Field of Screams
Authors: R.L. Stine
Why I'm not Afraid of Ghosts Excerpt
I
stood with the bat over my shoulder and the ball in my left hand. I narrowed my eyes and glared down the field at my friend Eve.
“Are you ready for a hot one?” I yelled.
“You couldn't hit a hot one with a big old frying pan, Sanders!” Eve teased me. “You're such a weenie!”
“Weenie, huh?” I retorted. I ran my hand through my curly brown hair. I dug my foot into the dirt to get a good stance. Shifting my balance, I lofted the ball and hit a screaming grounder straight at Eve.
She went down with her glove and tried to stop it. But the ball took a wicked hop and skipped right through her mitt.
“Who's the weenie now, butterfingers?” I yelled.
The ball stopped about ten feet behind Eve. Her dark braids bounced as she jogged over and snatched it up. “You hit it weird, Buddy,” she complained, throwing it back. “The next one won't get by me!”
I plucked the baseball easily from the air. “Those balls get by you so much, I think your glove is made of Swiss cheese!”
“Lay off, okay?” Eve grumbled.
Sometimes, I guess, I tease her a little too much.
“You took your eyes off the ball,” I reminded her. “Remember what Coach Burress says. Follow the ball into your glove.”
I hit another to her, not quite so hard this time.
Eve missed it. Again.
I shook my head. I'd been trying to help Eve with her fielding for three weeks, but it was no use. I had to face the facts. Eve was an awesome friend. But she was a lousy ballplayer.
The trouble was,
everybody
on the Shadyside Middle School baseball team was lousy. Everybody but me. And I was sick of it.
Just once, I thought as Eve ran over to the ball. Just once I'd like to play on a really good team. Is that too much to ask?
But no. This was our team's third seasonâand it smelled like another loser.
I felt bad about being annoyed at Eve. It wasn't her fault she couldn't play. She always tried her best. She
was great at soccer and basketball. But baseball just wasn't in her.
“Sorry, Buddy,” she called. “I'll get it next time.”
“Sure. I'll hit you some flies for a while.” Eve was pretty good at catching those.
And at least I was doing my favorite thing in the worldâplaying ball. School was out for the summer, and for once my mom didn't have any chores for me to do. Like mowing the grass or cleaning out the garage.
Eve and I were playing in an empty field that backed onto some of the older houses on Fear Street. These tall gray houses towered up above high wooden fences. They looked menacing and spooky. There was one in particular that got to me. It had dark windows like eyes that watched us play.
I was careful hitting the ball. I didn't want to have to go find it in one of those yards.
Not that Fear Street scared me. Sure, I'd heard all those stories about itâabout ghosts in the cemetery and weird things in Fear Lake. But I didn't believe them.
Well, not really.
The more I hit the ball to Eve, the more that gloomy old house bothered me. Was someone really watching me behind those windows? It felt like it.
I tossed the ball up again and gave another swing. My aluminum bat connected with a
clang.
The ball leapt off the bat like a rocket. I stared at it in surprise. I didn't realize I had taken such a big swing.
The ball shot through the air as if Cecil Fielder hit it. Eve craned her neck to watch it sail over her head.
“Oh, no!” I yelled. The ball disappeared over the fence.
Right into the one place I hoped it wouldn't go.
The backyard of that spooky house on Fear Street.
I
stared at the creepy old house for a second.
Then I sprinted over to Eve. I'm short, but I move fast. I reached her in a few seconds.
“Wow!” she said as I ran up. “You really nailed that ball. No way could I have hit one that far!”
I just shrugged. I don't usually hit them that far either. But I wasn't about to admit that.
We jogged toward the fence. Its cedar boards stood warped with age. There were lots of holes to look through. I cupped my hands around my eyes to peek into the yard.
“Do you see the ball?” Eve asked.
“Nope,” I answered. “Just a bunch of old junk.”
I stepped back and studied the fence. I found a
place where the boards were loose. I shoved them aside.
“What are you doing?” Eve asked nervously.
“I'm going in to find my ball,” I told her.
“Forget it, Buddy,” Eve urged. “This place is creepy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don't believe all that Fear Street stuff, do you?”
Eve's cheeks turned red. “Don't you?”
