Nightmare Hour by R. L. Stine

Just run!
    Into her room now. She slammed the door hard and turned the lock.
    The fierce animal growls echoed down the hall.
    Jillian threw herself onto the bed. Her whole body trembling, she clamped her hands over her ears and shut her eyes.
    Â 
    When Jillian opened her eyes, Priscilla was leaning over her. A smile spread over Priscilla’s pretty face as Jillian slowly lifted her head.
    â€œWhat?” Jillian muttered, her throat dry, her tongue thick. “Where am I?”
    Blinking hard, she saw that she was under a blanket, in bed in the room.
    â€œI heard you scream,” Priscilla said. “I was passing your room and heard you scream. So I looked in.”
    Jillian took a deep breath and tried to clear her head.
    Priscilla patted her hand. “It must have been a really bad nightmare,” she said softly. “Sometimes people have bad dreams when they stay here. Maybe that’s why they call this place Nightmare Inn.”
    Jillian heard a cry at the door and saw her mother come bursting in. “Jillian, what’s wrong? Why were you screaming?”
    Priscilla turned and offered Mrs. Warner a reassuringsmile. “Everything is fine. Jillian had a nightmare. But she’s okay now.”
    Mrs. Warner gasped. “Another nightmare? Oh, Jilly, I’m so sorry.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I’m okay, Mom,” Jillian said, sitting up. She sighed. “Just another dumb dream.”
    â€œThanks for looking in on her, Priscilla,” Mrs. Warner said. “That was really nice of you. Oh--what’s that on your cheek? It looks like a nasty cut.”
    Jillian glanced at Priscilla’s face and gasped.
    Priscilla rubbed her fingers gently along the four dark lines down her cheek. “Must have been the cat.”
    She narrowed her eyes at Jillian. “It had to be the cat…right?”

I’m Not Martin
    INTRODUCTION
    ILLUSTRATED BY CLAY PATRICK MCBRIDE
    W here do you get your ideas? That’s a question everyone asks me. Actually, anything can suggest a story to me.
    This story came from one sentence I overheard. One sentence was all I needed to imagine what I think may be my most stomach-churning story ever.
    The sentence? I overheard it on a city bus. Two boys were talking in the seat in front of me, and I heard the one named Nate say, “I have to have my tonsils out on Halloween.”
    That’s all I had to hear. My mind whirred into action. A hospital can be a scary place, I thought. But on Halloween night? What special scares will Nate find in a hospital on Halloween night? I hurried home to write the story. If you have to go to the hospital, remember--it’s just a story. It could never really happen… Or could it?
    T he first thing I noticed about the hospital was the sick, green walls. Such a drab, dull color. Almost gray. The color of the sky on a raw, stormy day.
    Someone had draped orange and black streamers from the ceiling because it was Halloween. And some of the doors had cardboard witches and jack-o’-lanterns taped to them.
    But the decorations didn’t help. Even if you were feeling cheerful, the grim color of the walls would change your mood and make you feel sad and nervous and afraid.
    I sure wasn’t feeling cheerful as I walked between my parents down the long, green hall to my hospital room.
    Mom squeezed my hand. Her hand was warm. Mine was cold and clammy.
    â€œNothing to worry about, Sean,” she said softly. She stared straight ahead. Her shoes clicked on the hard tile floor.
    Under his breath Dad read off the room numbers as we passed each green door. “B-twelve…B-fourteen…B-sixteen…”
    â€œHaving your tonsils out is no big deal,” Mom said. She’d already said it a hundred times. “You’ll have a sore throat for a few days. But then you’ll be fine.”
    Click click click . Mom’s shoes echoed down the long hall like a ticking clock. A clock clicking