35 - A Shocker on Shock Street by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

it. Ben Dover. Sid Upp. These
are all funny!”
    I laughed. Ben Dover and Sid Upp were pretty funny.
    My laugh was cut short when I heard a soft cry from the back of the
graveyard. I saw another gray wisp dart behind a tombstone.
    I held my breath and listened hard. The wind whistled through the tall grass.
    Rising above the wind came another shrill cry.
    A cat? I wondered. Is the cemetery filled with cats? Or is it a child?
    Marty heard it, too. He moved down the row of stones until he stood beside
me. His dark eyes glowed excitedly. “This is so cool. Did you hear the sound
effects? There must be a speaker hidden in the ground.”
    Another shrill cry.
    Definitely human. A girl?
    I shivered. “Marty, I really think we should try to get back to my dad. We’ve
been here all afternoon. And—”
    “But what about the rest of the tour?” he argued. “We have to see
everything!”
    I heard another cry. Louder. Closer. A cry of terror.
    I tried to ignore it. Marty was probably right. The cries had to be coming
from a loudspeaker somewhere.
    “How can we finish the tour?” I demanded. “We were supposed to stay on the
tram—remember? But the tram—OHH!”
    I cried out as a hand shot up from the ground in front of us. A green hand.
Its long fingers unfolded, as if reaching for us.
    “Whoa!” Marty cried, stumbling back.
    Another green hand shot up from the dirt. Then two more.
    Hands reaching up from graves.
    I let out a frightened gasp. Hands were bursting up through the grass. Hands
all around us. Their fingers twisting and arching, reaching out.
    Marty started to laugh. “This is totally awesome! Just like in the movie!”
    He stopped laughing as a hand poked up beside him and grabbed his ankle.
“Erin—help!” he cried.
    But I couldn’t help.
    Two green hands had wrapped around my ankles and were pulling me down, down
into the grave.

 
 
16
     
     
    “Come dowwwwwnnnnn,” a soft voice moaned. “Come dowwwwwnnnn with us.”
    “Nooo!” I shrieked.
    My arms thrashed the air. I tried to kick, but the hands gripped me so
tightly, so firmly.
    My whole body frantically jerked and tilted back and forth, as I struggled
not to fall. If I fell, I knew they would grab my hands, too. And pull me
facedown into the earth.
    “Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us.”
    This isn’t a joke, I thought. These hands are real. They are really
trying to pull me underground.
    “Help! Oh, help!” I heard Marty’s cry. Then I saw him fall. He toppled to the
grass, onto his knees.
    Two hands gripped his ankles. Two more green hands poked up from the dirt to
grab his wrists.
    “Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us,” the sad voice moaned.
    “Noooo!” I shrieked, tugging wildly, desperately.
    To my surprise, I pulled free.
    One foot sank into the soft grass. I glanced down. My sneaker had slid off.
The hand still gripped the sneaker—but my foot was free.
    With a happy cry, I bent down. Pulled off the other sneaker.
    I was free now. Free!
    Breathing hard, I bent and quickly pulled off my socks. I knew it would be
easier to run barefoot. I tossed the socks away. Then I hurried over to Marty.
    He was flat on his stomach. Six hands held him down, tugging at him, tugging
hard. His whole body twisted and shook.
    He raised his head when he saw me. “Erin—help me!” he gasped.
    I dropped to my knees. Reached for his sneakers. Tugged them off.
    The green hands gripped the sneakers tightly. Marty kicked his feet free and
tried to climb to his knees.
    I grabbed a green hand and pulled if off his wrist. The hand slapped at me. A
cold, hard slap that made my hand ring with pain.
    Ignoring it, I grabbed for another green hand.
    Marty rolled over. Rolled free. Jumped to his feet, gasping, trembling, his mouth hanging open, his dark eyes bulging.
    “Your socks—” I cried breathlessly. “Pull them off! Hurry!”
    He clumsily tore them off his feet.
    The hands grabbed wildly for us. Dozens of