park, sitting in the Haunted Theater, waiting for the show to start. The theater looked like a creepy, old haunted house in a horror movie.

  The auditorium was dark, except for flickering candles on the walls. Thick cobwebs hung down from the balcony. Creepy organ music played. A skeleton usher stood in the aisle, holding a flashlight.

  Suddenly, jagged lightning bolts flashed on the black curtain across the stage. And thunder boomed over the auditorium.

  Behind us, a little kid started to cry. “This is too scary!” he wailed. “I don’t like it!” His parents stood up, pulled him to the aisle, and led him out.

  Marnie and I laughed. We’d been having good, scary fun all week in HorrorLand. Especially since our parents let us go off on our own most of the time.

  Some of the rides were terrifying. And we both screamed our heads off in Werewolf Village. The half-human, half-wolf creatures were so real! Were they men wearing hairy costumes? The way they growled and snapped their pointed teeth, you’d swear you were staring at the real thing!

  And another of our favorite places was The Game Preserve. Miles and miles of video games. Of course, Marnie had to play until she beat me at every game.

  And now here we were, in the third row of the Haunted Theater, waiting for the show to start. In dripping green letters, a sign over the stage read: GHOST TOWN CLOWN SHOW.

  Storm sounds poured out of the loudspeakers. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed.

  And I gasped as someone grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it hard.

  “Hey!” I stared up into the face of a grinning clown standing in the aisle. He leaned over me and squeezed my shoulder again.

  The clown’s face was caked in white makeup. His painted grin was crooked and smeared. He had a red bulb for a nose and a red-and-blue ruffled collar around his neck.

  And as he leaned over me, I saw a hatchet buried deep in the top of his bald head. The blade was halfway in his skull. The handle poked up at an angle. Painted blood trickled down both sides of his face.

  “Hiya, kid,” he growled in a hoarse voice. “Let me introduce myself to ya. I’m Murder the Clown.”

  My mouth hung open. I wanted to say something, but I was too startled.

  His breath smelled like onions. He brought his face down close to mine. And I could see that his eyes were totally bloodshot. And there were cracks all over his white makeup.

  “Hey, kid — know why they call me Murder the Clown?” he growled.

  “Because you have a hatchet in your head?” I answered.

  His eyes bulged in shock. “I have a what?” he cried. “You’re joking!”

  Of course, he was being funny. So I laughed.

  But he squeezed my arm and jerked me to my feet. “Come on, kid. Enough of this. You’re outta here.” He began to pull me to the stage.

  I tried to pull back, but he was very strong. “Huh? What did I do?” I cried. “Hey — let go! Where are you taking me?”

  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.

  Goosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.

  Goosebumps HorrorLand #12: The Streets of Panic Park

  copyright © 2009 by Scholastic Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, GOOSEBUMPS, GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, July 2009

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-30116-9

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 
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