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OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF REVENGE OF THE LIVING
THE FIRST BOOK IN THE ALL-NEW, ALL-TERRIFYING GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND SERIES BY FRIGHT MASTER R.L. STINE,
IN STORES IN APRIL 2008.
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You may wonder why my best friend, Molly
Molloy, and I were in the old graveyard late at
I shivered as I thought about what we were
doing. Wind howled through the trees, and pale
streaks of lightning cracked the sky.
“Hurry, Molly,” I whispered, hugging myself
as the moon disappeared behind the clouds. “It’s going to storm.”
“I am hurrying, Britney,” Molly said. “But the
ground . . . it’s really hard.”
We were digging a grave. We took turns. One
of us shoveled while the other stood lookout.
I felt cold raindrops on my forehead. I kept my
eyes on the low picket fence near the street.
Nothing moved. The only sounds were the scrape
of the shovel in the dirt and a drumroll of thunder,
deep but far away.
Across from me, an old gravestone made a
creaking sound as it tilted in the wind.
I sucked in my breath. I suddenly pictured the
old stone toppling over. And someone crawling
out from the grave beneath it.
||Okay, okay. I have a wild imagination. Everyone
knows that about me.
My mom says I’ll either be a writer or a crazy
She thinks that’s really funny.
Sometimes having a strong imagination is a
good thing. And sometimes it just makes things
Molly stopped shoveling to push the hair out
of her eyes. Raindrops pattered on the blanket of
dead leaves on the ground. “Britney, does this look
deep enough?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
I glanced at the glass coffin on the ground.
“Keep digging. We have to totally cover it,” I said.
||I turned back to the street. It was late, and the
neighborhood stood dark and still. But what if
someone drove by and saw us?
How could we ever explain the grave we were
How could we explain why we were there?
Molly groaned and dug the shovel blade into
The dead leaves crackled. I held my breath and
listened. Footsteps. Someone creeping quickly
through the leaves toward us.
“Molly —” I whispered.
Then I saw them, huddled low, moving in a line.
Raccoons. A pack of them, little eyes glowing. The black fur on their faces made the little creatures
look like they were wearing masks.
They froze when they saw us. And then stood up taller.
Do raccoons ever attack?
||These raccoons looked really hungry. I imagined
them stampeding Molly and me. Swarming
over us, clawing and biting.
A bright flash of lightning brought them into
clear focus. They were staring at the little glass
coffin. Did they think there was food inside?
A clap of thunder — closer now — startled
them. The leader turned and scuttled away over
the leaves. The others followed.
I shivered and wiped rain off my forehead.
||Molly handed me the shovel. “Your turn,” she
said. “It’s almost finished.”
The wooden handle scratched my hand. I kicked
dirt off the blade and stepped up to the shallow
hole. “No one will ever find it here,” I said. “Once
we bury the evil thing, we’ll be safe from it.”
Molly didn’t answer.
I had the sudden feeling something was
I turned and saw Molly staring with her mouth
open. Staring at the tall gravestone next to us
She pointed. “Brit —”
And then I heard the old stone creak. And saw
the pale hand slowly reach out from the grave.
No time to move. No time to scream.
I stood frozen — and watched the hand wrap
its cold, bony fingers around my ankle.
And then I started to scream.