Night of the Werecat by R.L. Stine Page B

woman, Mrs. Bast had some grip.
    â€œYou’re my first customers,” Mrs. Bast told them. She flung apart the curtains. “I was just getting ready to open the booth when you showed up.” She grinned at the girls. “I could hear you through the curtains. I didn’t want you to get away. I knew you would appreciate fine cat curios.”
    A mewing sound caught Wendy’s attention. On the counter behind Mrs. Bast stood a long-haired white Persian cat. “Ohh,” Wendy breathed. “Is that your cat?”
    Mrs. Bast gave the cat a pat on the head. “This is Samantha,” she said. “She’s my assistant. She chooses what I should sell.” Mrs. Bast began bustling around the booth. “Samantha has very good taste.”
    Wendy reached out and gently touched the Persian’s back. Its long white fur was as soft as a silk scarf.
    â€œShe likes you,” Mrs. Bast commented.
    â€œAll cats like Wendy,” Tina said.
    â€œAnd I like all cats,” Wendy added. She scratched Samantha under the chin. The white cat began to purr. It was Wendy’s favorite sound.
    Mrs. Bast rubbed her hands together. “What are you looking for today?” she asked. “Jewelry? Photos? T-shirts? Knickknacks? I’ve got them all!”
    Wendy turned her attention from Samantha to the shelves and displays in the booth. There were trays ofcat pins, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces. T-shirts hung from a rack. A clothesline across the top of the booth held posters of lions, tigers, cheetahs, and panthers.
    â€œThis is pretty,” Tina remarked. She held up a purple bracelet made of cat-shaped beads.
    Wendy poked through a tray on the counter labeled “All items $5.” A shiny object caught her eye. “Tina, look!” she exclaimed. She held up a silver chain. A delicate metal charm of a black cat dangled in front of her eyes. In the center of the cat’s forehead was a spidery white star.
    Tina turned to see the necklace. “It’s pretty,” Tina agreed. “But what’s that weird white spot on its face?”
    â€œThat’s what I like best about it,” Wendy said. She ran her finger lightly over the white mark. It was so unusual. And the cat looked so real! “I’m going to take this,” Wendy told Mrs. Bast. She held out the charm.
    The old woman glanced at the trinket and gave a startled gasp. Then she scowled. “That charm isn’t for sale,” she snapped. In a quick move Mrs. Bast snatched the necklace from Wendy’s hand.
    Wendy was shocked. “But why not?” she blurted. “It was in the tray with all the other cat charms.”
    â€œIt’s not for sale,” Mrs. Bast repeated. “And it’s not a cat charm. It’s a were cat charm. That white star on its face is the mark of the werecat.”
    Werecat? Wendy glanced at Tina. Tina raised her eyebrows.
    â€œWhat’s a werecat?” Tina asked.
    â€œHave you heard of werewolves?” Mrs. Bast demanded.
    â€œEveryone’s heard of werewolves,” Wendy replied. “They’re people who supposedly turn into wolves when the moon is full.”
    â€œWerecats are the same,” Mrs. Bast said. “Only they turn into cats. Very large, very wild cats. And they do it every night, whether the moon is full or not.”
    Tina snorted. “But werewolves aren’t real,” she protested.
    â€œI don’t know about werewolves,” the old woman said. “But werecats are very real indeed.” She poked her head out of the booth and glanced around. Seeming satisfied no one was listening, Mrs. Bast continued. “I’ve seen them myself,” she whispered. “Right here in Shadyside. They prowl the Fear Street Woods.”
    Wendy looked at Tina and they both smiled. They loved stories about Fear Street.
    Everyone told stories about the creepy things that happened on Fear Street. But Wendy had been