INTRODUCTION
READERS, BEWARE. I wrote these new stories to give you a chill.
You know. That tingle you get at the back of your neck when you begin to feel afraid. Your skin turns cold and the little hairs stand on end. Your heart pumps and your teeth begin to chatter.
That tingling feeling when …
* * *
You think someone evil is watching you …
You don’t know where you are or how to find your way home …
The terrifying howls are coming from your basement …
You can’t stop yourself from becoming a creature you don’t recognize …
The darkness surrounds you and there’s no way out …
* * *
We all enjoy a good scare when we know the story isn’t true. The stories in this book couldn’t happen to you—could they?
I wrote them to take you to a Stinetingling world just beyond the real world … a world of shadows and fright and startling twists and surprises.
I hope these stories bring you to a place where the cold tingle becomes a SCREAM!
—R. L. Stine
WELCOME TO THE IN-BETWEEN
Have you ever felt that time has stopped moving? A long, long day in school. And every time you look up at the clock, it seems it hasn’t moved at all. There are still hours to go!
I remember the intense pain of Christmas Eve, waiting for morning, for it to be late enough to open presents. Checking the clock beside my bed again and again—and the clock had barely moved.
I’ve written lots of stories about going back in time. But this is the first story I ever wrote about being stuck in time.
“Gabe, promise you won’t be late,” my friend Carver said. He slapped my hockey stick with his. We were shooting a puck back and forth on Willmore Pond. The pond was frozen hard, and the ice was slick and smooth. It was a cold December afternoon, and I shivered under three layers of sweaters and a parka.
“Promise,” I said. I swung my stick hard and sent the puck sliding past him. Carver spun around to chase after it and nearly fell off his skates.
He’s a better skater than I am. He’s on the Blazers, our middle school hockey team.
I’m not on any team. I’m not really into sports. But Carver likes to go on the ice with me. I guess because it makes him feel like a superstar.
“You always promise, and you’re always late,” he said. He circled the puck and sent it back to me. “You’re late for everything, Gabe, and I get tired of waiting for you.”
“I think I’m getting one of those smart watches for Christmas,” I said. “That should help.”
The puck slid into the snow at the edge of the pond, and we both went after it. My breath steamed in front of me. I was getting a real workout.
“Know what?” Carver said. “It’s bad news having my birthday on the day before Christmas. No one ever remembers or makes a fuss.” He tapped the puck back onto the ice.
“But you’re having a party—” I started.
“Yeah. I can’t believe my parents actually remembered I wanted a birthday party,” Carver replied. “So it’s special, see. Please don’t come late.”
I raised my gloved right hand. “I swear I’ll be early. Trust me. If I’m late, I’ll eat this puck.”
Carver grinned. “I’m going to remember that. Do you want it with ketchup or mustard?”
* * *
At home, I found Mom and Dad in the den, watching a reality show on Netflix about an octopus. “I never knew an octopus could have a personality,” Dad said.
“Maybe we need a small one for the aquarium,” Mom said.
“I don’t think there are any small ones,” Dad said.
They were so into the octopus show they didn’t even see me in the doorway. “Can I talk to you?” I said.
They both turned. “You should watch this, Gabe,” Dad said. “You’d learn a lot about undersea life.”
“I learn about undersea life on SpongeBob,” I replied.
They both laughed. They think I’m a riot.
I stepped in front of the TV. “Listen, I need a present for Carver,” I told them.
Mom squinted at me through her glasses. “A Christmas present?”
“No. A birthday present. His birthday party is tomorrow afternoon.”
They both shook their heads and frowned at me. “Why did you wait till the last minute?” Dad asked.
“Why are you always late, Gabe?” Mom added. She glanced at the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the den. “It’s after six. All the stores will be closed.”
“Well, can we go right after breakfast tomorrow?” I asked. “I really need to get him something.”
“No way. Who has a birthday on Christmas Eve?” Dad asked.
“It wasn’t his choice,” I said.
They both laughed at that, too.
“We can go shopping tomorrow morning,” Mom said. “Do you know what you want to buy him?”
“Not really,” I said. “Maybe a hockey jersey or something. He’s really into hockey.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mom said. “But you should have thought of it sooner so we wouldn’t have to go shopping on the day before Christmas.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I need to start planning in advance.” I turned to leave the den. “You know what? I’m going up to my room to work on my book report right now, even though school is on winter break.”
I climbed the stairs to my room. I didn’t tell them that my book report was over a week late. I also hadn’t finished reading the book. But I thought I could write the report anyway.
We have a long hall upstairs. There are four bedrooms up here. Mine is down at the end. I stopped halfway, in front of the guest room. The room was small with bright yellow wallpaper, a bed and a dresser, and one chair.
We were expecting my cousins from Michigan to come for Christmas. But my uncle got sick and they had to cancel. So, the guest room was empty.
But I had a good reason to stop there. The guest room closet was where my parents always hid my Christmas presents. Always the same closet. They didn’t know that I knew.
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