Camp Fear Ghouls Read Free

stone.
    As we drove along River Road, I kept expecting to stop at one of the houses to pick up Amy or another Camp Fear Girl. But we didn’t. I was the only passenger in the black van.
    Soon we left the houses and lights of Waynesbridge behind us. Outside, I could just make out the twisted shapes of the trees lining the river.
    I stared into the darkness. I didn’t know where I was.
    My heart began to pound.
    How much did I know about this driver? She could be taking me anywhere!
    The driver made a sharp right turn. It threw me across the seat. I smashed into the side of the van.
    We bumped across Mill Bridge. Good! I knew Mill Bridge. Once we crossed it, we’d be in Shadyside. Not far from the Camp Fear Girls’ meeting. I could jump out of the car if I had to.
    The van screeched to a halt in the middle of the bridge. The driver turned her head. “This is where you get out,” she told me.
    I peered into the murky night. Not a soul anywhere. Not a light to guide me. “Excuse me? Did you say I had to get out now?” I asked.
    The driver nodded. The van door slid open and a rush of cold, damp air swirled in.
    â€œWh-why?” I stammered.
    â€œYou have to walk the rest of the way.” She pointed one gnarled finger into the darkness. “Just follow that street.”
    I stepped out the open door of the van. I gasped when I read the sign above my head: FEAR STREET!

4

    F ear Street! I couldn’t believe it! They wanted me to walk down there?
    At night?
    Alone?
    I took one step away from the van. It sped off with its tires squealing.
    I glanced nervously down Fear Street. Big old houses lined either side. Trees stretched their strange, twisted limbs across the sky.
    All the stories I heard about Fear Street didn’t prepare me for how scary it really looked. I stood frozen, afraid to move.
    Only one street lamp glowed in the distance. The rest—either burnt out or broken.
    â€œI don’t like this,” I said to myself in a tiny voice. “I don’t like it one bit.”
    Why would the Camp Fear Girls want me to walk down Fear Street by myself?
    â€œMaybe it’s some kind of initiation,” I reasoned. “It is a creepy club. Maybe they need to make sure I’m not a chicken.”
    Yeah. That had to be it.
    I forced myself to glance ahead. “I’m not afraid,” I declared, tilting my chin up. “If the Camp Fear Girls want to see brave—I’ll show them brave.”
    My heart thunked against my rib cage. But I marched down Fear Street with big strides. I swung my arms. I even whistled.
    Shadows on the sidewalk seemed to shift and change under my feet. I passed one darkened house after another, looking for the address on the invitation. I muttered, “333,” squinting at the numbers on the decaying houses. I didn’t see it.
    A shutter banged somewhere nearby. I jumped in surprise.
    Just a shutter, I told myself. Calm down.
    I tried to whistle some more, but I couldn’t. My breath was too shaky. So I sang:
    â€œThere was a farmer had a dog,
    And Bingo was his name-oh.”
    Out of the corner of my eye I spied something dartingfrom one yard into another. “A cat. Only a cat,” I said out loud.
    My voice was quivering. I moved more slowly. But I continued singing to the Bingo tune. “Where is 333? Where is 333? Where is 333? I’m getting pretty scared-oh.”
    Suddenly, all around me, the wind picked up with a giant whoosh!
    A tree limb slapped at the sides of a wooden house. Up and down the street, gates banged back and forth. Trash cans clattered across front yards.
    Another gust blew my hair across my face and into my eyes. The wind felt strangely cold. Wintry. Even though it was spring.
    Then I felt the wind pushing at my back. Shoving me. Like invisible hands, guiding me—
    Down Fear Street.
    â€œStop!” I cried. But the more I fought against the wind, the more it pushed me.
    I stumbled