The First Horror by R. L. Stine

Cally said, shaking her head. “The sun can’t break through.” Anthony concentrated on his sandwich. “The grass hasn’t been cut in ages,” he commented. “Maybe your dad would like to hire me to mow it.” Cally chuckled. “You sure you aren’t too scared to work here?” “Tell us the story,” Kody insisted, setting her paper plate down beside her on the grass. “About the house.” “It’s not a story. It’s true,” Anthony replied seriously. He locked his dark eyes on Cally’s. “A guy came to our class. He works in the library. He’s the town historian. He told us about it. He said—” “He told you about our house?” Kody interrupted shrilly. Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Ninety-nine Fear Street.” “What about it? Is it haunted?” Kody demanded, glancing at Cally. Cally leaned back against the tree trunk, her arms crossed in front of her. “Tell the story, Anthony,” she instructed him. “I want to see if you can keep a straight face.” “I’m not putting you on!” he insisted. “Really. This historian told us the whole thing. I’m not making it up.” He shifted his weight, crossing his long legs in front of him. Kody had a plateful of potato chips. She kept shoving them into her mouth, one after the other, eagerly waiting for Anthony’s story. “There was this guy who lived in Shadyside about a hundred years ago,” Anthony began, brushing an ant off his arm. “His name was Simon Fear.” “Is that who the street was named for?” Kody asked. “Stop interrupting him,” Cally snapped. “Yeah,” Anthony replied. “You know that burned house on the hill across from the cemetery? That was Simon Fear’s house.” “I went by there yesterday,” Kody said. “I can’t believe no one has torn it down. You know. Cleared it away.” “People are afraid to,” Anthony said darkly. “Simon Fear was a bad dude. A real bad dude. And so was his wife. I forget her name. I think it was Angelica. Anyway, this was all woods back then, and they lived in a big mansion in the woods and did all kinds of horrible things to people.” “You mean killed them?” Cally asked. “There are all kinds of weird stories about them. Some people say they tortured people—and even killed some.” “Yuck,” Kody whispered. She set down her plate of potato chips. “What do the Fears have to do with our house?” Cally asked impatiently.
    “Well, this town historian told us that when the workers started digging the foundation on this lot—it was about thirty years ago, he said—they dug up a bunch of old coffins.” “Coffins? In our yard?” Kody exclaimed shrilly. “They found all these old coffins with the Fear family crest on the lids. There were bodies inside them. Skeletons, I mean. The police figured that this was some kind of burying place. You know. For victims of Simon Fear and his wife. A secret place where they buried the people they killed.” “Wow!” Kody uttered excitedly. Cally made a disgusted face. “Happy Halloween!” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I’m not making it up!” Anthony insisted. “I haven’t even told you the really gross part.” “The gross part? Tell us!” Kody urged, grabbing a handful of potato chips. “You won’t like it,” Anthony warned. “You sure know how to build suspense,” Cally said dryly. She didn’t want to let on to Anthony that his story really was frightening her. She wrapped her arms more tightly, protectively, around herself. “Well, the town historian told us about the family that built your house more than thirty years ago,” Anthony said, gazing through the tree at the gray-shingled house bathed in darkness. He raised the Coke can to his lips and took a long drink. Then he continued, his eyes still focused on the house. “The guy who had the house built on this lot had a wife and two kids, a son and a daughter. “When the workers dug up the old graves, they asked him what they should do. He told them to keep