The Curse of the Creeping Coffin...“I’m bored,” you moan. “I’m so bored, I could eat...

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BOOKFROMBEGINNINGTOEND!

Youcan’tbelieveit!Youstareoutthewindowatthecreepycemeteryinyourgrandmother’sbackyard.Thegravesaremoving!You’resureofit.Thenyouturntoseeanevenmorefrighteningsight—yourgrandmother’shouseishauntedbyghosts.Lotsofghosts.Evilghostswhowantyou!

Whyarethecreepingcoffinscreeping?Doyoustaytofindoutordoyouracehome—eventhoughaterrifyingghostiswaitingforyouthere,too?

Ifyoustayyoudiscoverthatthecoffinsarespellingamessageinthegraveyard—amessagethatspellsoutyourdoom.UnlessyoucanfindtheghostwhoistheKeeperoftheSword,stealthesword,andplungeitintothegraveoftheMPG!What’sanMPG?You’llhavetofindoutforyourself—buthurry,theghostsaremovingcloserandcloser….

You’reincontrolofthisscaryadventure.Youdecidewhatwillhappen.Andhowterrifyingthescareswillbe!

StartonPAGE1.Thenfollowtheinstructionsatthebottomofeachpage.Youmakethechoices.

SOTAKEADEEPBREATH.CROSSYOURFINGERS.ANDTURNTOPAGE1NOWTOGIVEYOURSELFGOOSEBUMPS!

Contents

Beware!!

TitlePage

Teaser

AbouttheAuthor

AlsoAvailable

Copyright

“I’mbored,”youmoan.“I’msobored,Icouldeatflies.Justtoseehowtheytaste.”

“Flieshavegerms,”yourgrandmotherreplies.

Itisahot,stickydayinthemiddleofJuly.Youplopdownintoacreakyoldchairinyourgrandmother’skitchen.Yourparentsdroppedyouoffyesterday,beforetheyleftfortheirvacation.Andalreadyyoucoulddieofboredom.

Yourgrandmother’solddog,Sparkle,yawnsloudly.Hecrawlsunderthetable.Momentslater,hebeginstosnore.

“Iknowjusthowyoufeel,Sparkle,”yousay.Yousighloudly.

“Whydon’tyougooutsideandfindsomethingtodo?”yourgrandmothersuggests.Shelooksupfromthepieshe’sbakingandnodstowardthebackyard.

Gooutthere?youthink.Intoherbackyard?Noway.

Youglanceoutthewindow.It’sprobablyninetydegreesintheshade,butyoushiver.Yourgrandmother’shouseisrightinfrontofanoldcemetery.Rowsandrowsofold,crumblingtombstonessitjustbeyondtheedgeofherbackyard.

Butthat’snotwhatscaresyou.

Whatscaresyouisthatthetombstoneshavebeenmoving!

GoontoPAGE2.

Younoticeditrightafteryouarrivedyesterday.

Yousawthetombstonesfromyourbedroomwindowonthesecondfloor.Youcouldtellsomeofthegraveshadcoolcarvingsonthem,soyoudecidedtogooutsideandtakeacloserlook.

Butwhenyouenteredthegraveyard,somethingwasdifferent.Strange.

Someofthegraveswereoutofplace.

Nah,can’tbe,youtoldyourself.Gravesdon’tdisappear.

Butstill…

Fromyourbedroomwindow,youcouldhaveswornthereweresixorsevengravesinthebackrow.

Nowtherewereonlythree!

Nah….Youmusthavecountedwrong.Youdecidedtoforgetitandwenttobed.

Butwhenyouwokeupthismorningandglancedoutthewindow,thecoffinshadmovedagain.

Nowtherewereteninthebackrow!Andthemiddlerowsseemedmorecrowded.Italmostlookedasifsomeofthegravesweremovingforwardandsomeofthegravesweremovingbackward,andtherewasabigtrafficjaminthecenter.

Thecoffinswererearrangingthemselves!

Buthow?Andwhy?

GoontoPAGE3.

Yourgrandmothertapsyouontheshoulder.Shesnapsyououtofyourdaydream.“Goon,”shesays.“Goplayoutside.”

Outside?Outthere?Youshudderasyouglanceoutthekitchenwindowagain.“Oh,no,”youcry.“It’sdisappeared!”

“What’sdisappeared?”yourgrandmotherasks.

“Thegravewiththeangelonit!”youscreech,pointingoutthewindow.“It’sgone!”

Oneheadstoneinparticularcaughtyoureyeyesterday.Ithadanangelcarvingonit.Theangellookedsorealisticyoupracticallybelievedshecouldflyaway.

Didshe?

Yourgrandmotherpeersoutthekitchenwindow.“Don’tbeagoose,”shescoldsyou.“Thattombstoneisstillthere.”

Youdon’tanswerher.Youcan’t.Yourheartispoundingcrazilyandyourmouthhasgonedry.Youboltoutthebackdoor.You’vegottoseeforyourself.

Butinthegraveyardyoudiscoverthatyourgrandmotherisright.Thetombstonewiththeangelisn’tgone.

Itjustmoved!

Ithadbeeninthelastrow.Nowit’supfront.

I’mlosingmymind,youthink.Losingitcompletely.

Orareyou?

FindoutonPAGE4.

Yourunbackintothehouseshouting.

“Grandma!”youyell.“Thatgravewiththeangelonit—”

Yourgrandmotherinterruptsyou.“Youdon’thavetoshout,dear.Theangel?”Shelooksupfromherpiecrust.“That’saniceone.Letmesee.Whowasburiedthere?Oh,yes.That’sElmyraMartin’sgrave.”

Beforeyoucanexplainaboutthemovinggravestones,avoiceonthefarsideoftheroommakesyoujump.“ThenameisElviraMartin,”thevoicesayssharply.“NotElmyra.Younevercouldgetmynameright!”

Yourmouthdropsopen.Astrangewomannowstandsinthedoorwaythatleadsfromthekitchenintothehall.

Averystrangewoman.Becausesheisn’taliving,breathingwoman.She’saghost!

“Uh,Grandma…?”youbegin.Butfromthewayyourgrannyishummingtoherself,youcantellshedoesn’thearorseethisscaryvisitor.

“Anddon’tyoustareatme,youlittlewretch,”theghostsays,pointingatyou.“Oryou’llbesorry.”

Whatareyougoingtodo?Suddenlyyou’relivinginahauntedhouse!

Ifyourunoutside,turntoPAGE18.

Ifyoutalktotheghost,turntoPAGE25.

Toyouramazement,itworks!Thehorsegrowssmaller.

Hey—cool!

Youpushthevolumebuttondownagain.Likemagic,theghost-horsegrowsevensmaller.

“Wow!”youshout.YoustartpushingotherbuttonsontheTVremotecontrol.Youcanhardlywaittoseewhatwillhappen!

Unbelievably,whenyoupresstheCHANNELbutton—theonethatmovesuptothenextchannel—theghost-horsechangesintosomethingelse!Aghostlykung-fumaster!

Whenyoupressthebuttonagain,thekung-fughostchangesintotheghostofanEgyptianpharaoh.

“Thisisamazing!”youexclaim.

Thenyoupressitonemoretime.

Uh-oh.Bigmistake.

TurntoPAGE129.

YouturnandrunfromLark.Buthe’sgainingonyou.Andhisfriendshavejoinedinthechase.

“Let’sgetthoselittlecreeps!”Lark’sfriendsareshouting.

YouandRobinareskiddingaroundacornerwhenyouhearavoicewhisperinyourear.“I’llhelpyou—ononecondition.YouhavetopromisetodowhateverIasktomorrow.”

It’stheghost-boy!Youcan’tseehim,butyouheardhisoffer.Whatareyougoingtodo?

Ifyouaccepttheghost’soffer,turntoPAGE52.

Ifnot,turntoPAGE59.

Yuck!Everythinginthebucketspillsalloveryourhair,head,face,shoulders,andshirt.

Raweggs.Warmsoda.Sourmilk.Breadcrumbs.It’sdisgusting.

Someusedtissuesaremixedinthere,too.

“Whatdidyoudothatfor?”youyellangrily.

“Yousawthesign,”Diggerreplies.“Notrespassers.Thatmeansyou.”

Whatacreep!youthink.Diggerisatotal,certifiedjerk.

Inotherwords,he’sjustwhatyouneedtodealwiththisghost!

Sowhatareyougoingtodo?Keepclimbing—andtakeyourchanceswithDigger?Orfacetheghostalone?

Ifyoukeepclimbing,turntoPAGE11.

Ifyoufacetheghostalone,turntoPAGE38.

TheLuckmeyertwins?Whataretheyuptonow?youwonder.

AsMacFarlingdrivesoff,younoticethattheskyisgrowingdark.Nightisfallingandthere’sathinwispyringofcloudsaroundthemoon.

Anowlhootsnearby.Thenitswoopstowardyou!Itsclawsseemtobeaimedrightforyourface!

Youduck—andfeelthetipofitswingbrushpastyourcheek.Whenyouglanceup,younoticeacurtainmovinginawindowonthesecondfloorofyourgrandmother’shouse.

Theretheyare!Thatteenageghostandhistwinsisterwiththebraidswrappedaroundherhead—JaneandJohnLuckmeyer!Johnpointsdownatyouandlaughsevilly.

Ihopehe’snottheKeeperoftheSword,youthink.

Thenyounoticesomethingstrangeupintheatticwindow.Alightflickersonandoff.Onandoff.Someoneisupthere.IsittheKeeperoftheSword?

There’sonlyonewaytofindout.Youtakeadeepbreathandheadtowardthehouse.Thehauntedhouse.

IfyouthinkJohnLuckmeyeristheKeeperoftheSword,turntoPAGE88.

IfyouthinktheKeeperoftheSwordishidingintheattic,turntoPAGE102.

Whenthedustsettles,youarestunnedbywhatyousee.Glory,theghoststallion,hasdoubledinsize!

Andhewasalreadyabighorse.

“Neattrick,”yourgrandmothersays.“That’squiteagadget.”Shegetsupandheadsforthekitchen.“I’mgoingforasoda,”shetellsyou.“Wantone?”

“N-n-noth-thanks,”youstammer.YoustareatGlory.Thegianthorsetowersoveryou,pawingtherug.

“Whatbuttondidyoupush?”youshouttoyourgrandmother.

“Oh,Idon’tknow,”shecallsback.“Ithinkitwastheonethatturnsupthesound.”

Okay,youthink.MaybeifIturnthesounddown…

Yourfingerhoversoverthevolumebutton.Youhesitate.Whatifpushingthebuttonwillmakethehorsebigger?Whatifmoreghost-horsesappear?

Gotabetteridea?

Youpushthevolumebutton.Down.

PushthebuttononPAGE5.

Youdon’texactlyfeellikepracticingthepianorightnow.Butyoudecidetobenicetothisoldwoman.Yougowithher,andsheleadsyoutoafancyoldgrandpiano.

Shesitsyoudownandturnsonametronome.

TICK.TOCK.TICK.TOCK.

“NowplayaG-majorscaleforme,”shesays.

Forthenexthalfhour,youtakeapianolesson.Withaghost!Whenyou’redone,Mrs.Hatfieldsmiles.

“RememberhowIalwaysusedtogiveyouatreatattheendofyourlesson?”shesays.“Well,Ihaveatreatforyounow.”

“What’sthis?”youaskasshehandsyouapieceofpaper.

“It’samapofmybackyard,”shesays.“Yousee,Iburiedalotofgoldoutundertheappletree.AndIforgottomentionitinmywill.Sonooneknowsit’sthere.Iwantyoutohaveit—asarewardforbeingsonicetometoday.Forlettingmegiveyouapianolessononemoretime.”

“Uh,bu-duh…but…wow,thanks!”youmumblelikeanidiot.

Thenithitsyou.Whatgoodwillthegolddoyou—ifyou’reaghost?

TurntoPAGE123.

Youclimbthelaststepsoftheladder.Youreachthetreehouseplatformandpullyourselfontoit.

“Youdon’tgiveup,doyou?”Diggersays,soundingmildlyimpressed.

“Never,”yousay,tryingtosounddeterminedandtough.

Diggerbrusheshislong,greasybrownhairoutofhiseyes.He’sathick,chunkykidwithbadteethandworseskin.

“Sowhatdoyouwant?”Diggerasksyou.

“Atowel,foronething,”yousay,wipingoffsomeoftheyuckygunkhedumpedonyourhead.

Diggerthrowsyouarag.Youtrytocleanyourselfup.ThenyoulookDiggerintheeyes.

“Ineedyourhelp,”youtellhim.“There’saghostwho’sfollowingmearound.”

“Aghost?”Diggersays.Hisfaceturnswhiteandhelooksaroundnervously.“Where?”

“Idon’tknow,”youadmit.“Hecouldbebackatmyhouse.Orhecouldberighthere.”

“Here?”Diggercries.

GotoPAGE29.

Youdecidetotrustthisguy.He’salittleweirdlooking,butheseemsharmless.Evenifheisaghost.

“I’mJohn,”theboysays.“You’vegottogetawayfromhere.Thatclosetisfilledwithhorriblespirits.Quick—closethedoorandhideinthebasement!”

Youdoashesays,slammingtheclosetdoorhard.Thenyourundownthestairstothekitchen.Thenintothebasement.

Whydownhere?youwonder,asyoulookaroundatthedamp,grungyoldbasementbeneathyourgrandmother’shouse.

You’veneverlikedthisplace.It’scold.It’sdark.Butevenworsearethebig,uglycrickets.Theygetinfromoutsidethroughcracksinthebasementwalls.Thentheyhopalloverthebasement.

Youhatethem.

“Uh,howcomewehavetohidedownhere?”youask.

That’swhenyourealizethatJohnisn’twithyou.

“John?”youcall.

BAM!Youwhirlaroundandseethebasementdoorslamshut.CLICK.Andlock.

Thatghosthaslockedyouin!

TurntoPAGE20.

TodayisFriday.

Soyouthinkit’syourluckyday,huh?Youthinkthecaretakerisgoingtocomeandgetyououtofthatcoffin?

Thinkagain.TodayisFridaythe13th!

Ifyoudon’tbelieveit,justlookatthepagenumber!

Sure,thecaretakercomes.Buthehasanearinfection.Hecan’thearyouscreaming.Andbythetimehecomesagainnextweek,you’renotscreaminganymore.

Sorry.Guessthiswasn’tyourluckydayafterall!

THEEND

Congratulations!YoupickedtherightSarah.SarahMcGinnis.Bornin1918.Diedin1940,attheageoftwenty-two.

Youknewshewastherightone—becausethefencingghostwasayoungbeauty.Soshemusthavediedyoung.TheotherSarahinthegraveyardlivedtobeseventy-fiveyearsold.

Verycleverofyoutofigureitout!

Suddenly,youhearhervoice.Itfillsyourears.“IamtheKeeperoftheSword,”shecallstoyoufromhergrave.“Letmyfoildothework.Letgo!”

Letgo?Weird,youthink.Butyoudoit.

Assoonasthefoilleavesyourhand,itfloatsinmidair.Thenitplungesitselfdeeplyintotheearth.

IntoBrandonEstep’sgrave!

“Aaaaahhh!”theghostcries.Hisshimmeringbodybeginstofade—andthendisappearsbackintotheearth.

Youreyesopenwideandyourmouthdropsopenasyougazeatanamazingsight.Thecoffinsarecreepingagain—backtotheiroriginalpositions!Youdidit!Thecursehasbeendefeated!

Butthere’sonlyoneproblem.Brandon’sghostlybodyisgone—buthisironfistisstillclutchingyourarm!

TurntoPAGE86.

“Turnoffthatstupidlight,”Elvirascreams.“I’mtryingtogetsomesleep!”

“Sorry!”Youquicklyflickoffthelight.Butyoudon’thaveanytroubleseeingElvira.Sheglowsinthedark.

“Ihavetoaskyousomething,”youtellher.

Butshepullsthepillowoverherface.Thisisn’tgoingtobeeasy.She’sonesleepyghost.

Thenyouhaveanidea.Youflickonthelightagain.Elvirasitsstraightupandletsoutapiercingwail.

“Elvira,”yousay,“I’llturnoffthelightifyou’llansweroneteenyquestion.Thenyoucansleepaslongasyouwant.Ipromise.”

Hereyesbegintoglowgreenagain.Butshelooksverysleepy.Maybeshe’llbetootiredtohurtyou.

“Who’sthemostpowerfulghostinthegraveyard?”youblurtout.

Elvirablinksabit.“Hmmm,”shesays.“I’dsayMelvinEstep’sboy.Hedoestendtoruleuswithanironhand.”

“TheEstepboy?”youmutter.“Buttherearetwoofthem.MelvinII,andBrandon.Whichone?”

ButElviradoesn’tanswer.She’sfastasleep.

Andyoupromisedyouwouldn’twakeherupagain!

Youalwayskeepapromise.HurrytoPAGE43.

Aghost-hunter.Thatisexactlywhatyouneed!

ButhowareyougoingtofindthisMacFarlingguy?

Youdashoutofyourroomandrundownstairsasfastasyoucan.Yourushbackintothekitchen.

