Free The Five Masks of Dr. Screem by R. L. Stine Page B

lot of time left,” I said.
    Peter nodded. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his white uniform. “I — I can’t believe what’s happened to us tonight,” he said softly.
    “I’m afraid to find another mask,” I confessed. “Afraid to put another mask on. Each time it — it takes us into a
horror
movie.”
    “Except it’s all real,” he said. “But, Monica — we have to keep going. We only have three masks.” He stared at the empty lot in front of us.
    “We don’t have much time,” I said.
    “How about the skull mask?” he said. “That should be easy to find.”
    I squinted at him. “Easy? Why?”
    He shrugged. “So far, the masks have been their own clues — so …”
    I finished his sentence. “The best place to find a skull mask is … a graveyard.”
    We both began walking in the same direction. Hillcrest’s oldest graveyard was about a three-block walk.
    The night was eerily still. The houses we passed were all dark. No cars on the street. The trees didn’t rustle. No whisper of wind.
    The only sounds were our shoes thudding on the sidewalk and the beating of my heart.
    I had to jog to catch up to Peter. “Are we — are we really going into the old graveyard on Halloween?”
    “What’s scary about it?” Peter demanded. “It’s only dead people.”

32
    The paint had nearly all peeled off the low picket fence in front of the graveyard. Parts of the fence had fallen to the ground, leaving wide gaps.
    I peered through one of the gaps at the crooked, tilting gravestones, which were black against the purple sky. Dead leaves had piled up and formed hills against several gravestones. Like blankets to cover the dead.
    I shuddered.
    I never liked cemeteries. Even new, pretty ones that were well taken care of with smooth grass and straight, shiny gravestones.
    Some of my friends sometimes had picnics in the new cemetery a few blocks from school. But I couldn’t join them. It gave me the creeps.
    I just couldn’t stop thinking about the dead people lying so still, rotting away in their wormy coffins beneath the ground.
    I had nightmares about graveyards. I nevertold anyone about them. I didn’t know if it was normal or not.
    And now, Peter and I stood staring through the broken fence. Gazing at the crooked rows of little grave markers and the blanket of dead leaves over them.
    “Let’s go,” Peter said. He squeezed through a gap in the fence.
    I took a deep breath and followed him.
    As soon as we stepped into the graveyard, the wind started up again. It had been so still and silent. And now, it was as if the wind had been waiting for us.
    The dead leaves began to crackle and move. Carried on the wind, the fat brown leaves danced in circles around the low grave markers.
    The bare limbs of the old trees appeared to shudder in the swirling gusts.
    “Peter … I d-don’t like this,” I stammered.
    He moved down a row of gravestones. Most of them had fallen over and lay flat on their backs.
Like the dead people beneath them
, I thought.
    “Peter?”
    He didn’t seem to hear me. Leaning into the wind, he moved down the row of ancient gravestones. I followed close behind.
    I kept my eyes on the ground. Was the skull mask hidden here? Was it buried in the deep leaves? Hidden behind a grave?
    I grabbed Peter’s arm when I heard a loud moan.
    “What was
that
?” I cried. “Did you hear it?”
    He spun back to me. “Hear what?”
    “A moan. Like someone groaning,” I said. “It … sounded human,” I insisted.
    “Look around,” he said. He waved his arm. “We’re the only ones here.”
    “The only
living
ones here,” I corrected him.
    He wandered down the next row of old graves. His shoes crunched loudly over the dry leaves. The trees creaked all around.
    I jumped in shock when a flat gray headstone toppled over at my feet. I leaped back, my heart pounding.
    Just the wind
.
    And then I heard the moan again.
    “Peter,” I called in a trembling voice. “We … we’re not