Readers beware, you're in for a scare! Get ready for Halloween with the latest book from the master of fright, R.L. Stine. The Ghost of Slappy is narrated by the most iconic and evil character of the Goosebumps series, Slappy! In this book, he's back as a ghost, and the only thing you'll be playing is hide-and-go-shriek.
Learn more about The Ghost of Slappy here, and scroll down to start reading chapter 1:
SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
Welcome to My World.
Yes, it’s SlappyWorld—you’re only screaming in it! Hahaha.
Don’t stare. I know you can’t take your eyes off me. Most people wear sunglasses when they visit so they won’t be blinded by my beauty! Hahaha!
I wish I had a phone so I could call myself and tell me how awesome I am! Hahaha.
I’m so cool, I give myself goosebumps. And then, guess what? I give my goosebumps goosebumps! Hahaha.
Did you see me on the cover of DUMMY Magazine? Of course you didn’t! Don’t call me Dummy, dummy!
I’m so smart, I can spell any word. I’m not kidding. I can spell any word. Want to see me do it? Okay. Here goes . . .
Well, I have a story to tell you—and you’re lucky because it stars ME. Also, a kid named Shep Mooney. Shep is about to go on an overnight in the woods with his class.
I don’t want to give anything away, but...it’s probably going to be the scariest night of Shep’s life. And guess who is going to make it scary? Hahahaha!
I call this one The Ghost of Slappy. Aren’t you DYING to read it? Haha.
It’s just one more terrifying tale from SlappyWorld.
I stuffed a pair of woolly socks into my duffel bag and frowned at my sister, Patti, who plopped on the edge of my bed.
“Why are you staring at me? Why are you watching me pack?”
Her dark eyes flashed behind her glasses. “Because you’re a hoot, Shep.”
“Huh? I’m a hoot? What is a hoot? What are you talking about?”
She crawled over and began pawing through the bag. “Did you just pack a bar of soap?”
I slapped her hands away. “Get your paws off my stuff, Patti.”
She stuck her round face into mine. “Did you? Did you just pack a bar of soap?”
“So what?” I said.
“It’s an overnight in the woods, Shep. No one is going to take a shower.”
I could feel my face grow a little hot. “Are you going to give me a break? I like to be prepared.”
Truth is, I didn’t really know what to pack. I’d never been on an overnight in the woods. I hate the woods. I hate the outdoors. And I’m not too crazy about the dark.
Why couldn’t our sixth-grade class go on an overnight during the day?
Patti didn’t back away.She sat beside my duffel bag with her arms crossed in front of her. I knew she was waiting to give me a hard time about something else.
Patti can be a pain. She is nine, three years younger than me. But she thinks she’s the sensible one. Can she be bossy? Three guesses.
She has stringy black hair that she hates, a face as round as a pumpkin, and she has to wear glasses all the time. So do I. So do Mom and Dad.
Mom says it makes us look smart. But I think we ook like a family of owls.
I tossed a flashlight into the bag. Patti pushed it deeper into the pile of stuff.
“Could you go away?” I asked.
“Where should I go?”
“Brazil?” I continued to pack the duffel.
“You’re a hoot,Shep,”she repeated.“What did you just put in the bag? Was that bugs pray?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“It’s almost November!” she shouted. “It’s cold out. You’re not going to need bug spray.”
I pulled the can of bug spray out and tossed it on the bed. Sometimes Patti can be right.
Okay. So I was stressed. I wanted to bring all my blankets and my two soft pillows. I wanted to bring my sweaters and my sweatshirts in case it got really cold. But that seemed like too much.
Actually, I didn’t want to bring anything. I didn’t want to go. I kept thinking about being there in the dark with the trees rattling and shaking,and the wind howling, and all the wild animals lurking around everywhere.
And I knew I could not count on our teacher, Mr. Hanson, to help us feel safe.Hanson is a horror freak. Some kids call him Horrible Hanson because he loves everything that’s horrible.
He tells us horror stories in class and talks about all the old movie monsters as if they were real. My friend Carlos Jackson and I know that he’s been saving up ghost stories to tell on the overnight. There’s nothing Horrible Hanson would like better than making us all scream our heads off inf right.
Carlos likes ghost stories. But I have a good reason for hating them, a reason I can’t tell Carlos.
I jammed two wool ski caps into the bag. It was getting very full.
Patti laughed. “You’ve packed everything you own. Is Tootsie in there? You’d better let me look.” Tootsie is our cat.
Patti jumped to her feet and searched through my stuff again.
“If you’re so into it, why don’t you go in my place?” I said.
She shook her head. “I can’t go on a sixth-grade trip. I can only go with the cool kids.”
“Huh? Fourth-grade kids are cool? Areyou kidding me?You only learned to tie your shoes last week!”
She stuck her chin out. “We don’t tie our shoes. We’re too cool to tie our shoes.”
I stopped and took a step back. I didn’t want this to turn into a fight. I needed Patti’s help.
I pushed my glasses up on my nose. “Would you do me a favor?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “What is it?”
“My sleeping bag is in the basement. Could you bring it up for me?”
She squinted at me. “No way.”
“Shep, you have to get over this basement thing,” she said. “You have got to stop being afraid of the basement.”
“I—I can’t,” I stammered. “I told you. That’s where I always run into Annalee.”
She tossed back her head. “Annalee. How did you evermake up a name like Annalee?”
I couldn’t help myself. I started to shout. “I didn’t make it up! It’s real. Her name is Annalee.”
She gave me a shove. “Oh, please. Give it a rest. Like I’m really going to believe that stupid ghost story.” She raised her hands to shove me again, but I backed out of her reach.
“Annalee—” I started.
“There’s no Annalee,” Patti said. “There’s no ghost named Annalee haunting our house—and you know it. Why do you keep insisting?”
“Because it’s true?” I said.
Patti rolled her eyes. “You’re losing it.”
“I don’t know why she’s haunting our house,”I said. “And I don’t know what she wants. B-but I know she’s real.I saw her the day we moved in. And I’ve seen her again and again. And I have nightmares all the time about her.”
“You dreamed her in a nightmare,”Patti said. “She’s not real.”
“YES, SHE IS!” I screamed.
“Look at you. You’re shaking,” Patti said. She narrowed her eyes at me through her glasses. “You have seriously got to stop making up ghost stories. Ghosts do not exist, Shep. Everyone knows that ghosts don’t exist.”
I swallowed. “So you won’t go down to the basement for me?”
She laughed. “You’re a hoot.”