“Grandma,”yougasp,almostoutofbreath.“DoyouknowsomeonenamedMacFarling?”

“Oh,don’tgotalkingtomeaboutMacMacFarling,”shesays.“Thatloon.Hecamearoundherelastmonth.Toldmehethoughtmyhousewouldbehauntedsoon.Saidsomethingaboutacurse,too.Canyouimaginethat?Idon’twantyougoinganywherenearthatman.”

Uh,let’sfaceit.Granny’snotgoingtobemuchhelp.

Soyouracetothecomputer.Onahunch,yousearchfor“GhostExterminators.”

Bingo!Thereheis.”

MacMacFarling.Ghost-hunter.Theremaybehopeafterall.

AslongasyoucangetoutofthehousebeforeElvirafindsoutwhatyou’redoing!

Shhhh.TiptoeoutthedooronPAGE33.

“Aaaahhhh!”youscreamasyoufeelyourselfbeingpulledintotheground.

Youcan’tbelieveit,butit’strue.Somehow,magically,youarebeingpulledunderground,asifyourownbodyweremadeoffilmyair,liketheghost’s.

Ithurts.Infact,yourwholebodyachesasitisdraggedrightintotheground.Butonlyforaninstant.Thenyoufeelnothing.

Youcloseyoureyes.Whenyouopenthem,you’relyinginacoffin—ontopofapileofoldrottedclothesandbones!

Yourheartstartspoundingwildly.Youwanttoscream,butyoudon’tdare.Youcanalreadysensethatthecoffinhasverylittleair.

Andyoudon’tdareuseitup.Notwhenyouknowthatyou’reinanoldcoffin…sixfeetunderground…withnowayout.

You’reburiedalive!

GoontoPAGE40.

“Uh,I’mg-goingout-outside,”youstutter.

“That’snice,”yourgrandmothersays,returningtoherbaking.“Andwhenyoucomebackin,Ihopeyou’llstopbeingsosilly.”

Shestilldoesn’tnoticetheghostinthedoorway.

Youbackuptowardthedoortotheporch.Youkeepyoureyeontheghostthewholetime.Andshekeepsherglowingeyesonyou.Assoonasyourhandreachesthedoorknobbehindyou,youturn,flingopenthedoor,andbolt.

Butjustasyoustartdownthebackporchsteps,twohandsgrabyourankle.

“Aaaahhhh!”youcryasyoutrip.Yousprawlheadfirstdownthestairs.

LandonPAGE39.

It’spitch-blackinthehouse.Butyou’reokay.You’renottotallyfreakedoutbythedark.Notyet,anyway.

“Imeanit!”Larkyells.“Youtwoaregoingtogetitifyoudon’tturnthoselightsbackon.AndImeannow!”

YouandRobinstandfrozeninthekitchen.Butbeforeyoucanevenmovetowardthecircuitbreakerbox,thelightspopbackon.

“Whoa!Oh,man!”youhearLarkandhisfriendsyelling.

Youhurrytothefamilyroom.That’swhereLarkandhisbuddieswerewatchingamovieonTV.Youpeekinthedoor.

Whatasight!Popcornalloverthefloor.Drinksspilledontherug.Couchcushionstossedallovertheroom.

Larkspotsyouinthedoorway.HeglaresatyouandRobin—thenlungestowardyou.Hishandsreachstraightforyourthroat.

You’dbetterrun—quick!—toPAGE6.

“Help!”youcry.“Letmeout!”

Youturntoseeifthere’sanotherwayoutofthebasement.Gross!Thosedisgustingcricketsarehoppingeverywhere.Theremustbehundredsofthem!Thechirpingisenoughtomakeyoucrazy.

Theyhopfromthewindowsills.Theyjumpupanddownthestairs.Theypouncefromthesinktothefloor.Fromthefloortoachair.Jump!Jump!Jump!

Ack!Onelandsonyourhead!

“Yuck!”youscream.Youswipeatyourhead.“Getoffme!”Moregreenish-browncricketshoparoundyourfeet.

Youbangonthebasementdoor.“Letmeoutofhere!”

“Heh,heh,”youhearJohnsnickeringontheotherside.

Whatacreep,youthink.

Thenitdawnsonyou.

“Hey,John,”youcallthroughthedoor.“What’syourlastname?”

“Luckmeyer,”theghostanswers.

Figures!MacMacFarlingwasright.

“Uh-oh,”JohnLuckmeyermumblesontheothersideofthebasementdoor.“Herecomestrouble!”

Whatnow?Youhaveenoughtroublealready—intheformofateenageghoul.

GotoPAGE68.

Youtrytograbathersword.Butyougetahandfulofnothing.Theswordhasnosubstance.Itisn’tsolid.It’sjustair!

Thewomanlaughs.Howcanshedothatwithoutahead?“Myswordisnothingwithoutme,”shesaysmysteriously.“AndIamnothingwithoutmyhead.Ifyouwantthesword,youmustfindmyhead.”

Youheardthewoman.

Well,whatareyouwaitingfor?

Gofindherhead.

TurntoPAGE62.

Theghostfloatstowardyouandsneersinyourface.

“DoItakeitthatyou’refinallyreadytomakeadeal?”theghostasks.

Robinstares,openmouthedattheghost.Thisisthefirsttimehe’sactuallyseentheghostintheflesh.Orrather,almostflesh.

Foramoment,Robincan’tspeak.Hejustwatchestheairycreaturefloatingaroundunderthestreetlamplight.ThenRobinstartstosmile.“Cool!”Robinsays.“Totallycool!”

“Youwantmyservices,”theghostgoeson,“toscarethoseguys.Andinexchange,Iwantyourpromise.YoumustagreetodoanythingIaskofyoutomorrow.”

“Deal!”Robinsays.

“Uh,Idon’tknow,”youreply.“Whatifheasksustodosomethingwrong?Somethingillegalorsomething?”

Robinshakeshisheadandleansovertoyou.“Thenwejustwon’tdoit,”hewhispers.“Comeon.Don’tyouwanttogetbackatLark?”

Well?Don’tyou?

Ifyoumakethedealwiththeghost,turntoPAGE81.

Ifyoustillrefuse,turntoPAGE63.

Goodwork!Youaddedright.ThenumbersinthedateofSarahGrayson’sdeathaddupto23.

Butthere’sjustoneproblem.Abigone.You’vegotthewrongSarah!

Figureitout.SarahGraysonwasbornin1820.Shediedin1895.Thatmadeherseventy-fiveyearsoldwhenshedied.

Buttheghostyousaw—thefencingwoman—wasyoung.Remember?Longblackhair.Rubylips.

Notanoldlady.Ayoungone.

Whichmeans,theMostPowerfulGhosthasyouinhispowerfulirongrip.Andyou’vegotnomagicalnumbertogetoutofit!

Uh-oh.

Okay.You’llgetabreakthistime.

Gobacktothegraveyardandpickagain.ChoosetheyoungerSarahthistime.Addupthedigitsintheyearofherdeath.Thenturntothatpage.

RevisitthegraveyardonPAGE96.

TheCivilWarsoldierraiseshishugesword.Youquicklyrolloutoftheway.Theswordplungesintotheground.Youscrambletoyourfeetandrunasthesoldierwrestlesthebladeoutofthedirt.

Wherecanyougo?Whatcanyoudo?Yourheartpoundsasyouracedowntheroadtowardtown.Maybeyoucangethelp.Maybethepolicewilldriveby.MaybesomeonebesidesyouwillseethisCivilWarsoldieranddosomethingtosaveyou!

Maybenot.

Youseetwochoicesupahead.There’sasmallbridgethatcrossesanarrowriver.Ifyouruntothebridge,maybeyoucanhideunderit.

Youalsoseeasmallredbarnacrossthestreet.It’sbehindthefarmhouseacrossfromyourgrandmother’shouse.

Anothergoodhidingplace.

Whichisit?Thebridgeorthebarn?

Ifyouruntothebridge,turntoPAGE32.

Ifyouhideinthebarn,turntoPAGE55.

“Whyareyouhere?”youasktheghost.

Butyourgrandmotherthinksyouaretalkingtoher.

“YouknowwhyI’mhere,”yourgrandmotheranswers.“Ilivehere.Don’tbesuchagoose!”

Forsomereason,yourgrandmothercan’tseeElvira.

You’vealwayswantedtohaveaspecialskill.Butghost-spottingwasn’twhatyouhadinmind!

YoutrytothinkofawaytoaskElviraaquestionwithouthavingyourgrandmotherthinkyou’recompletelycrazy.Butyoucan’t.Soyoukeepstaringattheghost.

Sheglaresatyouamoment,thenmotionsforyoutofollowher.Youwatchasshefloatsintothehallandupthestairstowardyourroom.

Followaghost?youthink.Areyounuts?

Justtheideagivesyouachill.

Ifyoufollowtheghost,turntoPAGE49.

Ifyouraceoutofthishousefast—andGOHOME!—turntoPAGE30.

You’regoingtotrustaghost?Noway!Whoknowswhathe’sgotuphisruffledsleeve?Ifthisghostdoesn’twantyoutoseewhat’sinthecloset,youbetit’ssomethingthatcanhelpyouun-hauntyourgrandmother’shouse.

Youpeerintothedarkcloset.Youdon’tseeanything.

Youglancebackattheghost.Heseemsnervous.Good.

Soyouwalkrightintothecloset.

AAAAAAhhhhhh!!!!!

Thereisnothingunderyourfeetbutair!Youdesperatelytrytograbholdofsomething—anything!—butit’snouse.You’refallingdown,down,downintothedarkness.

See,yourgrandmotherhasturnedthisclosetintoaclotheschute.Sheopensthedoorandtossesherdirtylaundryin.Theclothesfallstraightdowntothebasement.That’swherethewasheris.

Andit’stwo-storydrop.

Getthepicture?

Now—howwouldyouliketobewashed?Hotwaterorcold?Withorwithoutbleach?Becauseit’stimetocleanupyouract,kid.You’reallwashedupintheghost-huntingbusiness!

THEEND

YouplungeyourswordintoMelvinEstepII’sgrave.

Themomentthefoilpiercestheground,MelvinEstepIIrisesupoutoftheearth.

Oooooohh…reallybadchoice!

He’snottheMPG—he’stheMHG!TheMostHorribleGhost!

Asthestinkingmistthatsurroundshimbeginstoclear,youcanseehehasnoface.Thereisjustaskull—filledwithrats!Thesquealingrodentspopoutofhiseyesockets.Theyrunupanddownhischeekbones,andinthroughhisgrinningmouth.

Herisesup,up,up,toweringoveryou.He’shuge!Yousinktoyourkneesinterror.“N-n-nooooo,”youwhimper.

Heiscoveredinshreddedrags,teemingwithbugs.Stripsofrottingfleshfallfromhisskeletalbody.Heliftshishorribleskullheadtotheskyandletsoutanunearthlymoan.Thenhefixeshisrat-filledeyesocketsonyou!

Andthen…andthen…hisbloodyhandsreachforyourthroat!

Faceit.Whathappensnextistoogross,evenforyou!

You’dbetterclosethebookfornow,andopenitagainwhenyouthinkyoucansurviveallthewayto

THEEND.

Youdecidetoplayitsafe—byaskingElviraforhelp.

Youturnandraceintothehouse.YourgrandmotheriswatchingTVintheden.Youdashpasther.Shedoesn’tevenlookupfromherprogram.Theeerielightfromthetelevisionistheonlylightinthewholehouse.

Youhurryupthebackstairstoyourroom.You’vegottofindtheMPG.Andthere’sonlyoneperson—orghost—whomightbeabletohelpyou.

Youfliponalightinyoursmallguestbedroom.

Apiercingshriekshattersthenight!

Nowwhat?CoveryourearsandturntoPAGE15.

AssoonasDiggerhearsthattheghostmaybenearby,hepanics.

Hegrabsaropethat’stiedaroundabigtreelimb,runstotheedgeoftheplatform,andjumps.Heswingsdowntothegroundinaspeedyescape.

Thenherunsintohishouseandlocksthedoor.

Locksthedoor?Againstaghost?

Howsilly.

You’dlaugh—ifyouweren’tstillallstickyfromtheegg-yuckhepouredonyou.

Oh,well.Likemostbullies,Diggerturnedouttobeacoward.

Somuchforaskingyourworstenemyforhelp.

Sticktoyourbestfriendfromnowon.

YourbestfriendiswaitingforyouonPAGE73.

Youdecidetogetoutofyourgrandmother’shouse.Onthedouble.

“Uh,Grandma,”yousay.“Idon’tfeelwell.Infact,IthinkI’mgettingreallysick.IthinkIshouldgohome.”

“Butdear,”yourgrandmothersays.“Youcan’tgohome.Notwithyourparentsawayonvacation.”

Well,itwasworthashot.

Youswallowhardandglanceovertowheretheghostwasstanding.She’sgone.

Maybeyouwereimaginingthings.Maybethegravestonesaren’tmoving.Maybeyoureallyaresick!

Thebestthingtodoisgouptoyourroomandliedown.Youclimbthestairstothesecondfloor.Butasyoureachthedoortoyourroom,youfreeze.

Thereinthedoorwayisaterrifyingsight!

HurrytoPAGE42.

Yourthroattightensinterror.Yourheartpoundswildly.Bothyouandyourgrandmotherarecursed,now!

Yourgrannycan’tevenseetheghosts!Shewon’tbeabletosaveherself.It’salluptoyou.

Yougriptheswordsohardyourhandcramps.You’vegottostopthecoffinsfrommovingagain.Andyou’vegottodoitnow,beforethefinalcoffinmovesintoplaceandthecurseiscomplete!

ButwhoistheMostPowerfulGhost?

“Onemoreletter,”youmutter.Onlyonemoreletterisneededtospelloutthemessage.ThelastletterinthewordDIE—theletterE.

Thenithitsyou.TheMostPowerfulGhostmustbesomeonewhoselastnamestartswithanE!

That’sit!Youmayliveafterall!Yourunthroughthegraveyard,lookingatthetombstones,searchingforE’s.

Youfindthree.MelvinEstep.MelvinEstepII.AndBrandonEstep.

ButwhichoneistheMPG?

Youcouldguess.OryoucouldgointhehouseandaskElviraforhelp.

Ifyouguess—takeastabatitonPAGE48.

IfyouaskElviraforhelp,turntoPAGE28.

Thebridgelooksgoodtoyou.Youcanslipdownthebanktotheriverandhideunderit.Youmightbeabletosneakaroundandchangedirections.Maybeyou’lllosethesoldierafterall.

Butbeforeyouevenreachtheriverbank,youfeelaheavyhandonyourshoulder.

“Halt,traitor!”thesoldiercries.

“No!”youscream,twistingaway.Youstumbleabitandlurchforward,outofhisgrasp.Youkeeprunning.

Finallyyoureachthebridge.Butthesoldierisrightbehindyou.Heswingshisswordwildlyatyou—asiftocutoffyourhead!

“No!”youcryagain,jumpingbackward.

Uh-oh.Backwardwasn’tagoodidea.You’vejustleapedoffthebridge!

Andit’salongwaydown.Oooh.Thathurt.

Youhaveafifty-fiftychanceofsurvivingthatfall.

Rememberwhatpageyou’reon—PAGE32.Thentossthisbookupintheair.

Ifitlandswiththefrontcoverfacingup,turntoPAGE105.

Ifitlandswiththecoverfacedown,turntoPAGE69.

Luckily,everythinginyourgrandma’ssmalltowniswithinbikingdistance.Twentyminuteslater,you’vebikedovertoMacMacFarling’soffice.Whichhappenstobelocatedinhisgarage.

Youknockonthesidedoorofthegarage.

“Comein!”avoicecalls.Youyankopenthedoor.

Wow!youthinkwhenyouseehim.

MacMacFarlinghasfrizzy,kinkyblondhairstickingoutalloverhishead.He’swearingsixearrings,anosering,andapairofheavyblack-framedglasseswithbluelensesinthem.He’sabout20yearsold.

Sothat’swhyyourgrandmadidn’tlikehim.

He’scool!

“What’sup?”MacFarlingasks.“Youlooklikeyou’vejustseenaghost.”Helaughs.“Sorry.Justalittleghost-huntinghumor.”

YouexplainaboutElvira,andthatshetoldyoutheghostsaregoingtotakeoveryourgrandmother’shouse.

“I’vebeenexpectingthis,”MacFarlingsays,shakinghishead.“Itriedtowarnyourgrandmother.”

“Canyouhelpus?”youplead.Hiseyesarehiddenbehindthebluelenses.Youcan’ttellwhathe’sthinking.

WillMacMacFarlinghelpyou?

FindoutonPAGE37.

YourunovertoMelvinEstep’sgraveandplungeyourswordintotheground.

Andwait.

Nothinghappens.

Doesthatmeanyou’veactuallydoneit?Didyouputanendtothecurseofthecreepingcoffins?

Youstepbackfromthegrave,leavingtheswordstandingstraightupfromthedirt.Youtakeadeepbreath.Coulditreallyallbeover?