“Hah! No way!” I said as I squeezed through the gap in the fence.
Well, I didn't. Not really.
“What a mess,” I muttered as I looked the place over. Old pieces of machinery and broken furniture lay everywhere. No grass or trees grew. Just dirt and a few weeds here and there.
I glanced up at the house. Eve was right. It was pretty gruesome. Just the kind of place you'd expect a ghost or monster to live in. That is, if you believed in ghosts or monsters.
“Hurry up, Buddy,” Eve whispered through the fence.
I moved toward the back porch. It was built up off the ground about three feet. I bent to peek underneath. Nothing but piled-up leaves and dirt. But then I caught a glimpse of white. Way back under the porch. My ball!
I got on my hands and knees and crawled after it. The day was so bright that when I ducked under the
porch into the darkness I couldn't see a thing. I blinked a few times, and my eyes adjusted.
“Gross,” I said as I moved forward. A horrible stink invaded my nose. It smelled like a sewer. I saw a big pipe way in the back with a crack in it. Thick brown goo seeped out.
I pinched my nose shut. The sooner you get the ball, the sooner you can get out of here, I thought. I started toward it again. Something sticky brushed against my forehead.
I reached up and pulled at whatever it was.
Ugh! A clump of cobweb came off in my hand. I reached up again to feel my hair. Webs stuck to it in thick gobs.
Something tickled the back of my neck. I swiped at it. A spider fell from my neck to the ground. “Oh, man,” I moaned.
Then I felt more tickling. Like things moving in my hair, crawling across my ears. I swatted at them.
Dozens of little spiders swarmed over my fingers!
I fell flat on the ground, slapping at my head with both hands. “Get off me!” I yelled. “Get off me!”
When I was pretty sure I'd gotten rid of them all, I breathed a sigh of relief.
What am I, nuts? I thought. Who cares about the baseball? I have another one at home. This place is bad news. I'm leaving.
But then I glanced ahead of me. The ball was within reach. All I had to do was grab it.
I stretched out as far as I could. My fingertips touched the ball. I rolled it toward me. I almost had it. â¦
Something cold and hard suddenly locked around my ankle. “Yipe!” I squawked, and tried to jerk away.
Whatever had me held on tight. I felt it pulling at me. I kicked with my free foot. But the grip was like iron!
It dragged me backward. I fought as hard as I could. But it was no use. I was helpless.
I was caught!
I
slid backward so fast, my face scraped against the dirt. I tried to yell, but dry leaves filled my mouth.
Then bright sunlight hit my face, blinding me. I blinked hard, trying to make my eyes adjust, but they wouldn't. Whatever had me in its clutches, I couldn't see it. The thing grabbed my shoulder. I felt myself being lifted up off the ground.
Finally, my eyes began to focus. I lifted my head and stared into the face of a wrinkled old man. He gazed down at me with cold, dark eyes. Only a few wisps of gray hair dotted his bald head. His lips parted, and I could see stained, yellowed teeth.
He was holding me three feet above the ground. His hands clamped my shoulders like vises. I squirmed, trying to get loose, but he hung on. Talk about strong!
“What are you doing under my house? You looking for something?” he demanded in a hoarse, rough voice.
“Let me down. Ow! Let me down!” I yelled. My heart pounded in my ears. What did this old man want with me?
Then, all of sudden, he let go. I fell to the ground and tumbled in the dirt.
“Ow!” I glared at him. “You didn't have to do that.”
The man's lined face crinkled up like old paper as he grinned. He seemed to think I was funny.
“It's dangerous under that porch. I couldn't let you crawl under there. Besides, how do I know you're not trying to rob me? How do I know you aren't some kind of thief?”
“I am not a thief!” I protested. “I was just trying to get my baseball back. I got up and brushed the dirt from my pants and shirt. “I hit it over the fence by accident, and it rolled under your porch.”
The old man's eyes narrowed. He scratched his chin.
“Baseball, huh?”
“It's the truth. I almost had it, when you grabbed me. If you don't believe me, look for yourself.”
“I think I'll just do that,” he said.
The old man grunted and crouched down on his hands and knees. He was wearing old, faded slacks and a suit jacket that dragged in the dirt as he peered under the porch.
