The Boy Who Ate Fear Street by R.L. Stine Page A

into her flower garden.
    â€œSam, please. No more leaves!” Lissa cried.
    Not leaves, Lissa. Dirt. Dark, rich, wet dirt.
    I threw myself to the ground.
    I didn’t even bother scooping up the dirt with my hands.
    I lowered my head to the ground—and licked it up with my tongue.
    Delicious dirt.
    â€œOh, noooo,” I heard Lissa moan.
    I paid no attention.
    I buried my head in the dirt and lapped it up.
    My eye caught a chrysanthemum. A pretty yellow mum. I snapped its stalk and shoved the flower into my mouth.
    And then I spotted a worm. A big, juicy worm.
    I opened my mouth and dangled it over my waiting tongue.
    I dropped it in. I felt its slimy body slither across my teeth.
    I bit into it.
    Mmmmm. So moist. So tasty.
    I reached down into the soil for another one—and everything went black.

17

    â€œH ey! What’s going on?” I cried, kicking my arms and legs.
    â€œHold still, Sam,” Lissa demanded. “It’s just my jacket over your head. It’s the only way we could get you to stop.”
    I touched the top of my head, feeling for Lissa’s jacket. Yes, that’s what it was. She was telling the truth.
    Kevin and Lissa guided me down the sidewalk, block after block, with Lissa’s jacket over my head.
    â€œAre you okay in there, Sam?” Lissa asked.
    â€œNo. I am not okay. Take this thing off my head! Now!”
    â€œI don’t think we should, Sam,” Kevin said. “If we do, we’ll lose control over you. Sorry.”
    I guess I couldn’t blame them.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “Anyway, with this jacket over my head I don’t feel like eating dirt anymore. I guess if I can’t see it, I don’t want to eat it.”
    I couldn’t wait to get to the Sullivans’ house. I needed a drink of water badly—to wash away the horrible, sour-worm-juice taste in my mouth.
    Worm juice.
    Ugh.
    I can’t believe I bit into a worm.
    We have to find a clue in Aunt Sylvie’s room, I prayed. We have to!
    â€œOkay, Sam!” Lissa whisked the jacket from my head. I blinked in the bright light of the Sullivans’ hallway.
    I caught my reflection in the hall mirror. My hair was matted with mud. Dirt streaked across my cheeks, my nose, my lips. What a mess!
    â€œAnybody home?” Kevin called out.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I clamped my dirty hand over his mouth. “I told you—I don’t want Aunt Sylvie to know I’m here.”
    Kevin yanked my hand away. “Hey, relax. I just wanted to make sure she was gone, that’s all.”
    Aunt Sylvie didn’t answer.
    No one did.
    â€œCome on.” Kevin motioned us toward the steps. “Let’s go up to Aunt Sylvie’s room.”
    Aunt Sylvie’s room was exactly as I remembered it. The mat where she slept rested in the middle of the floor. The ancient wooden medicine mask and the Indian dream catcher still hung on the wall. Crystals in every hue and tint lined the dresser.
    â€œWhere should we look first?” I asked.
    â€œThe books,” Kevin suggested. “Maybe that’s where we’ll find out what happened to you.”
    I gazed around the room. “I don’t see any books.”
    â€œIn here,” Kevin said, opening the door to Aunt Sylvie’s closet.
    Kevin snapped on the closet light. Rows and rows of bookshelves lined the closet walls.
    I grabbed a few books from a shelf. “Come on, let’s start reading.” I handed one book to Kevin and one to Lissa. “Maybe we can find the black-flake curse in one of these.”
    Kevin read the title of his book. “You Don’t Have to Whisper — How to Talk to the Dead.”
    Then Lissa read hers. “Herbs and Berries.”
    Mine said The Magic of Spices. “Hey! I bet I can find out what’s wrong with me in this one!” I exclaimed.
    I eagerly flipped through the pages. But all I found were recipes for one kind of