Suddenly,oneoftheothertwocoffins—oneoftheotherEsteps!—startstomove!

Oh,no!YouchosethewrongEstep!

It’sallover,allright.AlloverforYOU!

Beforeyourastonishedeyes,theheadstonecreepsacrossthegraveyard.Withinseconds,itreachesthethirdrow.Whentheheadstonestopscreeping,thewordDIEiscomplete.

Andsoisyouradventureinthisbook.Complete.Finished.Done.Asin…

THEEND

P.S.Here’sahint.Nexttimeyoutrytodefeatthecreepingcoffins,askElviraforhelp.Don’tleavesomuchtochance!

“Help!”Robinscreamsastheknifedriftstowardhim.

Oh,no!Rightbesidethefloatingknifeistheghost-boy.

Yougrabthebaseballbatandtakeaswing.

Thebatgoesrightthroughtheghost’ssee-throughbody.Helaughsasifyoutickledhim.

Unfortunately,thebatcomesouttheothersideofhimandsmashesrightintoRobin’sdesklamp.

Oooops.

Thelampfliesoffthedeskandsmashesontothefloor.

“Whatwasthat?”awoman’svoicecallsfromthehallway.

Uh-oh.Robin’smomisontheway.

TurntoPAGE75.

YouhearaboomingCRACK!Inthenextinstant,theghostofBrandonEsteprisesupoutofhisgrave.

IshetheMPG?HaveyouchosentherightEstep?

YoupeeratBrandonashefloatstowardyou.He’sayoungguywearingablackleathermotorcyclejacket.Withheavymetalspikesandchains.Andametalhand.

Ametalhand?

Achillofterrorrunsthroughyou.Thismustbehim.TheMostPowerfulGhost.Theghostwiththeironhand.

Youraisethefoilagain.Buttheghostlungesatyou—andgrabsyourarmwithhisironhand.

Yourarmfreezes.Youcan’tmove!

Foramoment,youpanic.ThenyourememberwhatMacFarlingtoldyou.ThedateofSarah’sdeath.It’smagic,somehow.

DidyouwritedownthedatelikeMacFarlingtoldyou?Good.Thenfindthedateandaddupallfourdigitsintheyear.What’sthenewnumber?Well,that’syournextpagenumber.Turntothatpage.

Youdon’trememberthedate?TurntoPAGE96andchooseoneoftheSarahs.Addupthedigitsintheyearofherdeathandturntothatpage.

Suddenly,MacFarlingswingsintogear.Hepicksupastrangeelectronicboxandheadsforthedoor.“Comeon,”hesays.“We’vegottohurry.Let’sgo!”

Finally—someonewhocanhelpyou!Youfeelbetteralready.

MacFarlingjumpsintohiscar—anoldVWBug.Youhoponyourbike.Asyouridetoyourgrandmother’shouse,hedrivesalongbesideyou.Herollsdownthewindowandtalkstoyouthewholetime.

“Havethegravestonesbeenmovingaround?”heasks.

“Yes!”youexclaim.So,you’renotcrazy!“Whyaretheydoingthat?”

“I’mnotsure,”hesays.“I’veonlyseenitoncebefore.ButIthinkthey’removingintopositiontospelloutsomekindofmessage—orcurse.”

Gravescanspell?Thatdoesn’tsoundpossible.Butyou’rereadytobelieveanythingnow.“Howcanwestopthem?”youaskMac.

“Itwon’tbeeasy,”hetellsyou.

Youwereafraidofthat.

TurntoPAGE45.

Forgetthis,youdecide.Diggeristoomuchofajerk.You’dratherfacetheghostalone.

Youclimbdowntheladderandstarttoheadbackhome.Prettysoon,yourealizethatsomeoneiswalkingbesideyou.Youcanhearhisfootsteps.Youcanfeeltheairmoving,wherehe’sswinginghisarm.Youjustcan’tseehim.

Itmustbetheghost!

“Leavemealone!”youshoutathim,althoughyoucan’tseeathing.

“Heh,heh,”helaughsunderhisbreath.“You’llnevergetawayfromme.”

Oh,yeah?youthink.We’llseeaboutthat.

TrytolosethisguyonPAGE79.

Youlandfacedownatthebottomofthesteps.

Goodthingitwasn’talongflightofstairs.You’reonlybruisedandscratched.Youscrapedyourchin,butnothing’sbroken.

“Ha,ha,ha!”youhearaboy’svoicesay.

Youturntowardthevoice.Youwanttoseethejerkwhomadeyoutrip.

Hey—waitaminute.

Thereisnojerkbehindyou.Youblinktobesure.

Yup.You’resure.

There’sabsolutelynoonestandingatthetopofthestairs!Oranywhereelse!

TurntoPAGE44.

Youstarttopanic.Thecoffinfeels—crowded.Youtrytositup,butyoubumpyourhead.Ouch.

Uh-oh.Wasthat…somethingmoving?

Whatisit?youwonder.Yourheartraces.Snakes?Worms?Rats?

Somethingbumpsyourknee.Youstartbangingonthecoffinlid,tryingtogetout.

“Hey—holdstill,”avoicesays.

Slowly,theghost-boybeginstomaterialize.Heissqueezedinbesideyou.Thecoffinissocrowdednow,youcanhardlymove.

“Takemyhand,”theghost-boysays.“Timetocontinuethejourney.”

Youstareattheghost’soutstretchedhand.

Ifyoutaketheghost-boy’shand,gotoPAGE82.

Ifyoudon’t,turntoPAGE98.

Yourstomachturnsatthesightofherbloodyneck.Thenyounoticetheghost’sbodyisstillhoveringbelowyou.Itfloatsupthestepsandsomehowattachestoherhead.

“Thankyou,”shesaysonceshe’sinonepiece.Shehandsyouherfoil.“IamtheKeeperoftheSword.Takethis—anduseitasyouwill.NowImustreturntomygrave.”

YourememberMacMacFarling’sinstructions.“Wait!”youcall.“What’syourname?”

“Sarah,”shewhispersasherformfadesaway.

Thenshe’sgone.

YouruntothephoneanddialMacFarling’snumber.Whenheanswers,youtellhimyou’vegotthesword.

“Good,”MacFarlingsays.“Listencarefully.Findhergraveinthegraveyard.Writedowntheyearofherdeath.It’saspecialnumber.You’llneedit.ThenplungeherswordintothegraveoftheMPG.That’stheonlywaytokeepthegravesfromspellingoutthecurse.”

“ButhowdoIfindtheMPG?”youask.

“Oops,”MacFarlingsays.“Callwaiting.Gottogo!”

Hehangsup.Callwaiting?youthink.Whataliar!Hejustdoesn’tknowhowtohelpyoufindtheMPG.Nowwhat?

Ifyougotothegraveyard,turntoPAGE96.

IfyouthinktheMPGwillcometoyou,turntoPAGE125.

Aghostfillsthedoorway.Butthisghostisn’tjustafilmyversionofalivehumanbeing.Thisghostisn’tlikeElviraMartin.

Thisghostishideous!Hiswholefaceisgrayish-blue.Histongueandeyesbulgeout.Helooksasifhediedwhilebeingchoked.Thenhisblueishhandsreachoutforyou.

Thatdoesit.Nowayareyoustayinginthiscreepyhauntedhouseforanotherminute!

Yourunbackdownstairstoyourgrandmother.Youbeg.Youplead.Youcry.Thenyoupullouteverytrickinthebook.Eventheonewhereyoufakeahighfeverbyputtingthethermometeronalightbulb.

Eventually,yourgrandmothergivesin.Shecallsyourparents.Theycutshorttheirvacation,comepickyouup,andtakeyouhome.They’reprettysteamedatyou.Butyoudon’tcare.Atleastyou’vegottenawayfromthathauntedhouse!

Youflopdownonthebedinyourroom.That’swhenyoufeelsomethingpokingyou.Somethinginyourbed!

Yousitupandstareatyourblanket.

It’sslidingaroundonthebed—allbyitself!

SlideovertoPAGE61.

Youturnandrunoutoftheroom,leavingElvirasnoringpeacefullyinyourbed.

Youheadbacktothegraveyard.You’regoingtohavetotakeachanceononeoftheEstepboys.Andfast!Beforethegravesmoveagain.

Onlyoneletterleftbeforethecurseiscomplete.That’swhatkeepsgoingthroughyourhead.

Whenyoureachthegraveyardyouarealmostoutofbreathfromrunningupanddownthestairssomanytimes.Butthesightthatgreetsyounearlytakesyourbreathawaycompletely.Youthinkyoumightfaint.

Thegraveyardisfilledwithghosts!Horribleghosts.Oneofthem—anoldmanwithlong,stringyhair—carriesanax.Awomansobs.Aheadwithoutabodypasses,thenabodywithoutahead.Eachghostisworsethanthelast!

Thenyourememberthefencingfoilinyourhands.Youraisetheswordtofendthemoff.Itworks.Theyfloatallaroundthegraveyard,buttheydon’tcomenearyou.

YourunstraightfortheEstepgraves.

Butwhichone?MelvinIIorBrandon?

You’vegottochoose.

IfyoupickMelvinEstepII,turntoPAGE27.

IfyoupickBrandonEstep,turntoPAGE47.

“Ha,ha,”theboy’svoicetauntsagain.

“Gotcha!”agirl’svoicejoinsin.

Rightinfrontofyouramazedeyes,aboyandagirlslowlybegintomaterialize.

Whentheyfinallytakeshape,youcanseethatthey’reteenagers.Butteenagersfromalongtimeago.Theboyisdressedinafunny-lookingblacksuitwithafrillywhiteshirtandshinyblackshoes.Thegirliswearingalong,old-fashionedwhitelinendress.Herhairisbraidedandthebraidsarewrappedaroundherheadthreetimes.

Theboyandgirllookalmostsolid—butnotquite.Youcanseerightthroughthem.

“Boo!”theyshoutatthesametime.Thentheydoubleoverwithhystericallaughter.

Yourheartisstillpoundingwildly.

Isthisreallyhappening?Orareyoudreaming?

There’sonewaytofindout.Pinchyourself.

Ifithurts,turntoPAGE53.

Ifitdoesn’t,turntoPAGE60.

“First,”MacFarlingexplains,“you’llhavetofighttheKeeperoftheSword.That’soneoftheghosts.Youneedtogetthespecialsword—anduseittostoptheMPG.”

“What’stheMPG?”youask.

“TheMostPowerfulGhost,”MacFarlingsays.“It’satermforthespiritwhohascontroloveragraveyard.”

“Onceyouhavethesword,”Maccontinues,“youmustplungeitintothegraveoftheMPG.Butyou’vegottohurry!Becausewhenallthegraveshavemovedintopositionandspelloutthemessage—it’llbetoolate!Thecursewillbecomplete.Andafterthat,you’llneverbeabletogettheghostsbackintotheirgraves.”

YourheadisspinningfromwhatMacjusttoldyou.Butyounodasifyouunderstand.

You’vearrivedatyourgrandmother’shouse.MacFarlingstopshiscarandhopsout.Yougetoffyourbikeandparkit.MacFarlingfacesyourgrandmother’shouseandswitchesonthefunkyelectronicboxhe’scarrying.Reddialslightup.Thenyouhearaloudbeepingsound.

“Uh-oh,”MacFarlingsays.“Majortrouble.Givemeadollar.”

IfyougiveMacFarlingadollar,turntoPAGE57.

Ifyourefusetogivehimmoney,turntoPAGE74.

TheknifefloatstowardyouandRobin.Quickly,yougrabtheneedlepointpillow.Youholditinfrontofyoulikeashield.

Areyoucrazy?You’regoingtousethatpillow?TheoneRobin’smotherlovinglyneedlepointedforhim?Theonethattookherseventy-fourhoursoffinger-achingworktocomplete?You’reusingittoblockanattackfromaflyingknife?

Oh,dear.We’retalkingseriousbadjudgmenthere.

Thepillow,ofcourse,isrippedtoshreds.Butthat’sjustthebeginning.Justthefirstofmanybaddecisionsyoumakeinyourlife.Forinstance:

Afewweekslater,you’reatapicnic.Youdropablueberrymuffinontoabigredanthill.Thefireantsswarmalloverthemuffin.Youdecidetopickitupandeatitanyway.

Yourmothergivesyouahundreddollarsforyourbirthday.Abeggarasksyouforaquarter,butyoudon’thaveanychange.Youtearoffapieceofthehundred-dollarbillandgiveittohiminstead.

Whenyougrowup,youwinaTVgameshow.Theprizeisanewcar!Butthecarisblue,andyouhatethecolor.Soyousay“Nothanks,”andgiveitback.

Seetheproblem?Ofcoursenoneofthiswillhappen—ifyoucanlearnhowtochoosemorecarefully.

GotoPAGE100andchooseagain.

YoucrossyourfingersanddecidetotakeachanceonBrandonEstep.Yourunovertohistombstoneandstandinfrontofit.

Youholdtheswordinbothhandslikeadagger,withthepointdown.Yourhandstremblesomuchyou’reafraidyou’lldropthesword.Youtightenyourgripandtakeadeepbreath.

ThenyouraisetheswordaboveBrandon’sgraveandpreparetoplungeitintotheground.

Butsomethingstopsyou.

Whathappened?FindoutonPAGE36.

Timeisrunningout.Thatlastcoffincouldcreepintoplacebeforeyouevencrossovertoagrave!Thenitwillbeallover.Foryouandyourgrandmother.

Youaretooterrifiedtothink.

Soyoudecidetoguess.

Well…whatareyouwaitingfor?Goaheadandguess.

WhichoneistheMostPowerfulGhost?

MelvinEstep?MelvinEstepII?OrBrandonEstep?

IfyoupickMelvinEstep,turntoPAGE34.

IfyoupickMelvinEstepII,turntoPAGE27.

IfyoupickBrandonEstep,turntoPAGE47.

YoufollowElviratoyourroomonthesecondfloor.Themomentyoustepintothebedroom,sheslamsthedoor.

Thenshewhirlsaroundtofaceyou.Hereyesturngreenandbegintoglow.

Youbackup,stumbling,andfallontothebed.

“Youlittlewretch,”shesays.“Idon’twantanytroublefromyou!”Sparksseemtoflyfromherflashinggreeneyes.Youshrinkbackintothepillows.

ThenElviragazesaroundtheroom.“Yes,yes,”shesays.“Thiswilldonicely.”

“Wh-whatdoyoumean?”youstammer.

Elvirafloatstowardthebed.Shehoversoveryou.“I’mtakingoverthisroom,now,”shetellsyou.“Getout!”

Youwouldlovetoleave,butyouareshakingtoohardtogetup.Besides,youhavetofindoutwhat’sgoingon!Elviraistheonlyonewhocanexplainittoyou.

“Please,”youbeg,“justtellmewhyyouarehere.Andwhyarethegravesmoving?”

“Shutup!”shescreeches.“Andgetoffthatbed.Iwanttoliedown!Ihaven’tsleptinabedinfifty-oneyears!”

Uh-oh,yourealize.Youaren’tjustdealingwithaghosthere.You’redealingwithaghostinaverybadmood!

You’dbetterdowhatshesaysonPAGE72.

Thenextday,youandRobinmeetrightafterbreakfast.Theghostshowsupanhourlater.Rightontime.

“Okay,”theghostsays.“Here’sthedeal.Iwantyoutoeataplatefulofworms.”

“Areyoukidding?”Robinblurtsout.

“Nope,”theghostsays.“You’vegottoeatworms.Stayhere.I’llgetthem.”

Theghost’sbodysuddenlyformsintoafunnelshapeanddisappearsintothegroundinRobin’sfrontyard.Helookslikeahumantornadovanishingintotheearth.

Whenhezoomsbackup,theghosthasahandfulofworms.

HewalksovertoRobin’sfrontporch.Sittingonthestepsisasmallplate.

“Eatthese,”theghostsays,dumpingthewormsontheplate.

“Yuck!”Robinsays.“Noway!”

“Ifyoudon’t,”theghostsays,“I’llhauntyoufortherestofyourlife.Likethis.”Theghostmakeshimselfintoanairytornadoagain.Butthistime,thefunnelflowsintoRobin’shead.Itgoesinoneear—andouttheother!

“Yeow!”Robinscreams.“Okay!Okay!I’lleatthem!”

TurntoPAGE109.

Youstareattheglowingghostlyface.Yourmouthdropsopenasthefacerisesoutofthemoosehead.Thewoman’sfacefloatsupandhangsinmidair,rightinfrontofyou.

“Thankyou,”theheadsays.“Youhavereleasedmefrommytrap.”

Hereyesarelargeandbrightblue.Herrubylipsshimmerinthedarkness.Herlongblackhairhangsdown,fallingbelowherneck.

Herneck?Youglanceatit—andtrynottoscream.

Tornfleshdanglesfromthebottomofherneck.Blooddripsfromtheraggededges.

Suddenlyyourealizewhatyou’reseeing.Itlooksasifherheadhasbeenchoppedoff!

Trynottofaint.TurntoPAGE41.

“Okay,”yousaytotheghost.“I’lldoanything.Justhelpus!”

