Nightmare Hour by R. L. Stine Page A

running into the woods.
    A few kids ran after him. The rest stared in horror as thecorpse tightened his grasp around my throat.
    â€œ Let…the…dead…rest! ” With a low grunt he started to choke me.
    â€œI guess I’ll have to take care of you myself!” I cried.
    I squeezed his hands and tugged them off me. Then I grabbed his head and twisted it hard. Gripping the sides of the mask, I raised the dead man’s head, then banged it down. Banged it against the ground. Banged it again. Again. Again.
    Until he lay still.
    Wheezing, gasping, my chest heaving, I let go of him and staggered to my feet. I bent over and pressed my hands against my knees, struggling to catch my breath.
    The other kids stared at me wide-eyed. Trembling. Crying. “Go get Mr. Kretchmer,” I told them. “I’m okay. Hurry. Go get him.”
    They took off, eager to get away. I watched them until they disappeared into the trees.
    Then I turned to the body on the ground. “They’re gone, Uncle Jake. You can get up,” I told him. “Thanks a lot. It worked perfectly. They’ll never call me Willy the Wimp again.”
    Uncle Jake sat up and tugged off the mask. He mopped sweat off his forehead. Then he rubbed the back of his head. “Will, you play kind of rough,” he groaned.
    â€œSorry,” I replied. “I guess I got a little carried away. I wanted to make it look real.”
    Uncle Jake was my best uncle. He was really funny and he loved practical jokes. He was always doing his white eyeball trick at the dinner table. Last week when I asked him tohelp me out, he jumped at the chance.
    I held out my hand and helped tug him to his feet. “Thanks again,” I said. “We really scared them, didn’t we?”
    Uncle Jake nodded. He smiled at me. “Glad I didn’t let you down. But I’ve got to get going,” he whispered. “Bye, Will.”
    I said good-bye. Then I watched him until he vanished among the trees.
    Â 
    I ran all the way home after school and came bursting through the kitchen door. I couldn’t wait to tell Mom about the great trick Uncle Jake and I had played on Travis and the other kids.
    But I stopped when I saw tears running down her face. Her chin trembled. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.
    â€œWill, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “So sorry…”
    â€œSorry? Mom, what’s wrong?”
    â€œI have very bad news,” she said, wiping tears away with both hands. “It--it’s your Uncle Jake. He died.”
    â€œHuh?” I suddenly felt cold all over. “Died? When?”
    â€œLast night,” Mom said. “Sometime last night. I…I just heard.”
    â€œBut--” I started.
    Mom wrapped her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Will. I know the two of you were close. I know you thought of him as a friend.”
    My head was spinning. I pressed my face against Mom’s wet cheek.
    â€œYes,” I whispered. “Yes. He was a very good friend.”

Make Me a Witch
    INTRODUCTION
    ILLUSTRATED BY BLEU TURRELL
    P eople often ask if I believe in ghosts and witches. The answer is no. But many years ago I knew a woman who said she was a witch. Her name was Judith, and she worked in the same office I did.
    One day Phil, a guy in the next office, got sick. Everyone said that Judith had put a curse on him. Poor Phil. His hair turned white. His teeth started to fall out. He grew skinnier and skinnier. Then one day he was fine again.
    Judith claimed she had removed the spell. I never really thought Judith was responsible. I wasn’t sure what to believe. But I do know this: Sometimes it would be great to have that kind of magical power. At least that’s what Stephanie thinks in this story. Stephanie wants to be a witch--in the worst way….
    â€œI want to be like you,” I told the witch. The witch raised her black eyebrows. Her straight black hair