50 - Calling All Creeps! by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) Page A
Authors: R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)
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fingers.
Ms. Richards, the newspaper advisor, stood beside her, one hand on the back
of Tasha’s chair. Ms. Richards is young and very pretty. She had her
blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. In her baggy gray sweatshirt and faded
jeans, she looked more like a student than a teacher.
Ms. Richards was nice to me last September when I signed up for the school
newspaper staff. But she’s been pretty mean lately. I think Tasha turned her
against me.
Tasha is an eighth-grader, so she thinks she’s hot stuff. Sixth-graders are nothing at Harding. Believe me. We’re nothing. Maybe even less.
I knew Tasha and Ms. Richards would be working late on the Harding Herald tonight. Because tomorrow is
Tuesday, the day the paper comes out.
Ms. Richards leaned over Tasha and pointed to something on the computer
monitor. I squinted harder to see the screen. I could see a headline with a
photo beneath it.
Tasha was laying out the Herald front page.
Once she had the front page finished, she would save it on a disk. Then Ms.
Richards would take the disk to the laser printer in the main office and print
out two hundred copies.
Ms. Richards turned suddenly to the window. I dropped to the ground.
Had she seen me?
I waited a few seconds, then pulled myself up. Tasha was typing away. She
stopped every few seconds to click the mouse and move things around on the
screen.
Ms. Richards walked out of the room.
I shivered. The wind swirled, fluttering my parka hood. I hadn’t brushed all
the snow from my hair. Cold water dripped down the back of my neck. I heard a
dog howling sadly in the distance.
Please get up! I silently urged Tasha.
Please leave the room too—so I can play my little joke.
On the street behind me, another car rumbled past. I pressed myself against
the dark wall, trying to make myself invisible.
When I moved back to the window, the classroom stood empty. Tasha had also
left the room.
“Yesss!” I cheered softly.
My heart pounded with excitement. I raised both hands to the windowsill. I
struggled to push up the window so that I could climb inside.
I knew I had to be quick. Tasha probably had gone down the hall to the juice
machine. I had only a few seconds to get in the room—do my damage—and get
out of there.
I pushed and strained. The window didn’t budge.
At first I thought it might be frozen shut. But finally, on the fourth try,
it started to slide up. I pushed with all my strength—and opened the window
just enough to squeeze through.
My wet sneakers slid on the linoleum floor. I was leaving a trail of muddy
footprints, but I didn’t care.
I crept across the room and hunched down in front of the computer. My hand
shook as I grabbed the mouse and moved to the bottom of the newspaper page.
I heard voices. Tasha and Ms. Richards talking out in the hall.
Taking a deep breath, I frantically studied the page.
Then I typed a few words—in tiny, tiny type—at the bottom of the front
page. Giggling softly to myself, I wrote:
Calling All Creeps. Calling All Creeps. If you’re a real Creep, call Tasha at
555-6709 after midnight.
Why did I add this little message to the front page of my school newspaper?
Why did I sneak in at night and risk getting caught?
Why did I desperately need to get revenge against Tasha?
Well… it’s sort of a long story….
2
A few days ago, a new girl started at our school. Her name is Iris Candler.
She walked into my class and stood awkwardly at the front of the room, waiting
for Ms. Williamson to assign her a seat.
I was busy trying to do the math homework assignment before the bell rang.
Somehow I forgot all about it the night before.
I took a few seconds from my furious scribbling to check out the new girl.
Kind of cute, I thought. She had a round face with big blue eyes and short blond
hair parted in the middle. She wore long, red plastic earrings that jangled when
she moved her head.
Ms. Williamson gave Iris a seat near the
Ms. Richards, the newspaper advisor, stood beside her, one hand on the back
of Tasha’s chair. Ms. Richards is young and very pretty. She had her
blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. In her baggy gray sweatshirt and faded
jeans, she looked more like a student than a teacher.
Ms. Richards was nice to me last September when I signed up for the school
newspaper staff. But she’s been pretty mean lately. I think Tasha turned her
against me.
Tasha is an eighth-grader, so she thinks she’s hot stuff. Sixth-graders are nothing at Harding. Believe me. We’re nothing. Maybe even less.
I knew Tasha and Ms. Richards would be working late on the Harding Herald tonight. Because tomorrow is
Tuesday, the day the paper comes out.
Ms. Richards leaned over Tasha and pointed to something on the computer
monitor. I squinted harder to see the screen. I could see a headline with a
photo beneath it.
Tasha was laying out the Herald front page.
Once she had the front page finished, she would save it on a disk. Then Ms.
Richards would take the disk to the laser printer in the main office and print
out two hundred copies.
Ms. Richards turned suddenly to the window. I dropped to the ground.
Had she seen me?
I waited a few seconds, then pulled myself up. Tasha was typing away. She
stopped every few seconds to click the mouse and move things around on the
screen.
Ms. Richards walked out of the room.
I shivered. The wind swirled, fluttering my parka hood. I hadn’t brushed all
the snow from my hair. Cold water dripped down the back of my neck. I heard a
dog howling sadly in the distance.
Please get up! I silently urged Tasha.
Please leave the room too—so I can play my little joke.
On the street behind me, another car rumbled past. I pressed myself against
the dark wall, trying to make myself invisible.
When I moved back to the window, the classroom stood empty. Tasha had also
left the room.
“Yesss!” I cheered softly.
My heart pounded with excitement. I raised both hands to the windowsill. I
struggled to push up the window so that I could climb inside.
I knew I had to be quick. Tasha probably had gone down the hall to the juice
machine. I had only a few seconds to get in the room—do my damage—and get
out of there.
I pushed and strained. The window didn’t budge.
At first I thought it might be frozen shut. But finally, on the fourth try,
it started to slide up. I pushed with all my strength—and opened the window
just enough to squeeze through.
My wet sneakers slid on the linoleum floor. I was leaving a trail of muddy
footprints, but I didn’t care.
I crept across the room and hunched down in front of the computer. My hand
shook as I grabbed the mouse and moved to the bottom of the newspaper page.
I heard voices. Tasha and Ms. Richards talking out in the hall.
Taking a deep breath, I frantically studied the page.
Then I typed a few words—in tiny, tiny type—at the bottom of the front
page. Giggling softly to myself, I wrote:
Calling All Creeps. Calling All Creeps. If you’re a real Creep, call Tasha at
555-6709 after midnight.
Why did I add this little message to the front page of my school newspaper?
Why did I sneak in at night and risk getting caught?
Why did I desperately need to get revenge against Tasha?
Well… it’s sort of a long story….
2
A few days ago, a new girl started at our school. Her name is Iris Candler.
She walked into my class and stood awkwardly at the front of the room, waiting
for Ms. Williamson to assign her a seat.
I was busy trying to do the math homework assignment before the bell rang.
Somehow I forgot all about it the night before.
I took a few seconds from my furious scribbling to check out the new girl.
Kind of cute, I thought. She had a round face with big blue eyes and short blond
hair parted in the middle. She wore long, red plastic earrings that jangled when
she moved her head.
Ms. Williamson gave Iris a seat near the
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