“Good,”theghost-boyanswers.

Aninstantlater,youhearLarkgoflyingtothefloor.

“Yeow!”Larkyellsashehitstherughard.

YouandRobinstoprunning.Youturnandlaugh.

“Quitsnickering,youlittletwerps,”Larksnarlsasheclamberstohisfeet.“You’redeadmeat.”

HecomestowardyouandRobin,onehandclenchedinafist.Theghost-boywinks,andtherugfliesoutfromunderLark.Hesprawlsontheflooragain.

YouandRobinlaughsohardyoudoubleover.

Fortherestofthenight,everytimeLarkoroneofhisbuddiestriestocomeafteryou,theghostpullsaprank.Nothingbig.NothingthatwouldmakeLarksuspectanything.Justenoughtokeeptheguysfrombotheringyou.

YouandRobinsleepverypeacefullythatnight.

Thenextmorning,whenyougethome,theghostisinyourroom,waitingforyou.“Okay,”theghostsays.“Timetokeepyourpromise.Let’sgo.”

Go?Gowhere?

FindoutonPAGE84.

Nodoubtaboutit.Youaredefinitelyawake.Thisisreallyhappening.Whichmeansyouareface-to-facewithtwoteenageghosts.

Youstandupandbrushyourselfoff.

“Whoareyou?”youask,tryingnottoletyourvoicetremble.“Whatdoyouwant?Whatareyoudoinghere?”

“I’mJaneLuckmeyer,”thegirlghostsays.“Andthisismydearlybelovedtwinbrother,John.”

Johnbowsdeeply.Thenhesticksouthistongue.

“Oh,John,”Janecries.“Thiswillbesomuchfun!”

“Yes,dearsister,”Johnanswers.“Wehaven’thadanyonetotormentinages.”

“Aneternity!”Janeagrees.“ButI’vespentthetimethinkingofevermorehorribletricksandtortures.”

Youdon’tlikethesoundofthat!Couldthesetwocreepshavesomethingtodowiththecreepingcoffins?

“Tellmesomething,”yousay,hopingyousoundcasual.“Whyhavethecoffinsbeenmovingaround?”

Butthetwinsdon’tansweryou.Instead,theycacklehorriblyandgrinatyou.

GoontoPAGE66.

Youstarttoswingtherope,hopingtolassothewildghoststallion.

Areyoukidding?

Doyouknowhowlongittakestolearnhowtolasso?

Andyoudon’tevenhavethatropetiedintherightkindofknot,doyou?

Admitit.Unlessyou’vegrownuponaduderanchorwithintwohundredmilesofapackofwildstallions,youdon’thaveaflatchanceoflassoingthiscrazedanimal.

IfyouwereborninColorado,Montana,orWyoming,turntoPAGE58.

Ifyouwerebornanywhereelse,turntoPAGE94.

Youraceacrossthelawnandoverthehilltothesmallbarn.Youswingopenthedoor.

Instantly,morethanfortychickensflapdownoutoftheraftersatyou!Feathersflyeverywhere.

“Aaaaa-choooo!”Thefeatherstickleyournose.Theygetinyourmouth.Youswipeatthedownytufts.

Thecluckingissoloudyoucoveryourears.Thenyoucoveryourhead.“Aaaaaahhhh!”youscream.Thechickensareswoopingtowardyourhair.

Whyaretheyswoopingtowardyourhair?You’veheardthatbatswillflyatpeopleandgettangledintheirhair.Butchickens?

There’sdefinitelysomethingweirdgoingonwiththesebirds.

TurntoPAGE97.

Youdecidetoaskyourworstenemytohelpyou.

DiggerSukowski.

That’sthefirstnamethatpopsintoyourheadwhenyouthinkabouthowtodealwiththisghost.

Diggerisasixth-graderwholivesafewblocksaway.He’sabullyandajerk,andyoucan’tthinkofanyonemeanerortougher.Perfect.

“Uh,waitrighthere,”youtelltheghost.

YoudashoutofthehouseandrunallthewaytoDigger’sbackyard.That’swhereDiggerandhisfriendshavebuiltatreehouse.

Theladderleadinguptothetreehousehasasignonit.

NOTRESPASSERS.THISMEANSYOU.CLIMBTHISLADDERATYOUROWNRISK!

Youswallowhardandputyourfootontheladder.

KeepclimbingonPAGE70.

YoureluctantlyhandMacFarlingadollarbill.

Hefoldsthedollarinhalftwice.Thenhejamsitintoatinyslotofhiselectronicbox.Aminutelater,thebeepingstops.Theboxspitsthedollarbackout.

“Thanks,”MacFarlingsays.“Thespiritcounterwasjammed.”Hegivesthedollarbacktoyou.

Weird,youthink.Butitseemstohaveworked.

Then,MacFarlingstaresatthereddialsonhismachine.

“Badnews,kid,”MacFarlingsaysfinally.“Bymycount,therearetenghostsinthehousealready.That’swayovermylimit.You’reonyourown.”

Hestartsbacktowardhiscar.

“Wait!”youcallafterhim.“Youcan’tleavemehere!Please!Youhavetohelpme!”

MacFarlinghesitatesforaminute.Thenheshrugs.“Okay,”hesays.“ThisiswhatI’mwillingtodo.I’llhelpyoumakeamapofthegraveyard.Comeon.”

Amapofthegraveyard?Whatfor?youwonder.

Butyoudon’taskquestions.YoujustfollowMacintothecemeteryanddowhathetellsyou.Anhourlater,you’vegotadrawingofthefirstfourrowsofgravestones.

Toseethemap,turntoPAGE127.

Whoosh!Theropesnapsthroughtheairwithaswish!ItfluttersoverGlory’shead.Theghost-stallionrearsupwithanangrywhinny.Youflickyourwristandgivetheropeasharpyank.Bingo!Youdidit.

Talkaboutheavy-dutylassoing!

Glorysnortsandstampshishooves,nearlyliftingyouofftheground.Butyouhangon.Usingallyourstrength,youdragtheghost-horsedownthestairs.Youpullhimintotheden,whereyourgrandmotheriswatchingtelevision.

“Grandma!Look!”youshout.“I’veropedaghost-horse!”

Yourgrandmothergazesupfromhertelevisionprogramandgivesyouawarmsmile.Thensheeyestheghost-horse.

“Now,don’texpectmetofallforthat,”shesays.“Iknowallaboutthegizmosyoukidshavethesedays.Whatisthat?Somekindofhologram?Orvideogame?See,I’mup-to-date.”

Hologram?Videogame?Isshenuts?

Withatwinkleinhereye,yourgrandmotherreachesfortheTVremotecontrol—andaimsitatthehorse.

Shepushesabutton.

Showersofsparksshootoutoftheremote.AcrackingBOOMshakesthehouse.

Whathasyourgrandmotherdone?

FindoutonPAGE9.

“Noway,”yousay.“I’mnotmakingadealwithaghost!”

“Fine,”theghost-boysays.“You’reonyourown!”Hevanishes.

Maybethiswasn’tsuchagreatidea.

Larkandhisfriendscatchupwithyoueasily.Whathappensnextisn’tpretty.BythetimeLarkandhisfriendsaredone,youandRobinareamess.

You’relyinginthedampgrassinRobin’sfrontyard.You’rebruisedfrombeingtackled.YourT-shirtandjeansaregrass-stained.Yourhairisatanglednest.Larkusedbothsetsofknucklestogiveyou“noogies.”

“Oooh,”Robinfumes.“Icouldstranglehim!”

“No,youcouldn’t,”youreply.“You’renotbigenough.Infact,hestrangledus.”

“True,”Robinadmits.“Butwe’vegottodosomethingtogetbackathim.Iwishthatghostwouldcomeback.Maybehecouldscarethelivingbazookasoutofmystupidbrother.”

NosoonerhasRobinsaidthewordswhentheghostappears.

“Yourang?”theghostsayswithaslysmile.

TurntoPAGE22.

Youdidn’tfeelthat?

Uh-oh.Pinchagain.

Nothing?

You’veobviouslyfallenasleepwhilereadingthisbook!You’vegonebye-bye.Todreamland.You’reprobablysnoring,too.

Thethingis,inyourdreamsyou’llprobablybeabletohandletheseghosts.

Butinreallife?Well…that’sadifferentstory.

Sogoahead.Snoozeon.Enjoyit.

We’llseehowwellyousurvive—whenyouwakeup!

Whenyouwakeup,turntoPAGE53.

Yourheartracesasyouscootawayfromthemovingblanket.Youpressyourbackupagainstthewall.Somethingbumpsintoyourfoot.Thenyourknee.

“OW!”Somethinginvisiblepinchedyou!

Littlebylittle,the“something”beginstoappear.

Atfirst,it’sonlyaghostlyhead.Theheadofaboy.He’sabouttwelveyearsoldandhe’sgrinningatyou.

“Surprise,”hesaysashisbody,arms,andlegsbegintomaterializeinfrontofyou.Helooksalmostsolid—butnotquite.

“Whoareyou?Where…wheredidyoucomefrom?”youfinallyblurtout.

“Wouldn’tyouliketoknow?”hesays.Thenhefloatsovertothewindowandgesturestowardyourfamily’scarinthedriveway.“Bumpyride,wasn’tit?”hesayswithalaugh.

Bumpyride?Oh,no!Hehitchedaridewithyoufromyourgrandmother’shouse!

You’vegottodosomethingtogetridofthisghost.

Butwhat?

Andwho’sgoingtohelpyou?

Ifyouchooseyourbestfriendtohelpyou,turntoPAGE73.

Ifyouchooseyourworstenemytohelpyou,turntoPAGE56.

“Okay,”youtellher.“I’llfindyourhead.Waithere.”

Butwhereshouldyoulook?

Youdashupthestairstotheattic.It’stheonlyroomyouhaven’tbeeninsinceyouarrived.Andyoudefinitelywouldhavenoticedaheadifyou’dseenone.

Yourummagearoundintheattic.Yousearchthrougheverything.Twice.Trunksofoldclothes.Pilesofoldfurniture.Golfclubs.Noghost-head.

Youglancearoundthedustyroom.Think!Theremaynotbemuchtimeleft.IfIwereaghost-head,wherewouldIbe?youaskyourself.Yousuddenlyspotalargemooseheadsittingonthefloorbyabrokenchair.

Youkneeldowntoexaminethemoth-eatenmoosehead.Upclose,itlooksevenworse.Theantlersarecrackedandoneeyeismissing.Itisfilthyandhasamustyodor.

It’snotevenhuman.Butwhatchoicedoyouhave?

It’stheonlyheadhere!

Besides—you’reinabighurry.You’vegottogettheswordbeforethecoffinscreepagain!

Yougrabthemooseheadandracedownstairs.

YouonlyhopetheKeeperoftheSwordwon’tbefuriouswhensheseestheheadyoubroughther!

CrossyourfingersforluckandturntoPAGE80.

Nodeal,youdecide.You’renotgoingtomakeabargainwithaghost.

Youwouldn’tevenmakeadeallikethatwithyourmom.Promisetodo“whatever”shewants?Youmightenduprakingleavesandwashinghercarforayear!

“No,thanks,”youtelltheghost.“Nodeal.Idon’tmakepromisesIcan’tkeep.”

Theghostsmilesatyou.Anicesmile.Forthefirsttimesinceyoumethim,heseemsgenuinelyfriendly.

“That’swhatIwantedtohear,”theghostsays.“Thatyouwouldn’tmakeapromiseunlessyoureallymeanttokeepit.I’vebeenlookingforsomeonehonestlikeyouforalongtime.”

Thentheghostreachesintohispantspocket.Hepullsoutagoldcoin.

“Takethis,”hesays,handingittoyou.“Andpromisemethatyouwillneverspendit.Thecoinwillbringyougoodluckaslongasyouneversellit,spendit,orgiveitaway.Butmakesureyouarenotburiedwiththecoin.Otherwise,yourspiritwillneverrest.Likeme,you’llbeforcedtoroamtheearthlookingforsomeonetogiveitto.”

Youtakethecoinfromhim,andhesighswithrelief.Thentheghost-boyvanishescompletely…andyouneverseehimagain.

THEEND

KeepawayfromtheLuckmeyertwins.Thatshouldbeeasy,noproblem.Twinsareprettyeasytospot.

Thenithitsyou—dotheyalwayssticktogether?Aretheyguysorgirls?Andhowoldarethey?Nowaytoknow.

Hmmmm.Maybethiswillbemoredifficultthanyouthought.

Youslinkintoyourgrandmother’shouse.Youfeelcreepy,knowingtheplaceisloadedwithghosts.AndhowareyougoingtofindtheKeeperoftheSword?Youdon’thaveaclue.Yourheadswimsasyouwanderuptothesecondfloor.

BAM!Adoorbangsopen.Itnearlyhitsyouinthehead.

Youjumpback,andpeerintoahallcloset.

“Don’tgointhere!”avoicebehindyouwarns.

Youwhirlaroundandsee—aghost!Ateenagerfromanothertime.He’sdressedinanold-fashionedblackvelvetsuitwithafrillywhiteshirt.Hishairisslickedbackandcombedneatlybehindhisears.He’ssmiling—butit’sasneakysmile.

Shouldyoulistentohim?

Ifyoustayoutofthecloset,turntoPAGE12.

Ifyouseewhat’sinthecloset,turntoPAGE26.

Youstaredownatthemapofgravestonesinyourhands.Youwonderhowitcanpossiblyhelp.

“Bigtrouble,”Macsays,peeringoveryourshoulder.“Themessageisalreadyalmostcompletelyspelledout.”

“Whatmessage?”youask,puzzled.

“Lookatthesefirstfourrows,”hesays,pointingatthepaper.“Therestofthegravesdon’tmatter.That’swhyIdidn’tputthemonthemap.Takeapenandcirclethefirstletterofthelastnameoneachtombstone.Itspellsoutamessage!Don’tyousee?”

No.Youdon’tsee.Andyouwon’tsee—untilyoudoit.

Sodoit.

TurntothemaponPAGE127.Circlethefirstletterofthelastnameoneachtombstone.Itwillspelloutamessage—orpartofone.

Whenyouhavediscoveredthemessage,turntoPAGE91.

TheLuckmeyertwinsfloatdownthestepstowardyou.Andtheybothhaveanevilglintintheireyes.

Uh-oh.Thesetwospelltrouble.Doubletrouble.

Run!youtellyourself.Butwhichway?

Ifyourunawayfromthem,you’llberunningstraighttowardthegraveyard.

ButyouronlywaybackintothehouseisbygettingpasttheLuckmeyertwinsfirst.They’refloatingcloserandclosertoyou—andJohnishidingsomethingbehindhisback.

Youfreeze.Youcan’tdecidewhattodo.YouknowJohnisuptosomething.Andyouknowyou’dbetternotstickaroundtofindoutwhatitis!Butwhichwayshouldyougo?

Don’tthink!Run!

Ifyouruntowardthegraveyard,turntoPAGE93.

Ifyoutrytoslippastthetwinsandbackintothehouse,turntoPAGE108.

You’retryingtocrawloutfromunderthesink,whenthelightspopbackon.

Amomentlater,Larkandhisbuddieszoomintothekitchen.

“Whatareyoutwojerksdoing?”Larkasks.

“Nothing,”Robinsaysquickly.

“Yeah,nothing,”youchimein.

Larklooksathisfriendsandtheyallnod.Youdon’tlikethewaythey’resmilingatyou.

Uh-oh.

HurrybacktoPAGE6.

Ick!Anothercricketplopsonyourhead.

“Letmeout!”youyellagain,poundingonthedoor.

Immediately,thedoorswingsopen.

Uh-oh.Theghostwasright.Troublehasarrived—inabigway.

It’syourgrandma.Andshe’ssteamingmad.

“Whatinheaven’snameareyouupto?”yourgrandmotherscolds.

Youglancepastherintothekitchenandseewhatshemeans.Thewholeplaceisamess.Flourisscatteredalloverthefloor.Potsandpansarestackedonthechairsandtable.Everysingleitemthatwasintherefrigeratorissittingonthekitchencounter.

“Whatonearthhaveyoudone?”yourgrandmotherdemands,pointingatthehugemess.

Behindherback,youseetheghostlyJohnLuckmeyerwithabiggrinplasteredacrosshissmirkingface.

Quick—whatareyougoingtotellher?

Ifyoudecidetomakeupastory,turntoPAGE71.

Ifyoutellthetruth,turntoPAGE112.

Thebooklandswiththefrontcoverdown.Luckyyou!Yousurvivethefalloffthebridge.Butdon’tkidyourself.You’reprettybruisedandscratchedup.

“Owww…”youmoan,asyoulieontherockybanksoftheriver.

Mistake.Youshouldn’thavemoaned.Nowthesoldierknowswhereyouare!

Inaflash,hejumpsoffthebridgeandtowersoveryou.

“Preparetodie!”heshouts.

Can’tthisguythinkofanythingelsetosay?

Thenhe…well…he…youknow.Hefinishesyouoffwithonethrustofthatbeautiful,mother-of-pearl-handled,sapphire-encrustedsword.

Hey—don’tlooksosurprised.

