Wanted by R. L. Stine Page A

together, grinding them, preparing to bite again.
    â€œLu-Ann — just stop,” Marcus said, motioning me back with both hands. “You need help.”
    â€œYou’ll need help when I’m finished with you,” I snarled. I raised both hands and curled them like claws, ready to scratch their eyes out.
    What am I doing?
    These are my FRIENDS.
    â€œLu-Ann — let us help you,” Marcus said.
    Brad rubbed his shoulder where I had bitten him. “We’ll take you home,” he said. “Your parents can call a doctor.”
    I tossed back my head and roared in reply.
    The sound frightened them. They both took a step back.
    â€œIs it the mask?” Brad asked. “Is the mask making you do these things?”
    â€œWe’ll help you take it off,” Marcus said. His voice trembled.
    â€œIt can’t come off,” I growled. “It’s my face now.” I took a step toward them, curled hands still raised. “What’s the matter? It’s not pretty enough for you?”
    They glanced at each other and didn’t reply. I could see they were terrified.
    Should I bite them again?
    No. This was getting boring. I needed more excitement. After all, it was Halloween night. And I had more anger to burn, more damage to do.
    â€œLu-Ann, please —” Marcus held his hand out to me. “Let us take you home.”
    I slapped his hand away, spun around, and took off. I ran through three front yards, then an empty lot.
    I turned back. Were they following me? No.
    They had given up.
    Great friends. I should have bitten them both.
    I turned a corner and kept running. My chest was burning, but I felt as if I could run forever.
    Run and roar forever.
    The houses ended, and I saw a row of small shops across the street. They were all dark except for the store at the end.
    As I crossed the street, I read the neon sign over the door. M ASKS & M ORE .
    The front window was brightly lit with rows of ugly masks on display. A sign read: M EXICAN D AY OF THE D EAD M ASKS .
    Marcus’s dad’s store. Mr. Wright. This had to be his Halloween store.
    I stopped and stared into the window.
    Mr. Wright has studied old masks. He is an expert on old masks.
    Maybe he can help me. Maybe he can help me get this mask off.
    He HAS to help me!
    I grabbed the door handle so hard, I ripped it off the door. With a low growl, I tossed it aside. Then I went roaring into the store.

It was a tiny shop with costumes hanging from metal racks, jammed on both sides of the narrow aisle. A jungle of costumes stretching into the aisle.
    Masks were hung side by side on three walls, nearly from floor to ceiling. Dozens and dozens of animal masks and monster masks and funny masks and scary masks. A glass display case held all kinds of shiny badges, belts, tiaras, and wands.
    There was barely room to walk. The lights were dim, casting strange shadows over the rows of empty-eyed masks. I squinted to the back of the store. No sign of Mr. Wright.
    I let out a rasping roar. “Anybody here?”
    Costumes scraped against one another as if they were alive. Masks grinned down at me.
    â€œAnybody here? Mr. Wright?”
    He appeared from behind a pile of red and black costumes in the back. He was carrying a skeleton mask in one hand and a can of Coke in the other.
    Startled, he dropped the soda can when he saw me. It clanged to the floor and Coke spilled over his shoes.
    Mr. Wright is a big man, tall and wide and nearly bald. He wears thick, black-rimmed glasses that are always falling down his nose. He was dressed in dark denim jeans and a white turtleneck sweater under an open brown sports jacket.
    He bent to pick up the Coke can. Then he stood and stared at me. “Hello?”
    â€œMr. Wright, it’s me, Lu-Ann,” I growled. “Help me. I need your help!”
    He squinted through his glasses at the mask over my face. “Who are you? What did you say?”
    I glimpsed myself in the