Free Three Evil Wishes by R.L. Stine Page A

terrible-looking thing get into the deck in the first place?”
    Max only shrugged as he handed his mom his cards. He didn’t seem very upset about the joker. Maybe his doctor told him not to get too excited—about anything.
    But I was plenty excited. My heart was racing!
    Frankie’s eyes met mine. His wide-open eyes—filled with fright now.
    I turned to Jeff. It was hard to tell if he was scared or not. He still had on his sunglasses.
    â€œThat was horrible,” I said. I didn’t know whether I had seen the joker move or not. “That wasn’t a regular joker. No wonder you screamed.”
    â€œI told you—I didn’t scream,” Frankie said.
    â€œCome on, Frankie,” I said. “Just admit it. We all heard you. I bet the whole neighborhood heard you.”
    â€œI didn’t scream.” Frankie glared at me. “So quit saying I did.”
    â€œThere. I’ve checked the deck. There aren’t any more ugly jokers,” Mrs. Davidson interrupted our argument.
    She handed the deck of cards to Max. “Remember, it’s good card manners to let someone cut the cards, Max.”
    Max began shuffling.
    â€œUm . . . you really still want to play?” I asked.
    Max shrugged. “Why not?”
    â€œYes, but . . .” I began. I stopped. With the jokers out of the deck, I guess it was okay to play.
    We played hand after hand of Hearts. By the time the four of us left Max’s house, I saw clubs and diamonds, hearts and spades swimming before my eyes.
    And I still saw that ugly joker. Saw its evil grin. Saw it move.
    How could a single card be so frightening?
    How?
    â€œI wish we’d left earlier,” Louisa grumbled as we walked along Fear Street in the dark. “I hate this street at night.”
    â€œIt seems like the streetlights are always broken here,” I complained. “I can’t see a thing!”
    â€œWe could always cut through Mrs. Murder’s yard again,” Frankie suggested.
    â€œFat chance,” I said. Then I heard something. “Hey, listen. What’s that?”
    I glanced in the direction of Mrs. Marder’s house. But it was too dark to see anything.
    â€œI hear something rattling,” Jeff whispered.
    Rattling—that was the sound I heard. Rattling—like someone shaking a can full of pebbles.
    â€œI hear it,” Louisa added. “Listen. It’s getting louder.”
    My eyes searched the shadows along Fear Street.
    â€œHey!” Frankie yelled suddenly. “Watch it, buddy!”
    I whirled around.
    I saw Frankie sprawled on the sidewalk.
    A small figure bent over him. Probably the kid who knocked him down. Now he was saying something to Frankie.
    â€œFrankie!” Louisa called. “Are you okay?”
    Frankie didn’t answer.
    The figure straightened up. He wasn’t very tall. He wore a green hat with a brim pulled down low over his forehead. I couldn’t make out his face under the brim. The only thing I could see clearly was the stick he held in his hand.
    I ran toward Frankie—and the shadowy figure rattled his stick fiercely. He let out a scream—and raced away into the darkness.
    â€œFrankie, are you okay?” I asked. “Who was that?”
    â€œI don’t know, some little kid,” Frankie groaned. “Boy, for a little kid he sure slammed into me hard!” Frankie rubbed his arm.
    The four of us walked close together as we made our way along Fear Street.
    â€œHe said something weird,” Frankie began as we headed home. “It sounded like, ‘We shake the skull . . .’ No. That wasn’t it.”
    Frankie frowned, trying to remember. “I know. ‘We shake the skull with eyes that gleam.’ ”
    â€œThat doesn’t make any sense,” Jeff said.
    Frankie shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like.”
    â€œThat can’t be what he said. Maybe he