Wesaidtherewasafifty–fiftychanceofsurvivingthefall.Wedidn’tsayanythingaboutsurvivingthisbook!

THEEND

Youclutchthetree-houseladdersohardyougetasplinter.Theladderisnailedtothesideofthetree.Thereisn’tmuchspaceforyourhandsoryourfeet.Theboardsarewobblyandcrooked.Youdon’tdarelookdown.

Whenyou’rehalfwayuptheladder—toohightojumpdown,butnothighenoughtoliftyourselfontotheplatform—Diggerpopshisheadoutofthetreehouse.Hegivesyouameangrin.

“Hey,”hesaysinanastyvoice.“Lookeewhatwegothere.Atrespasser!”

Thenheleansovertheedgeoftheplatformwithabucketinhishands.Heraisesthebucket,thenturnsitupsidedown.

Directlyoveryourhead.

TurntoPAGE7.

“Uh,Iwastryingtomakedinnerforyou,Grandma,”yousay.Ifyoutoldthetruth,she’dthinkyouwerelying.Thenyou’dbeinevenbiggertrouble.

“Well…”Yourgrandmother’sfacebeginstosoften.

ThenJohnLuckmeyerfloatsovertoyou.Beforeyourealizewhathe’sdoing,Johnpicksuponeofyourgrandmother’sbestchinateacups.Heknocksittothefloor,rightbyyourhand.Theteacuplandswithahorriblecrash.

Oh,no!

Youstarttoopenyourmouthtoexplain.Butthenanotherghostappearsontheothersideofyou.Thisoneisagirl.She’swearinganold-fashioned,longwhitelinendress.Herhairisbraidedandthebraidsarewrappedaroundherheadthreetimes.

“Hello,”shesayswithasnicker.“I’mJaneLuckmeyer.”

Great,youthink.Anotherone.TrappedbetweentheLuckmeyertwins.

ShepicksupthechinasaucerthatgoeswiththeteacupJohnjustsmashed.TheshetossesitlikeaFrisbeeacrosstheroom.Somehowshemakesitlookasifyouthrewit.Thesaucercrash-landsatyourgrandmother’sfeet.

“That’sit,”yourgrandmothersays.“Gotoyourroom!”

TurntoPAGE124.

Youjumpupfromthebed.

Elviraliesdown,neatlyspreadingherwhitesatindressonthecovers.Herlongredhairfansoutacrossthepillow.

“Ahhhh,”shesighs.“Arealbed.”Sheshutshereyes.

Youhopeshedoesn’tsleeptoolong.Youhavesomanyquestionstoask.Andyouhopeshe’llbeinabettermoodwhenshewakesup!

Shedozesforexactlytwominutes.Thenhereyespopopen.Younoticetheyaren’tglowinggreenanymore.

“Ah,”Elvirasays.“That’sbetter.”

Nowthatshe’sawake,you’renotsurehowtobegin.You’realmosttoofreakedouttospeak.Butyouhavetoknow!“Whyarethegravesmoving?”youask.“What’sgoingon?”

“It’sthecurseofthecreepingcoffins,”theghostlywomananswers.“Andwe’removingintothishouse.Allofus.”

Allofus?

Whatdoesthatmean?

RushtoPAGE106.

Youdecideyouneedyourbestfriend’shelp.SoyoucallRobin.Helivesonlytwohousesaway.

Withoutevenagood-byetoyourmomanddad,youzoomoutthefrontdoor.YouruntoRobin’shouseasfastasyoucan.

“Hi!”Robinsays.“Thatwasfast.What’sup?”

“You’renotgoingtobelieveme,”youwarnhim.

“Tryme,”Robinsays,tossingthreejugglingballsintheair.

Robinhasbeentryingtolearntojuggleforsixmonths.Hejustcan’tgetthehangofit.

“Mygrandmother’shouseishaunted,”youexplainquickly.“Thecoffinsinthegraveyardbehindthehousewerecreepingaround.Theghostsescapedfromtheirgraves.And—”youpauseandtakeadeepbreath.“Andoneofthemfollowedmehome.”

Robinstaresatyouasifyou’recrazy.Heletsallthreeballsdroptothefloorwithathud-thud-thud.

“Yeah,sure.Right,”hesayssarcastically.

Amomentlater,allthreejugglingballsriseupfromthefloor.Toyouramazement,theystartjugglingthemselves!

ThenoneofthemfliesrightatRobin—andhitshimintheface!

GotoPAGE101.

Maybeyourgrandmotherwasright.Maybethisguycan’tbetrusted.Maybehe’sascamartist.

“Whatdoyouwantadollarfor?”youaskhim.

Butbeforehecananswer,thefunkyelectronicboxbeepsonemoretime.Realloud.

Thenallofasudden,alidontopflipsopen—andasmallplastichandpopsout!

Cool!youthink.You’veseenthesethingsbefore.

It’sagagbank.Yourunclehadone,buthisuseddimes.Itwasasmallblackplasticboxwithaslotontop,justlikeMacFarling’sgadget.Whenyouputadimeintheslot,alidwouldflyopenandaplastichandwouldpopout.Thehandwouldgrabthedimeandpullitintothebox.Itcrackedyouup.

ButwhyisMacFarlingplayingaroundwithatrickbank?You’resupposedtobehuntingghosts.

“Givemeadollar!”Macscreamsfrantically.

Butbeforeyoucananswerhim,theplastichandreachesfartheroutofthebox—andgrabsyoubythethroat!

Inthenextinstant,itpullsyouintothebox!

Youdon’tthinkyouruncle’sbankworkedlikethis.

Toobadyoudidn’thaveadollarwhenyouneededit!

THEEND

Robin’smomisfuriouswhensheseesthebrokenlamp.

Howfurious?

Let’sjustsayyouandRobinwillbemowinglawnsforalongtimetopayforthelamp.

Butthegoodnewsis,theghostseemstohavevanished!MaybeRobin’smomscaredhimoff.

“Youweren’tkidding,”Robinsays.“Therereallyisaghost!”

“Itriedtotellyou,”yousaytohim.“Listen,canIsleepover?Theghostisprobablybackatmyhouse,justwaitingtogetme!”

“Noproblem,”Robintellsyou.“You’llbealotsaferhere.”

Don’tbetonit.

TurntoPAGE89.

“Wherearewe?”youasktheghost-boy.

“Oh…”hesays.“Youknow.”

No,youthink.Idon’t.

Youpassanelaborategold-framedmirrorhanginginmidair.Youlookatyourreflection.Andgasp!

Yourlegs!Yourarms!They’regone!Youstareatthe“you”inthemirror.Youcanseethefurniturebehindyou—rightthroughyourownbody!

Maybeit’satrickmirror!Youglancedownatyourself.It’snotrick.Yourlegsaretransparent.

Yourheartdropsintoyoursee-throughfeetasyourealizethetruth.You’reaghost,now,too!

Someonesuddenlycallsyourname.Youwhirlaround—andseeyouroldpianoteacher.Mrs.Hatfield.Shewasasweetoldlady,aboutninetyyearsold.Shediedlastyear.Youhavetoadmityouhaven’tmissedhermuch.Youneverlikedtakingpianolessons.

“Oh,thereyouare!”Mrs.Hatfieldexclaims.“Comewithme.Iwantyoutoplaysomescales.”

IfyougowithMrs.Hatfield,turntoPAGE10.

Ifyourefuse,turntoPAGE87.

It’strue.Yourfeethaveturnedtostone.Sohastherestofyou.

Help!youwanttocryout.

Butyoucan’tspeak.Stonelipsdon’tmove.

“Iwarnedyou,”Janesaysquietly.

“Ha,ha,”Johnsays,laughingandpointingatyou.“You’restuck!”Hewagsafingerinyourstonyface.

You’dliketobitehim,butyoucan’t.Youcan’tdoanything.You’reastatue.You’veturnedtosolidstone.

“Seewhathappenswhenyouwalkamongthedead?”Johnsays.“YoushouldhavelistenedtoJane.Don’teverwalkwithadeadpersonintoagraveyard.It’sthemostdangerousthingyoucando.”

Nowtheytellyou!

GoontoPAGE113.Ifyoucan.Goonandtryit.Trytoturnthepage,stony-fingers!

Youpressthemutebutton.Instantly,theNeanderthalmandisappears.

Phew.Closeone,youthink.

Thenyouhaveanidea.Youpressthemutebuttonagain.Yup.Itworksjustasyouthoughtitwould.TheghostoftheNeanderthalreappears.Andwhenyoupressitagain,hedisappears.Youcankeepswitchingbackandforth.

Nowyouseehim—nowyoudon’t!

Needlesstosay,thisisacooltoy.Youandyourgrandmotherplaywithitforafewdays.Thenyoucallthelocalnewspapers.Theycomeoutandwriteastoryaboutyou.Prettysoon,you’refamous.EverycomputergamecompanyinAmericaandJapanwantstobuyyourinvention.

Theamazingremote-controlledhologrammachine!

Youtellthemthetruth.Youhavenoideahowitworks.Butfortenmilliondollars,theycanhavetheremoteandthehouse.Andtheycantrytofigureitoutforthemselves.

Whenthedealismade,youleavetheremoteandthehousebehind.Butthereisstillonemore“remote”inyourfuture.AremoteislandintheSouthPacific!That’swhereyouandyourgrandmotherflyoffto.Why?Justincasethecompanyfiguresoutyou’vesoldthemahousefullofghosts!

THEEND

Youtakeoffrunning.Topspeed.

Youdashdownthestreetandzoomaroundthecorner.Then,asfastasyoucan,youduckintoadrugstore.

Maybetheghostdidn’tnoticewhereyouwent.

Youhope.

Thedrugstoreownerglancesupasyoucomein.“MayIhelpyou?”heasks.

“No,”yousay.“I’mjustlooking.”

Youheadovertothemagazinestandinthebackofthestore.It’stallandyou’rehopingtheghostwon’tseeyoubehindit.Youspendabouttwentyminutesbrowsingthroughthecomics.

Whenyouthinkthecoastisclear,youstarttoleave.

“Holditrightthere,”thedrugstoreownersays.Hecomesoutfrombehindthecounterandgrabsyourarm.“I’mcallingthecopsonyou!”

Huh?Sincewhenisreadingcomicsagainstthelaw?

FindoutonPAGE119.

“Ifoundthehead!”youcalloutwhenyoureachthelanding.Youclutchthemoosenervously.Youpeerintothedarkness,tryingtofindtheheadlessghost.

Thewoman’sbodymaterializesonthestepsbelowyou.

“Good,”hervoicesays.Youstillcan’tfigureouthowshecantalk.“Justsetitdownrightthere—onthestairs.”

Really?youthink.Thisisgoingtowork?Maybetheghosthasn’tseenthemoosehead,yet.Whatwillshedowhenshediscoverswhatyou’vedone?

Trembling,yousetthemooseheaddownonthebottomstep.Youholdyourbreath.

Foramoment,nothinghappens.

Thenthemooseheadbeginstoshake.Atfirstitjustrocksbackandforthalittle.Butsoonitstartstovibratewildly.

Themooseheadbeginstoglow,asiftherewerealightinsideit.Thenaghostlywoman’sfaceappearsinsidethemoosehead!Youcan’tbelieveit!Butthereitis—thefaceofabeautifulyoungwomantrappedwithinthedustyoldmoosehead.

WOW!Youdidit!Youactuallyfoundherhead!

TurntoPAGE51.

“Okay,”youtelltheghost.“It’sadeal.”

“Good,”theboysayswithastrangesmile.

“Butyou’vegottoreallyscareLark,”Robinwarns,pointingafingerattheghost.

“Noproblem,”theghostanswers.“Waithere.”

YouandRobinstandonthefrontlawninthemoonlight.Youwatchtheghostashefloatsintothehouse—rightthroughthewall!Afewminuteslater,thescreamingstarts.

“Aaaaaah!Hellllpp!Aaaaaahhhhh!Noooooooo!”youhearLarkandhisfriendscryingfrominside.Theysoundasifthey’reface-to-facewithsheerterror.Scaredoutoftheirminds.

Robinisreallyhappy.Butasthescreamingcontinues,youstarttoworry.“Youdon’tthinkhe’sreallyhurtingthemoranything,doyou?”youask.

“Idon’tknow,”Robinsays.“Maybeweshouldgointhereandstophim.”

“Yeah,”yousay,swallowinghard.

Thetwoofyoustarttowardthefrontdoor.Butjustthenthescreamsstop.

Theghostfloatsoutthroughthefrontdoor.

“Okay,”hesays.“I’mdone.Seeyoutomorrowatten.”

TurntoPAGE50.

Youtaketheghost-boy’shand.

Assoonasyoutouchhim,achillrunsthroughyou.Hishandfeelslikeice.

“Holdon,”hesays.“Herewego!”

Beforeyouknowwhat’shappening,hestartstomoveaway—floatingsideways.Histhin,transparentbodyisfloatingrightthroughthecoffin—andhe’stakingyouwithhim!

Insideyourhead,youhearthesoundoffireworks.Youcloseyoureyesandseefireworks,too!Atthesametime,youfeelyourbodybeingpulledthroughthecoffinwalls.

Whenthefireworksstop,youslowlyopenyoureyes.

Youinstantlywishyouhadn’t.

Youarelyingonadirtfloor.Overyourheadisadirtceiling.Thecave-likeroomisfilledwithaneeriegreenlight.Stairwaysleadingnowherearecoveredinplushcarpeting.Cobwebsdripfromfurniture.Laughsandmoansechoallaroundyou.

Buttheworstnewsis—youaresurroundedbyghosts.That’sright,youareinanundergroundworldoflivingdeadpeople.Allofthemfloatingaround.Somedance,someplaygames,somewanderaimlessly.Butallofthemare,well,dead.

TurntoPAGE76.

Thelightsareout.Allthelights.Andyou’rescaredtodeath.Youcan’tmove.

YoustandtherefrozeninRobin’skitchen,inthedark.

“Comeon,”Robinsays,grabbingyourarm.“We’dbettergetoutofhere.Lark’scoming!”

“No,”youtrytosay.Butyoucan’tevenspeak.Yourheartispoundingtoohard.Yourlegsarelockedstiff.

Robintriestodragyououtofthekitchen.Butyourhandgripsthekitchencounter.

“Oh,okay,”Robinsays.“We’llhideunderthesink.”

Quickly,hesquatsdownandopensthetwocabinetdoorsthatleadtothespaceunderthekitchensink.Hestartstocrawlin.

Goodidea,youthink.Let’shidefromthedark!

No.Itdoesn’tmakeanysense.Butyou’resoscared,youdon’tknowwhatyou’redoing!

Soyousquatdownandcrawlintothecrampedspacewithallthedrainpipesandstuff.

That’swhenyouseethem.Twosmalleyes—glowingatyouinthedark!

TurntoPAGE128.

“Whereareyougoing?”youasktheghost-boy.“Andwhat’syourname?”

“You’llsee,”heanswers.

“I’llsee?I’llseewhatyournameis?”youask.

“Sure.It’sonmygravestone,”theghostreplies.

Acoldmistswirlsaroundtheghost-boy,makingyoushiver.Younoticetheghost’seyeshaveturnedhard.He’snotsofriendly,now.

Youreallyregretmakingthatpromise.

“Let’sgo,”heorders,leadingtheway.

Youhavenochoice.You’veseenthisghostinaction.Ifyoudon’tdowhathesays,he’llprobablyhauntandtormentyoufortherestofyourlife.

Youfollowhimtoanoldgraveyard.Thisone’sonthefarsideoftown.Attheedgeofthegraveyard,theghoststops.Heputsouthishandtokeepyoufromtakinganotherstep.

“Waithere,untilIreachmytombstone,”hetellsyou.“Whenyouseemedisappear,standontopofmygrave.”

Hmmm.Soundscreepy.Areyougoingtodoit?

Ifyes,turntoPAGE90.

Ifno,turntoPAGE110.

Youdecidetofindoutwhoismakingallthenoiseintheattic.

Youglancearoundforsomethingtouseasaweapon.

Let’ssee.Yourgrandmotherhasdoilies.Arockingchair.Pillows.Notmuchtochoosefrom.Finallyyoupickupapieceofropethatyourmomusedtotieyoursuitcaseclosed.Youhavenoideahowapieceofropecouldhelp,butit’sallyou’vegot.

Thepoundingofheavyfeetoveryourheadmakesyouwonderifyou’remakingamistake.Butyouhavetofindoutwho—orwhat!—isintheattic.Slowly,youclimbthestairs.Dustfromtheatticstepsstirsintheairandmakesyousneeze.

“Ah-choo!”yousayloudly.

Allatonce,thestompingstops.

Thedoortotheatticbangsopen.

“NO!”Youscreamwhenyouseewhat’sstandingatthetopofthestairs.

GotoPAGE92.

MacFarlingnevertoldyouwhattodoaboutanironhand!

“Help!”youscream.“HELP!”

Butwhocanhelpyouinagraveyard?

Youtrytoyankthemetalhandoffyourarm.Butyoucan’tdoit.Itsgripistoostrong.

