The Boy Who Ate Fear Street by R.L. Stine Page B

no, thank you,” I said, backing away—before I gagged from the smell.
    Aunt Sylvie caught my hand. “Come. Come. Just a little taste!” she urged.
    She lifted the spoon out of the pot.
    And I gasped.
    A slimy creature with arms and legs stared up at me. I watched in horror as it tried to wriggle off the spoon.
    â€œJust a taste,” Aunt Sylvie repeated.
    She shoved the spoon against my lips.
    I clenched my lips shut. I shook my head no, furiously.
    Aunt Sylvie tightened her grasp on my wrist.
    She stared hard into my eyes.
    â€œI insist!” she said. “Open wide—NOW!”

2

    â€œN oooooo!” I shouted as loud as I could.
    I yanked my hand from Aunt Sylvie’s grasp and ran for the hall.
    But Kevin and Lissa blocked the kitchen doorway.
    â€œHey, Sam!” Kevin grabbed my shoulders. “Get a grip. You don’t have to taste it if you don’t want to.”
    I glanced over my shoulder. Aunt Sylvie stood by the stove, smiling at me.
    â€œThat’s right, Sam,” Aunt Sylvie said. “I just thought you might enjoy it. It’s a special recipe Ilearned on a small island in the South Pacific. Squid stew. Very tasty.”
    â€œSam doesn’t really like to try new things,” Lissa explained. “He eats only plain old white food.”
    Aunt Sylvie narrowed her eyes at me. “You must eat more than that,” she said.
    â€œNo. No, I don’t,” I admitted.
    â€œYou don’t understand, Sam.” Her smile turned cold. “That wasn’t a question—you must eat more than that.”
    Aunt Sylvie turned her back and stirred the pot.
    â€œCome on,” Kevin pulled me out in the hallway. “I want you to see something upstairs.”
    Kevin and Lissa thought Aunt Sylvie was awesome. I thought she was creepy.
    â€œWhat do you want me to see?” I asked as we climbed the stairs.
    â€œAunt Sylvie’s room,” Kevin replied. “It’s full of the most incredible stuff you’ve ever seen.”
    We stepped into Aunt Sylvie’s room. Just a few days earlier it had been a regular bedroom—with pictures on the walls, a big bed with an oak headboard, and a colorful rug on the floor.
    Now everything was gone. Even the bed.
    â€œWhere does she sleep?” I asked.
    Kevin pointed to a straw mat on the floor. “Aunt Sylvie doesn’t like clutter. She says if you surroundyourself with too many things, the spirits will have a hard time finding you.”
    I made up my mind right then and there to fill my bedroom with as much junk as possible.
    â€œGet this, Sam,” Kevin called to me from across the room. He pointed to a wooden mask that hung on the wall. Its mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.
    â€œPretty spooky,” I said, glancing away from the dark eye sockets. They seemed to stare right through me.
    â€œIt’s not spooky,” Lissa said. “It’s a medicine mask from an ancient mountain tribe. Aunt Sylvie says when you put it on, it will chase the germs right out of your body if you’re sick.”
    â€œDoes Aunt Sylvie think it really works?” I asked, turning my back to the mask.
    â€œShe’s not really sure,” Kevin replied. “But she says it’s important to keep an open mind.”
    â€œYeah,” Lissa added. “She says even the impossible is possible—whatever that means.”
    I wandered around the room, studying Aunt Sylvie’s stuff. Tacked on the wall over the sleeping mat I saw an Indian dream catcher. I made one in camp last summer. It’s a big wooden hoop with a web made of string inside it. It’s supposed to catch bad dreams and let good dreams pass through.
    â€œSam, check this out!” Lissa held a silver mirrorin front of my face. Just as I caught my reflection in it, Lissa flipped it over.
    I gasped.
    A dozen black eyes stared back at me!
    â€œThe eyes are carved into the wood,” Lissa explained.