“Help!”youcryagain.Butyourscreamdiesinyourthroat.Youaretooterrifiedtomakeasound.Becausethehandismoving!

Theironfistcreepsalongyourarm.Itclutchesyourfleshsohardyoucanalreadyfeelthebruises.Theglintingmetalhandtravelsuptoyourthroat.Horrified,youwatchhelplesslyastheironfingersopenwithaclankingsoundandthensnaparoundyourneck.It’sstranglingyou!You’vegottodosomethingfast!

TurntoPAGE116.

Noway.You’renotgoingtopracticeyourpianonow.

“No,thanks,”youtellMrs.Hatfield.“Ineverlikedpianolessons.AndnowthatI’maghost,I’mnevergoingtopracticeagain!”

Mrs.Hatfieldlooksaroundattheotherghosts.Theyallsmileandnod.Thenshebreaksintoahugegrin.

“Good!”Mrs.Hatfieldsays.“Youpassedthetest!”

“Whattest?”youask,feelingconfused.

“Youneverwereanygoodonthatpiano,”shesays.“Infact,youweresimplyterrible.Ijustwantedtobesureyoudidn’twasteanymoretimewithit.Theworldhasenoughbadmusicians.Itdoesn’tneedanotherone.”

Hmmph!youthink.Butyouknowshe’sright.

“Okay,”Mrs.Hatfieldsays,motioningtotheghost-boy.“Youcantakethisoneback.”

Beforeyouknowwhat’shappening,theghost-boypullsyourhandagain.Thistime,hedragsyoutowardthemirror—andrightintoit.Youcloseyoureyes,andonceagainyouhearfireworks.Buthalfwaythroughthejourney,heletsgoofyourhand.Whenyouopenyoureyes,youarestandingallaloneinthecemetery.Andyouknowyouhavefinallycometo

THEEND.

YougointothehousetolookforJohnLuckmeyer.Afterall,youthinkhemightbetheKeeperoftheSword.

Areyouserious?

Luckmeyer?Youthinkhemightholdthemostpowerfulsword?TheswordthatcandestroytheMPG?Anddidn’tMacFarlingwarnyoutostayawayfromthatpracticaljoker?

Uh-oh.Ifyouthinkthat,youmayhaveaseriousproblem.

Takethistesttofindout:

THREETRUE-OR-FALSEQUESTIONSTODETERMINEIFSOMEONEISCRAZY

1.)Spinachisanalienlifeformandshouldthereforeneverbeeatenfordinner.TRUEorFALSE?

2.)ThecharactersinyourfavoriteTVprogramsactuallyliveinyourtelevisionset.TRUEorFALSE?

3.)ThemarshmallowcropwasruinedthisyearbyaterriblefreezeinFlorida.TRUEorFALSE?

Foryourscore,turntoPAGE117.

Sofareverythingseemsnormal.Justlikealltheothertimesyou’vespentthenightatRobin’s.Infact,youandRobinarehavingagreattime.EvenRobin’solderbrotherLarkislessobnoxiousthanusual.

Yeah,RobinandLark.Robin’slastnameisBirdsey.Hisparentslikecutestufflikethat.

Larkishavingasleepoverparty.Hisfriendsareineighthgrade.Theythinkthey’rewaycool.Andtheyare.Untilnineo’clock.Whensuddenlyallthelightsinthehousegoout.

“Hey!”LarkyellsatyouandRobin.“Quitplayingwiththecircuitbreakers,youlittletwerps.Orelse!”

Uh-oh.

Youdidn’ttouchthecircuitbreakers.NeitherdidRobin.Andhisparentsaren’thome.

Who’sleft?

That’sright—theghost.

Andallthelightsareout.

Whatnow?

Ifyou’reafraidofthedark,turntoPAGE83.

Ifyou’reokayinapitch-blackhouse,turntoPAGE19.

Youdoastheghostsays.Youwaitattheedgeofthegraveyarduntilhestopsatagrave.Thenyouwatchashiswholeairybodyseemstodisappearintotheground!

Okay,youthink.Thisisit.Timetowalkoverthereandstandonthatgrave.

Yougulploudly.Youscratchyourhead.Youburp.

Hey—enoughstalling.Getoverthere!

Yourlegstrembleasyouwalktothegraveandpeerattheheadstone.Then,stillshaking,youstandonthegrave.ThetombstonesaysJAMEST.

REDDSONIII.1875–1910.

Hmmm.Youdosomequickmath,andrealizethisguywasthirty-fivewhenhedied.Thiscan’tbethekid’sgrave,yourealize.Heliedtoyou!

Beforeyoucanfigureoutwhatyoushoulddo,youhearaterriblerumbling.Youflingoutyourarms,tryingdesperatelytokeepyourbalanceasthegroundbeginstoshake.Theearthallaroundyourisesandrollsinwaves.Youreyesopenwideasyouwatchthegroundbeneathyourfeetbreakapart.

Getmeoutofhere,youthink.Butyou’retoolate.

Ahand—theghost-boy’shand!—suddenlypopsupoutofthedirtandgrabsyourankle!

GoontoPAGE115.

“Oh,no!”yougasp.

Youstareatthemap—andatthemessagespelledoutonthegravestones.

YOUWILLDISOON.

Sothat’stheterriblemessagethegravesaremovingaroundtospell.Andisthe“you”you?Oristhecursedirectedatyourgrandma?Eitherway,it’ssuperbadnews!

“Mac,”yousay.“There’sonlyonelettermissing!Onlyonemorecoffinhastocreepintoplaceandthen…”

“Thenthecursewillbecomplete,”Macsays.Heturnsandwalksbacktohiscar.

“Wait!”youcallafterhim.

Hestops,butonlylongenoughtopulloutabusinesscard.“Here,”hesays.“CallmeafteryoudefeattheKeeperoftheSword.ThenI’lltellyouwhattodonext.”

ThenhejumpsbackinhisVWBug,leavingyoustandinginfrontofyourgrandmother’shouse.“Oh,”hecallsashestartstodriveoff.“Twothingstoremember.BesuretofindoutthenameoftheKeeperoftheSword.AndstayawayfromtheLuckmeyertwins!”

TheLuckmeyertwins?youthink.

Ifyou’vemettheLuckmeyertwinsalready,turntoPAGE8.

Ifyouhaven’tmetthem,turntoPAGE64.

Youcan’tbelieveyoureyes.

Atthetopoftheatticstairsisaghosthorse!Ahuge,wildstallion,withitsmaneflyingbehindit.Foamdripsfromthestallion’smouth.Itseyesarewildwithfury.

Thehorsebacksupastep,thenrearsupandletsoutaterrible,angrycry.Itshoovescrashdown,clompingloudlyontheatticfloor.

Waitaminute,youthink.Wasthereahorseburiedinthecemetery?

Thenyouremember.Anextra-largegrave,withaheadstonethatread:

HERELIESGLORY.TOOWILDFORTHERIDERSOFTHISWORLD.

Nokidding,youthink.Thishorselookslikeakiller!

Quick.You’regoingtobetrampled—unlessyoudosomething.

Butwhat?

IfyoujumponGloryandridehim,turntoPAGE126.

Ifyouusetheropetolassohim,turntoPAGE54.

Youturnonyourheelsandrunasfastasyoucan—straighttowardthegraveyard!

“Hey!”Janecallstoyou.“Don’tgointhere!”

Oh,sure,youthink.Shejustdoesn’twantyoutoescape!Youkeeprunning.

Buttheminuteyoucrossthepropertyline—fromyourgrandmother’syardintothecemetery—aterriblechillrunsdownyourspine.

Yourwholebodyfeelsasifithasturnedtoice.Orstone.Youstoprunningandbegintomoveveryslowly.

“Iamwalkingamongthedead,”youhearyourselfsayinaflatvoice.WhydidIsaythat?youwonder.

“Youarewalkingamongthedead,”Johnsaysrightbehindyou.HeandJanefloataroundthegraveyard.

“Iamaprisonerofthegraves,”youhearyourselfsay.

“Youareaprisonerofthegraves.”JohnandJanerepeatyourwordstogether.

Youtakeafewmoresteps.Yourlegsaresostiff,youcanbarelymove.

Youlookdownatyourfeet—andscream.

“Aaahhh!”youmoan.“Myfeethaveturnedtostone!”

GoontoPAGE77.

Okay.Soyou’renotanatural-borncowboy.

You’rejustakidwithadumbropeinyourhands—andafoaming-at-the-mouthhorseabouttotrampleyouonthestairs.

Youwavetheropeatthehorse,usingitlikeawimpywhip.Youfeelsostupid,you’resurprisedthehorsedoesn’tstartlaughing.

Butsomeonedoeslaugh!Youturnaroundandseeaghostlycowboyfloatingyourway.

“WorstattemptI’veeverseen,”thecowboysays.Youstareathimwithyourmouthopen.Hetakestheropefromyou.

“YouwanttolassoGlory,you’regonnaneedsomelessonsfromanexpert.Me!”Thecowboygivestheropeasharpyankand,FLICK,itlandsaroundthestallion’sneck.

“Cool!”youcheer.“Canyoushowmehowtodothat?”

“Surething,pardner,”thecowboyanswers.“Nowhere’swhatyouhavetodo.”

Forthenexthourtheghost-cowboyteachesyouallaboutlassoing.

Whenyouthinkyou’reready,trytolassoGloryallbyyourselfonPAGE58.

“Robin,”youwhisper,“Ihatetotellyouthis,butwe’rehidingunderthesinkwithaLanx.”

“Awhat?”Robinasks.

“ALanx!ALanx!”Youarepracticallyshouting.“It’slikeaGrool,butworse!”

Robinstaresatyou.Thenheshakeshishead.“Youaregettingtooweird.Evenforme.”

“Itlookslikeapotato,”youcontinue,“butithasreallysharpteeth!”YouhavetomakeRobinbelieveyou!Youareinterribledanger.

“That’sit,”Robinsays.Hepopsopenthecabinetdoor.“Fun’sover.Youknow,”headdsashecrawlsoutfromunderthesink,“Ididn’treallybelieveyourghoststory,either.Iwasjustplayingalong.”

YougazesadlyatRobinasheheadsoutofthekitchen.Youhaveafeelingyou’vejustlostyourbestfriend.

“Hehhehheh,”youhearbehindyou.

Youglancebackattheglowingeyes.Theylookevenbrighterthanbefore.

Youthoughtbeingfollowedhomebyaghostwasaproblem.WaituntilyoutrylivingwithaLanx!

“Hehhehheh.”

THEEND

Youraceouttothegraveyard.You’vegottofindthefencingwoman’sgrave—fast!Thenithitsyou.Youonlyknowherfirstname.Sarah.

Sarahwho?

Yourunupanddowntherowsoftombstones,searchingforagravemarkedSarah.Naturally,youfindtwo.

OneisSarahGrayson.Bornin1820.Diedin1895.

TheotherisSarahMcGinnis.Born1918.Died1940.

It’suptoyou.WhichistherightSarah?

Thinkverycarefully.

Thenpickone.

Youbalancetheswordunderonearmandfeelaroundinyourpockets.Youpullabrokenpencilfromyourjeans.Youglancedownandfindacrumpledgumwrapperontheground.YougrabitandwithshakingfingersyouwritedowntheyearofSarah’sdeath.

Andhopeyouchosecorrectly!

HaveyouwrittendownthedateofSarah’sdeath?Good.Becausesomethingterrifyingishappeningbehindyou.Youreallydon’twanttokeepyourbackturned.SoputdownyourpencilandturntoPAGE114.Ifyoudare…

“Getawayfromme!”youshout.Youduckandtwist,tryingtoavoidthedivingchickens.Theysquawkandflaptheirwings.Onebirdlandsonyourshoulder.Itsclawsdigintoyourclothes.

“Hey!”youyellatit.Youtryshakingitoff,butitclingstoyou.Younoticetheotherchickenshoveringnearby.

Youreachuptograbthestupidbirdbutsomethingstopsyou.Coulditbe?Isthechickensmilingatyou?

Youpeercloselyatthebird.

Uh-oh.

Thatchickenisn’tsmiling,it’sbaringitsteeth.

Butchickensdon’thaveteeth.Andtheysuredon’thavefangs.

That’sright.Fangs.Guesswhat?Thesearen’tordinarychickens.Thesearevampirechickens.Andthebirdonyourshoulderisleaningcloser.Andcloser.Andcloser.

CHOMP!

Beingbittenbyavampirechickenputsyouinafowlmood.Oh,well.Betterclucknexttime.

THEEND

“No,”youtelltheghost.“I’vekeptmypromise.Andlookwhereitgotme!”

“Suityourself,”theghost-boysays.Hevanishes.

So,nowwhatareyougoingtodo,huh?Justliethereinthecoffinandrot?

That’sonechoice.

Gotanyotherideas?

Okay,sure.Youcouldstartscreamingatthetopofyourlungs.Maybe—justmaybe—someonewillhearyou.

Likewho?

Likethecemeterycaretaker.Heshowsuponceaweek.OnFridays.

Well?Whatdayisthis?

IfyouarereadingthisonFriday,turntoPAGE13.

IfyouarenotreadingthisonFriday,turntoPAGE107.

Youdecidetoduelwiththewomaninthefencingcostume.She’snotasbigasthesoldier.

“Engarde,yourself!”youcry.Younoticethatassoonasyoushoutedatthewoman,thesoldier-ghostvanished.

Thefencerglidestowardyou,approachingslowly.Youfeelarounddesperatelyforsomethingyoucanuseasaweapon.Thewholetimeyoukeepyoureyesgluedtothesharptipofhersword.Orrather,herfoil.That’swhatafencingswordiscalled.

Thefencerkeepscomingtowardyou,slowly…slowly.Beadsofsweatbreakoutalongyourupperlip.Thetipofthefoilwaversslightly,asifthefencerweredecidingontheperfectspottostabyou.

Finallyyourfingersgraspsomethingleaningagainstthewall.Anumbrella.It’snotmuch.Butit’llhavetodo.

Yougrabitandstrikeafencingpose.

“Engarde!”youshoutagain.

Thefencerfreezes,herfoilraised.

Theninaflash,shelungesatyou!

Quick!Findoutifyou’restillaliveonPAGE122.

Youjumpback,tryingtomakeroomforRobin.He’sbackingupfasterthanapizzadeliveryguywho’smissedtheaddress.

Buttheknifekeepscominganyway.

Quick—youhavetodosomethingtohelphim!

Youspotabaseballbatinthecorneroftheroom.

Hmm.Goodchoice.Ifyouhavegoodaim.

Butthere’salsoahugeneedlepointpillowonRobin’sbed.Onethathismothermadeforhim.Maybeyoushoulduseitasashield.

Chooseyourweapon.

Ifyouusethebaseballbat,turntoPAGE35.

Ifyouusethepillowasashield,turntoPAGE46.

“Ow!”Robincriesout.Hishandfliesuptohischeek,wherethejugglingballhithim.

Yourmouthfallsopen.Thisisterrible.Theghostmusthavefollowedyoudownthestreet!

“Whydidyoudothat?”Robinyells.“Thatreallyhurt!”

“ButIdidn’tdoit!”youreply.“Itwasthatghost!”

Robinstaresatthejugglingballs.They’rejustlyingonthefloornow.Theghostisnowhereinsight.

“Yeah,right,”Robinsays.“LikeI’mreallygoingtobelieveinghosts.Comeon,howdidyoudothat?”

Beforeyoucananswer,there’saknockonRobin’sbedroomdoor.Hewalksoverandopensit.

“Yikes!”hescreams.

Floatinginthedoorway,inmidair,isalongsharpcarvingknife.

Andit’spointedrightatRobin’sheart!

Robinisbackingupfast,soyou’dbettermoveback,too.BacktoPAGE100.

Usingthebackdooryouquietlyslipintothehouse.Thenyousneakupthebackstaircasetothesecondfloor.Youpeekaroundthecornercarefully—youdon’twanttorunintotheLuckmeyers.Whenyouaresurethecoastisclear,youstartupthestairstowardtheattic.

Assoonasyoustepintothestairway,youseeahugesoldierstandingatthetopofthethirdfloorlanding!

Hisuniformisold-fashioned.CivilWar,youguess.Andjudgingfromthemedalspinnedtohisgrayjacket,thisguyknowswhathe’sdoing.

Andwhathe’sdoingrightnowispullingaswordfromitsholder.

Theswordisaboutfivefeetlong.Thehandleismother-of-pearl,encrustedwithsapphires.Thebladegleams.Eveninthedarknessyoucanseethatit’sdangerouslysharp.

Theenormoussoldierpointstheswordatyourheart.“Donotadvanceonemorestep—unlessyouarewillingtodie!”hebooms.

GoontoPAGE104.

“Gethim,Sparkle!”youshout.

Thehideousghostfloatstowardyou.Thewormswrigglethroughhismattedhair.Thisguyisgross!

“Woof!”Sparklebarksrightintheghost’sdisgustingface.

Nothinghappens.

“Uh,again,Sparkle!”youcommand.ButSparkletuckshistailbetweenhislegs,whimpers,andslinksaway.

“Sparkle,comeback,”youcall.Butit’snouse.That’soneterrifiedmutt.Youturntofacethewormyghost.

Theghostbringshisfacerightnexttoyours.Thewormswigglefromtheghosttoyou.Theycrawlinyourmouth,upyournose,inyourears.

Isitpossibletodiefrombeingtotallygrossedout?

Well,evenifitisn’t,thewormsmakeitimpossibleforyoutobreathe.Makingthis

THEEND.

Youcan’ttakeyoureyesoffthesword.Thelongeryoustareatit,themoreyourlegsshake.

Thenitdawnsonyou.ThissoldiermustbetheKeeperoftheSword!

Sowhatareyougoingtodo?Runandhide?

Definitely!

Tremblinginfear,youstarttobackup.That’swhenyoufeelasharppointstickingyouintheback.Rightbetweenyourshoulderblades.

“Ouch!”youcryout,turningaround.

Bigtrouble.Behindyouisanotherghost.Andthisone’sdressedinafencingcostume.Whitecanvaspants.Awiremeshmask.Leathergloves.

“Engarde!”thenewghostsays.Thevoiceechoesallaroundyou.Fromthevoice,youknowthisghostisawoman.

Thenyourealizesomething.Shehasasword,too!

Twoghosts.Twoswords.Bothdangerous.Butonlyonehastheswordyouneed.

Whichone?

IfyouthinkthefenceristheKeeperoftheSword,turntoPAGE99.

Ifyouthinkit’sthesoldier,turntoPAGE118.

Thebooklandedwiththefrontcoverfaceup.Thatmeansyoudon’tsurvivethefallfromthebridge.

Sorry.

Sonowyouareaghost,roamingtheneighborhood,hauntingeveryoneinsight.Andforawhile,scaringpeopleisfun.

Butsoonyougettiredofpeoplescreamingwheneveryouappear.Andsomepeoplecan’tevenseeyou.Forsomereason,noteveryoneisabletoseeghosts.

YoubegintounderstandwhytheLuckmeyertwinsplayedpranksandpracticaljokes.It’sagoof!

Soyoustartdoingit,too—playingtricksonpeople.Youmovetheircoffeecupswhilethey’renotlooking.Youraisetheirwindowsrightafterthey’veclosedthem.Youwrinkletheirclotheswhilethey’reironingthem.Youstealkeypiecesfromjigsawpuzzleswhenpeoplearen’tlooking.

Thenoneday,yougotoofar—youdosomethingreallyevil.YougothroughaGIVEYOURSELFGOOSEBUMPSbookwithablackfeltmarkerandcrossoffallthepagenumbers!

Theonlyproblemis,itwasthisbook.Theonlyoneyou’rein.

Whichiswhy,sadtosay,thisisreallyandtruly…

THEEND.

“Wha-whatdoyoumean,allofyou?”youmanagetostammer.

“Youasktoomanyquestions!”Uh-oh.Elvira’seyesflashgreenagain.“Don’tgetinourwayandmaybewewillletyoulive.”

Shesoarsupoveryourheadandglaresdownatyou.“Anddon’tyougotalkingtothatghost-hunterMacFarling,either!”Elviraadds.

Inthenextinstant,shefloatsbackwardanddisappearsintothewall.

MacFarling?Aghost-hunter?

Youarestartledbyloudclumpingfootstepsaboveyou.Youglanceupattheceiling.Thelightfixtureisshaking.Itsoundsasifawholecrowdwearingclunkybootsisstompingaroundintheattic.

Whocoulditbe?

IfyouwanttofindoutaboutMacFarling,turntoPAGE16.

Ifyouwanttofindoutwho’sintheattic,turntoPAGE85.

Okay,timetofacefacts.TodayisnotFriday.Thecaretakerisnotgoingtoshowupforalongtime.

Andguesswhatelse?Ifhedidshowup,heprobablywouldn’thearyouscreaminganyway.Afterall,you’resixfeetunderground.

Lookslikeyou’rerunningoutofchoices.Maybeyou’dbettergotakethecold,coldhandofthatghost-boyafterall.

TurntoPAGE82.

Yourunupthesteps,dartingsidewaystogetpastJohn.

Buthegrabsyouwithonehand.Whoa!Forasee-throughguy,Johnisstrong!Inhisotherhandhedanglesaghostlysnakebeforeyoureyes.

YIKES!Thesnakehissesinyourface.Itsfangsdripghostlypoison.

JohnandJanelaughatyourterrifiedexpression.Johnshovesthehissingsnakeintoyourfaceagain.Itstonguedartsinandoutbetweenitsrazor-sharpfangs.

Canaghostsnakehurtyou?ThepainwhereJohnisclutchingyourarmmakesyouthinkitprobablycan!

Youswallowhardandlurchawayfromhim.Luckily,heandJanedon’ttrytofollow.

Withayank,youpullopenyourgrandmother’skitchendoor.

YIKES,AGAIN!Thatotherghost—Elvira—isstandingrightthere!

“Soyoucameback,”shesnarls.“Youmayregretthat!”

Sheturnsandfloatsintothehall.Thenshefloatsupthestairs.

Towardyourroom.

FollowhertoPAGE49.

Robinpicksupawormfromtheplate.Hestaresatit.Justasheopenshismouthtotakeabite,youhearsomeonesnickering.

Youglancearound.

Thebushesseemtobemoving.

Quickly,youinchovertowardthesound.

“He’seatingit!”youhearavoicewhisper.AvoicethatsoundsexactlylikeRobin’sbrother,Lark.“Ha,ha.Thelittletwerp!Ihopehechokes!”

“Yeah,”anothervoicesays.“Thatwasacooldealwemadewiththeghost.Pretendingtoscreamforanhour.Andthenhepromisedtomakeyourbrothereatwormsthenextday.”

Oh,no!yourealize.You’vebeentricked!

GoontoPAGE130.

Youdecidenottofollowtheghostintothecemetery.

WhyshouldI?youthink.JustbecauseIpromisedhimIwould?

Youfeelalittleguiltyaboutbreakingyourpromise.

Butassoonastheghostdisappearsintothegrave,youturnandrunasfastasyoucan.Allthewaybackhome.

Andyouknowwhathappensnext?

Nothing.

That’sright.Nothing.Andyouneverseeanotherghostagain,aslongasyoulive.

Yearslater,youtellyourchildrenallaboutyourgrandmother’shauntedhouse.Abouthowaghostfollowedyouhome.Andhauntedyourbestfriend’sbrother’sparty.Andyoupromisedtofollowhimintothegraveyardthenextday,butdidn’tdoit.

Yourchildrenthinkyou’remakingitup,ofcourse.Butyouknowthetruth.

Becauseeverytimeyouwalkpastagraveyard,youhearvoicescallingyou.Accusingyou.Thevoicesoftheghost-boyandallhisghostfriends.“Yooooooou,”theycall.“Yoooooulied!”

THEEND

Youpressthebuttontochangethechannelagain.

Unfortunately,you’verunoutofchannels.EvenwithDIRECTV,asatellitedish,andallthecablechannelsintheuniversecombined,youcanonlygosofar.Thenyouhittheendoftheline.

257,000channels—andnothingon.

Sowhenyoupressthebuttonforahigherchannel,nothinghappens.TheNeanderthalmandoesn’tchangeintoanythingelse.

Andyouknowwhatthatmeans.Itmeansyou’vejustbeenhitintheheadwithabiguglyclub!

Ow.Thathurt.Andhe’stakingaimagain!

Oh,well.That’swhatyougetfortryingtosurvivethisuglyepisodebypushingbuttons!

Seriously—didn’titeveroccurtoyoutojustduck?

THEEND

Youdecidetotellyourgrandmotherthetruth.

Waitaminute.Areyoukidding?

You’regoingtotellyourgrandmotherthatherhouseishaunted?Thatthebigmessinthekitchenwasaghoulishprank?ThattherearesomanyghostsaroundthatMacMacFarling,professionalghost-hunter,wouldn’ttakethecase?

You’regoingtotellherallthat?

Oh,REALLY?

Welljusttryit.Gotellyourparents—oryourgrandparents—thesamestory.Seeiftheybelieveyou.

Whentheygetdonelaughing,youcanstartreadingagainonPAGE71.

Andtrytolearnalittlelessonfromthis:Youshouldalwaystrytotellthetruth.Butsometimesthetruthistoounbelievabletotell.Likeanytimeghostsareinvolved.

That’swhenyouhavetobealittlecreative….

TurntoPAGE71.

Sothereyouare,standinglikeastonestatueinagraveyard.Youprobablythinkthisistheend,don’tyou?

Well,itcouldhavebeen.

Butafewdayslater,thegraveyardcaretakercomesby.Henoticesyou—andrealizesthatyoudon’tbelongthere.Prettysoon,hefiguresouthecouldgetalotofmoneyforastonestatueofakid!

Sohebackshispickuptruckintothecemeteryandloadsyouonit.Thenhedrivesaway.Hesellsyoutoagardenshopthatcarriesstonestatuestoputinpeople’sgardens.

Afewmonthslater,yourgrandmotherwalksintotheshopandseesyoustandingthere.Shecan’tbelievehereyes—astatuethatlooksexactlylikehermissinggrandchild!Shebuysyouandbringsyoubacktoherhouse.

Unfortunately,yourgrandmother’shouseisstillhaunted.Butforsomereason,shehasnevernoticedtheghostsfloatingallaround.

Butyounoticethem.Especiallythetwoghostsyouhatethemost—theLuckmeyertwins!Theyspendtherestofeternityteasingyouandpinchingyourstonenose.Andyoujusthavetostandthereandtakeituntil

THEENDOFTIME.

Youdon’tlikethepricklyfeelinginthebackofyourneck.Youturnaroundslowly—andgasp.

Thecoffinshavemovedagain!

Youcantellbecauseyou’vewanderedtothefrontofthegraveyard.Youarestandingbythefirstrow.TherowthatspelledoutYOUinthecurse.Therowthatusedtohaveonlythreetombstones.

Butnowthefrontrowiscrowdedwithgraves.Sevenofthem.Fourmorecoffinshavecreepedintoplace!

Youglancetowardthebackofthegraveyardandnoticenewemptyspots.It’strue!Thetombstonesarespellingagain!

Yourheartpoundsasyourunalongtherow,readingthefournewnames—tryingtoseewhatthenewinitialswillspellout.

Bannister.Oswald.Thackery.Hamilton.

B…O…T…H.

Oh,no!

NowthemessagereadsYOUBOTHWILLDISOON!

Quick!HurrytoPAGE31.

Theghost-boygripsyouranklesohard,youthinkhemightbreakyourbones.

Youtrytoyankyourlegaway,butit’snouse.Theghost-boywon’tletgo.Andhe’sstrong.Superstrong.

Oh,no!yourealize.He’snotjustholdingontoyourankle.He’spullingyourightintothegroundwithhim!

He’spullingyoudownintothegravebeneathyourfeet!

HangonuntilyougettoPAGE17.

Themetalhandclutchingyourthroatissqueezingthelifeoutofyou.Youdon’thavemuchtimeleft.

Thenyouseeit.Thesword.Ithaslifteditselfoutoftheground—andit’sonceagainfloatinginmidair.Theswordhelpedbefore.Maybeitcanhelpyouagain.

Stretchingyourarmasfarasyoucan,youreachforthesword.Younearlytoppleover,butyoumanagetograbthehandle.Nowthatyouhavethesword,you’renotsurewhattodowithit.Butyouhavetodosomething—thefingersaretightening…tightening….

You’vegottogetsomespacebetweenyourthroatandthemetalfingers!Youbringthesworduptoyourneck.Tryingtoavoidslicingyourownthroat,youjostleandjiggletheswordthroughthefingersofthemetalhand.Finally,thebladepokesupthroughtheironfist.Thetipisjustunderyournose.TheswordisjammedbetweenyourskinandthecoldmetalofBrandonEstep’shand.

Theironhandreleasesyourthroat.Theswordandthehandclattertotheground.It’sover.

Well,maybenot.

Themomenttheswordhitsthedirt,youhearasound.Analmostdeafeningsound.

HoldyourearsandturntoPAGE131.

IfyouansweredTRUEtoanyofthequestionsinthetest,youshouldnotcontinuereadingthisbook.

Closeit—andwaitfortheguysinthewhitecoatstocomeandtakeyouaway.Don’tworry.You’llbefineafteranicelongrest….

Ontheotherhand,ifyouansweredFALSEtoallthetestquestions,theremaybehopeforyou.

Butyou’vegottofacefacts.JohnLuckmeyerisnottheKeeperoftheSword.TheKeeperoftheSwordisamuchscarier,muchmoreterrifyingghost.

TurntoPAGE8,facereality,andchooseagain.

YoudecidetheenormousCivilWarsoldiermustbetheKeeperoftheSword.Youfacehimandthefencing-ghostbehindyouvanishes.

Youcan’tseemtoliftyoureyesfromthesharpbladeofthesoldier’sweapon.“Arey-y-youtheK-KeeperoftheSword?”youaskhim,yourvoicetrembling.

“NO!”hebellows.

Thenhelungesforwardandchargesatyou!

“Aaaaahhh!”youscreaminterror.Youturnandrunforyourlife.Downthestairs.Outthefrontdoor.Intothenight.

Youdon’tlookback.Butyoudon’thaveto.Youcanheartheghostlysoldierbehindyou.Hisheavybootsthudagainsttheground.

Youdashacrossthefrontyard,towardtheroad.Youmanagetoputsomedistancebetweenyouandtheghost.Butthensomethinggrabsyourfoot!

SMACK.Yourhandshitthegravelatthesideoftheroadasyoufallflatonyourface.Youglancedowntoseewhatmadeyoufall.Justagnarledtreeroot.

“Preparetodie!”thesoldiershoutsashestompstowardyou.

Quick!RushtoPAGE24.

“WhatdidIdo?”youaskthestoreowner.

“Youknowperfectlywell,”theownersays.“Shoplifting!”

Thenhereachesaroundbehindyourback—andpullsoutacomicbook!

“Huh?”yousay.“Wheredidthatcomefrom?”

“Don’ttrytokidme,”theownersays.“Icouldseeitplainasday.”Hesmacksyouontheforeheadwiththerolled-upcomicbook.“Didyoureallythinkyou’dgetawaywithtuckingthisintothewaistbandofyourjeans?Itwasn’tevenunderyourshirt!Idon’tknowhowyoubalanceditthatway.Itwashardlytuckedintoyourpantsatall.”

Youaredumbfounded.Speechless.Youdidn’tstealthatcomicbook!Honest!

Butthenyouheartheghostsnickeringinyourear.

“Welcometoyournewcareer,”theghostsays.

Tomakealongstoryshort,theghostfollowsyoutherestofyourlife—gettingyouintotroubleeverystepoftheway.Hetakesmoneyfromyourmother’spurse—andplantsitinyourdresser.Hestealscars—andparkstheminyourdriveway.Everywhereyougo,thingsdisappear.Andpeopleblameyou.

Infact,youprobablydidn’tpayforthisbook,didyou?Well,justforthat,you’refacing…

THEEND.

“IguessBrandon’sghostisfinallyatrest,”yousay.

Yougazearoundyouandseethatthetombstonesareallbackwheretheybelong.Infact,thewholegraveyardlookskindofsleepyandpeaceful.

“Oh,don’tbeagoose,”yourgrandmotherscolds.“Therearenoghosts.Next,you’llbetellingmethattheghostofElmyraMartinistakinganapinyourroom!”

Elvira?You’dforgottenabouther.Butyoufigurewhentheotherghostsreturnedtotheirgraves,Elviradid,too.

Yourgrandmotheryawns.“Comeon,”shesayssleepily.“Thisiswaypastbothourbedtimes.”

Youandyourgrandmothergoinside.Yousaygoodnightandclimbthestairstoyourbedroom.

Whataday!youthink,floppingdownonthesoftbed.

“Watchit!”Afamiliarvoiceechoesthroughtheroom.Alumpunderthecomforterslowlymaterializes.

Elvira!

“Don’thogthecovers,”shesnaps.Sheyankstheblanketunderyousohardyourollrightoutofbed.

You’veheardofbadroommates,butthisisridiculous!Well,you’lljusthavetolearntogetalong.BecauseElviraishereforeternity.Yourdaysofhavingyourownroomhavecometoan

YouandRobinwatchastheghostformshimselfintoafunnel-shapedtornadoagain.

“Uh-oh,”Robinwhisperstoyou.“IfhedoeswhatIthinkhe’sgoingtodo,Iwouldn’twanttobeLark.Ithurts!”

Inthenextinstant,theghostblowshimselfintoLark’shead.Heflowsintooneear—andouttheother.

“Yeow!”Larkscreams.“Okayokayokayokayokay!I’lldoit!”

Robinturnstoyouandslapsyoufive.“Cool!”hesays.

“Notsofast,”theghostsays.“You’vestillgotsomeeatingtodo.”

“Wedo?”yousay.

“Adeal’sadeal,”theghostsays.

Right.

Ah,well.Maybeeatingwormswon’tbesobadin

THEEND.

Thetipofthebladeslicesrightthroughyourneck!

Okay,youcanopenyoureyesnow.Goodnews.You’restillalive.Andyouneverfeltathing.Youknowwhy?

Thefencerisaghost.She’snotsolid.She’sairy.See-through.Andsoisherweapon.

Youpickupyourumbrellaandsliceback.Youlungeforward,pokingyourumbrellarightbetweenherribs.

Butyourumbrellahasthesameeffectonherthatherfoilhasonyou!None.

There’snopointinkeepingupthisduel.Neitherofyoucanwin.Youputdowntheumbrella.

“AreyoutheKeeperoftheSword?”youaskher.

“Yes,”shesays.Shereachesupandpullsoffhermask.

Yougaspandyourstomachturnsover.

Shedoesn’thaveaface.Becauseshedoesn’thaveahead!

“Yes.Thisistheswordyouneed,”shetellsyou.Youwonderwherehervoiceiscomingfrom.“AndIwillgiveittoyou—ifyoucanfindmyhead.”

Isshekidding?Whatarethechances?

Maybeyoushouldjusttrytograbthesword.

Ifyougrabthesword,turntoPAGE21.

Ifyoulookforherhead,turntoPAGE62.

“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,”Mrs.Hatfieldsays.“You’reafraidyoucan’tgettothegold,nowthatyou’rehere,withus.”

Younod.

“Butdon’tworry,”shesays.“Youdidn’tcomeherethe…theregularway.Soyoucangobacktotheworldofthelivinganytimeyouwant.”

Youreyeslightup.“Ican?”yousay.“How?”

“Oh,it’seasy,”Mrs.Hatfieldsays.“Didn’tyoueverseeTheWizardofOz?”

“Youknow,”shegoeson.“Allyouhavetodoisclickyourheelstogetherthreetimesandsay‘There’snoplacelikehome.’Itworkedinthemovie.Itshouldworkhere,too.”

Isshekidding?Well,whathaveyougottolose?

So,yougiveitatry.Youclickyoursneakerstogetherthreetimesandsay,“There’snoplacelikehome.”Whenyouopenyoureyesagain,you’reinyourownbedathome.

Withthemapinyourhand!

Hey.Yourmomalwayssaidthosepianolessonswouldpayoffsomeday,didn’tshe?Lookslikeshewasright!

THEEND

Youhurryintothehallandstartupthestairstowardyourroom.Butsomethingstopsyou.

Aterriblechillintheair.Acoldsocold,youfeelasifitwillfreezeyourbloodandbones.

Aninstantlater,thirteenhowlingghostsappear.Theyfloatoutofthewallsandcometowardyou.Theyareallshapesandsizes,buttheyhaveonethingincommon.

Theyareallterrifying!

NO!youwanttocry.Thiscan’tbehappening!

Yourkneesshakesomuch,youalmostfalldown.Butsomehowyoumanagetorun.Ghostlyarmsreachforyouasyouraceoutthefrontdoor.Intothefrontyard,wheretheskyisgrowingdark.

Forthenexttenminutes,youhuddleunderabigtree,tryingtothink.

Mostly,youjustthinkonething.GETMEOUTOFHERE!

Butyouknowyoucan’tgohome.Yourparentsareawayonvacation.Besides,youcan’tleaveyourgrandmotherhereallalone.Notwiththosecreepingcoffins.

Whichmeansyou’vegottogobackintothathouse.You’vegottogetridoftheghosts.Andyou’vegottofindtheKeeperoftheSword.Beforeit’stoolate!

GoontoPAGE102.

Youdecidetositdownandwait.IftheMPGissopowerful,youthink,thenlethimcometome!

Withthefencingfoilinyourhand,youplopdownonachairinthehall.Sparkle,yourgrandma’smutt,comesandsitsatyourfeet.Youfeelbetterknowingsomeone’sonyourside—evenifitisjustanolddog.

Aloudknockingbeginsinsidethewalls.Amomentlater,aghostfloatsthroughthewalltowardyou.Acreepyghostwithouteyes!

“Ooooo,”hemoanssadly.Hehoverscloser.

Youstandup,andholdoutthefoil.Yourhandstremble.IsthistheMPG?

Sparklejumpstohisfeet,too.“Arrf!Arrf-arf!”thedogbarks.

Theghostinstantlydisappears!

DidSparkledothat?“Hey,Sparkle,”yousay,pattingthedog’shead.“Goodjob!”

Aminutelater,youhearaterriblegroaningsound.Anotherghostappearsinthehall.Thisonehaswormscrawlingalloverhisface!

AlowgrowlbeginsinSparkle’sthroat.

Willitworkagain?WillSparklescareawaytheghost?

FindoutonPAGE103.

Astheghost-horsechargesatyou,yougrabhismaneandpullyourselfontohisback.

Yee-haw!Ride’em,cowboy!

There’sonlyoneproblem.Aninstantlater,thehorseturnsleft.

Andaleftturnfromyourgrandmother’satticstairwaygoesonlyoneplace.Straightthroughthestairwaywall.

Andthenoutside!

Uh-oh.

YougripGlory’smaneeventighterandshutyoureyes.

Okay,youthink.Makessense.Aghost-horsecanridethroughwalls.

Butcanyou?

Guessnot.

Andthat’swhy,whenyouopenyoureyesagain,you’restillridingGlory!Youandyourghost-horsechargethroughthemoonlitsky.Asyouwill—foreternity.

Itsaidonhistombstone,Glorywas“toowildfortheridersofthisworld.”Butfaceit,youaren’tofthisworldanymore.Thosedayshavecometoan

TurntoPAGE65.

Youstareintothedarkspaceunderthesink.Thetwosmalleyesstarebackatyou.

There’ssomethingaliveunderthere!

Hey,waitaminute.

Somethingfishyisgoingonhere.

You’reinthewrongGOOSEBUMPSbook!You’reinItCamefromBeneaththeSink!

Andyouhaveaterriblefeelingyouknowwhatisstaringatyouwiththoseglowingeyes.

IfyouthinktheeyesbelongtoaGrool,turntoPAGE132.

IfyouthinktheeyesbelongtoaLanx,turntoPAGE95.

Thistime,theremotecontrolchangestheEgyptianpharaohkingintoaNeanderthalman.Yourecognizehimfromallthesciencebooksatschool.Bighairyguy.Slumpyshoulders.Longarms.Hugewoodenclub.

Hugewoodenclub?

Andhe’sswingingitatyourhead!

Thinkfast!

Ifyouchangethechannelagain,turntoPAGE111.

Ifyoutrythemutebutton,turntoPAGE78.

“Stop!”youcryout,runningovertoRobin.“Don’teattheworms!It’sadouble-cross!”

“What?”Robinasks,lookingconfused.Luckilyhewastoogrossedouttotakeafirstbite.

Youexplainwhatyou’veoverheard.“Yourbrother’sinthere!”yousay,pointingtothebushes.“He’strickedus!Hemadeadealwiththeghost.Hepretendedtoscreamlastnight—eventhoughtheghostwasn’tdoinganythingtohim!”

Robinstilllooksconfused.UntilLarkandhisfriendscomeoutlaughing.“Ha,ha,”theysay.“Youhavetoeatwormsbecauseofus.Youtwerpsgotwhatyoudeserved.”

“Whatareyoulaughingabout?”theghostsaystoLark.“Youmadeadeal,too.Iagreedtomakeyourbrothereatworms.Butinreturn,youpromisedtodowhateverIasked.”

“Yeah,”Larksays.“Sowhat?”

“Sonowit’stimetokeepyourpartofthebargain,”theghostsaystoLark.“Andhereitis:Youhavetospendthenightwithadeadrat—inanopengrave!”

“Oh,right,”Larksays.“Andjusthowareyougoingtomakemedothat?”

“Easy,”theghostsayswithasmalllaugh.

TurntoPAGE121.

BONG!BONG!BONG!

Whatisthat?Somekindofclocktower?

BONG…BONG…BONG…BONG…

Thechimesstriketwelvetimes.

Atexactlymidnight,theironhandandtheswordvanish—andyourgrandmotherappearsinthedoorwayofherhouse.

“Why,listentothat!”sheexclaims.“It’stheclocktowerinthechurch.Thatclockhasn’tchimedinyears!”

“Really?”yousay,youreyesgrowingwide.

Yourgrandmothernods.“NotsinceBrandonEstepdied.Hecrashedhismotorcycleinthisgraveyard.Wildboy.Buthelovedthatclocktower.Hehadhelpedhisfatherbuildit.SoeveryonesaidBrandonhauntedthisplace,andthat’swhytheclockwouldn’tchime.Ofcoursethat’salotofnonsense.”

Nonsense?Noway,youthink.

“Theytriedtofixtheclockamilliontimes,”yourgrandmothergoeson.“Butitneverworked.Iwonderwhyitstartedchimingnow?”

You’reprettysureyouknowtheanswertothat.

GotoPAGE120.

“Aaaaah,”youshriek.“It’saGrool!”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Robinwhispers.

“Th-th-thoseeyes,”youstammer.“TheybelongtoanevilGrool!”

Youareinbigtroublenow.TheGroollovestomaketerriblethingshappen.Asifourluckwasn’talreadybad.

“You’recrazy,”Robintellsyou.“Andifyoudon’tshutup,Larkandhisbuddiesaregoingtofindus.”

“YouthoughtIwascrazywhenItoldyouabouttheghost,”youhissatRobin.“Andnowlookatus.”

Robinseesyourpoint.“Okay.”Hesighs.“Let’scheckoutthisGrool.”

YoumoveasidesothatRobincanseetheglowingeyesforhimself.HereachesfortheGrool.

“Don’ttouchit!”youwarnhim.Butit’stoolate.Youcan’twatch.Youshutyoureyes.

“SothisisaGrool!”Robinlaughs.Heholdssomethinginfrontofyourface.Youopenoneeye.Thenyouopentheothereye.

Robinisholdingalittlekitten.

“Oooops,”yousaysheepishly.“Sorry.IguessI’malittlestressed.ThathappenstomewhenImeetghosts.”

GetbackintothestoryonPAGE67.

BEWARE!!DONOTREADTHIS

BOOKFROMBEGINNINGTOEND!

EnterthelaboratoriesoftheevilDr.Eeek.Thesearelabswithexperimentssostrange…soamazing…soterrifying!Therearesuper-smartchimpsandnever-endingmazes.TherearegrowlingGermanshepherdsandmind-bogglingvirtualreality.OnevisitwithDr.Eeek,andscienceclasswillseemlikekindergarten!

Thescaryadventureisallaboutyou.Youdecidewhatwillhappen.Andyoudecidehowterrifyingthescareswillbe.

StartonPAGE1.Thenfollowtheinstructionsatthebottomofeachpage.Youmakethechoices.

Ifyoumaketherightchoices,youwillescapefromDr.Eeek’sdeadlylabsalive.Ifyoumakethewrongchoice…BEWARE!

Sotakealong,deepbreath,crossyourfingers,andturntoPAGE1toGIVEYOURSELFGOOSEBUMPS!

“Howdidyougetinhere?”avoicecallsasyouenterthewaitingroomatEeekLaboratories.“Thatdoorissupposedtobelockedatalltimes.”

YouandyourfriendSamjump.Youdidn’tthinkanyonewasaround.

Thenyouspotthereceptionistsittingbehindatalldesk.She’sashort,frizzy-hairedredheadwearingtoomuchlipstickforherthinlips.Sheglaresatyouasifsheexpectsyoutoturnaroundandleave—assoonasyoufigureoutyou’reinthewrongplace.

“I’mlookingformymom,”youtellher.

“Who’syourmom?”thereceptionistasks.Shestartstopackupherthingstoleave.

Youglanceattheclock.It’salmostfive-thirty—quittingtime.

“She’sthenewlabtechnician,”youexplain.“She’sworkingonsometopsecretexperimentsforEeek.”

“Really?ForDr.Eeek?”Thereceptionistgazesatyoususpiciously.

“Yeah—Iguess,”yousay.

Butreally,you’renotsure.Howcomeyourmomnevermentionedhimbefore?Dr.Eeek?Allsheevertoldyouwasthatshehadanewjobinaresearchlab.Youdidn’tknowtherewasamedicaldoctorinvolved.Doctorsgiveyouthecreeps.

GoontoPAGE2.

“AreyousureyourmomworksforDr.Eeek?”thereceptionistgrillsyou.Sheraisesaneyebrow.

Hereyebrowsgiveyouthecreeps.

Infact,thiswholeplacegivesyouthecreeps.

Fromtheminuteyousteppedofftheelevatoronthenineteenthfloor,therewerenosignsoflife.Nooneintheechoinghall.Nothingbutthecreakingelevatordoor.

AndthenyouspottedthedoortoEeekLabs.Yourmothernevertoldyouaboutthat,either.Thedoorlookedlikethedoortoahugevault!Itwasheavysteel—andaboutsixinchesthick.

Yourbestfriend,Sam,pulledasmallhandleneartheedgeofthedoor.Toyoursurprise,thedoorswungopeneasily.

Okay,youtoldyourself.Sotheplacehasaweirddoor.That’snoreasontofreakout.

“Yeah,sheworkshere,”youtellthereceptionist.“Shedoesresearch.”

“Well,takeaseat,”shereplies.“I’msureyourmomwillberighthere.”Thenshepacksupheroversizedtotebagandwalksout.

Yousearcharoundforachair.Thenyouseethem.Acrosstheroom.Thechairsareallorangeplastic—andthey’reallchainedtogether!

SitdownonPAGE3.

Yousitdowninanorangeplasticchair.ButSamdoesn’t.Hestartsroamingaroundthewaitingroom.

“Sowhatmovieisyourmomgoingtotakeusto?”Samasks.

Youshrug.“Whoknows?Butremember,Sam—wepromisedmymomwewouldn’tacttoowildhere,”youwarnwithagrin.

“Yeah,yeah,”hesays.Likehereallycares.Hewandersovertothereceptionist’sdesk.Hepicksupaglassofclearliquidthat’ssittingthere.

It’sprobablyjustwater,but…

“Hey!”youcry.“Don’tdrinkthat!”

Butbeforeyoucanstophim,hedrinksitdown.Samdrainstheglassinonegulp.

Thenhewhirlsaroundtofaceyou.

“Sam!Imeanit!”youmoan.“Wecan’tfoolaround.Thisisasciencelab.”

Hestartstoanswer,butsuddenlyhisfaceturnswhite.Heclutcheshisthroatandgasps.Thentheveinsonhisneckstarttopopout.Amomentlater,hemakesahideousface—asifhe’sturningintoDr.JekyllandMr.Hyde.

Youfreeze.Yourheartpoundswildly.

“Whatdidyoudrink?”youaskhim.

GoontoPAGE4.

Youraceovertothedesk.YoupickuptheglassSamwasdrinkingfrom.Andsnifftoseeifithasasmell.Nothing.

Samburstsoutlaughing.Hegivesyouadevilishgrin.

“Water,”Samsays,pointingattheglass.“It’sjustwater!”

Youcan’thelplaughing,too.YoulikeSam.He’sfunny.Butsometimesyourbestfriendcangotoofar.He’salwaysplayingcrazyjokesonyou.

Samgazesaround.You’resurehe’stryingtofindsomeothertroubletogetinto.

“Maybeweshouldlookformymom,”yousuggest.

AnythingtokeepSamfromgettingintomoretrouble.

Hiseyeslightup.“Greatidea!”hecries.“Maybewecandoourownexperiments!”

Uh…onsecondthought…

Maybeyoushouldjustsittightandwait!

Ifyousitdownandwaitforyourmom,turntoPAGE11.

Ifyoulookforher,turntoPAGE6.

R.L.Stine’sbooksarereadallovertheworld.Sofar,hisbookshavesoldmorethan300millioncopies,makinghimoneofthemostpopularchildren’sauthorsinhistory.BesidesGoosebumps,R.L.StinehaswrittentheteenseriesFearStreetandthefunnyseriesRottenSchool,aswellastheMostlyGhostlyseries,TheNightmareRoomseries,andthetwo-bookthrillerDangerousGirls.R.L.StinelivesinNewYorkwithhiswife,Jane,andMinnie,hisKingCharlesspaniel.Youcanlearnmoreabouthimatwww.RLStine.com.

GoosebumpsbookseriescreatedbyParachutePress,Inc.

Allrightsreserved.PublishedbyScholasticInc.,Publisherssince1920.SCHOLASTIC,GOOSEBUMPS,GOOSEBUMPSHORRORLAND,andassociatedlogosare

trademarksand/orregisteredtrademarksofScholasticInc.

Thepublisherdoesnothaveanycontroloveranddoesnotassumeanyresponsibilityforauthororthird-partywebsitesortheircontent.

AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,transmitted,

downloaded,decompiled,reverseengineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofthepublisher.Forinformationregardingpermission,writetoScholasticInc.,Attention:PermissionsDepartment,557

Broadway,NewYork,NY10012.

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,

orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Firstedition,August1996

e-ISBN978-0-545-84114-6

The Curse of the Creeping Coffin...“I’m bored,” you moan. “I’m so bored, I could eat...

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