Read Online The Five Masks of Dr. Screem by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online
Authors: R. L. Stine
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cauldron. Wisps of steam rose up all around. The sharp odor made tears pour down my face.
The priests held the red jewels in front of them and began swinging them from side to side. They began to chant strange words in deep, low tones.
“Let me go!” Peter screamed. “You can’t do this! We don’t belong here! We’re from America!”
The priests swung the red jewels and chanted as if Peter wasn’t standing there screaming at them.
Then one of them motioned with both hands toward the cauldron.
The two men lifted Peter off his feet.
He kicked furiously and screamed his head off. But he was helpless against them.
They raised him higher.
I knew I had to do something. I had only seconds.
The men raised Peter high over the cauldron.
Too late
, I realized. I let out a long moan of horror.
Too late
.
25
The men held Peter over the bubbling cauldron. His kicking feet were just inches above the tar.
He twisted and squirmed. He screamed and begged.
I took a deep shuddering breath.
Maybe … Maybe I could do something….
I didn’t even plan it. I suddenly sprang forward. I guess after so much gymnastics practice, the moves just came naturally to me.
I flipped onto my hands. Did a handstand on the edge of my stretcher.
Then I did a forward pike roll — up and over the heads of the men holding me captive.
I dropped hard onto the sand. Leaned far over and did another forward pike.
I sailed high — and landed both feet on the nearest priest’s chest.
Startled, he made a choking sound. His mouth dropped open as my kick sent him stumbling back.
I landed on my feet and watched as he went toppling into the boiling cauldron.
He splashed onto his back in the hot muck. Tar rolled over the sides of the cauldron.
Shrieking at the top of his lungs, he smacked his arms against the surface of the tar.
Cries of panic and shock rang out over the temple. Everyone moved at once.
The two men holding Peter set him down on the ground. They leaned over the steaming cauldron and grabbed wildly at the robe of the screaming priest.
The other priest dropped to his knees in shock. He shut his eyes and raised his hands to the giant cat sculpture.
White-robed men rushed to help pull the screaming priest from the cauldron.
I grabbed Peter. “Let’s go.”
26
We took off, running hard.
I led the way toward the front of the temple. Glancing back, I could see the men still struggling over the boiling cauldron.
We ran along the side of the temple to the back. No one followed us.
We stopped and stared into the distance. Nothing but sand. Behind the temple, the desert seemed to stretch on forever.
Peter put his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. “Wow! Was that a close call!” he said. His voice was muffled by the mummy mask.
He raised a foot. “Look. I have tar stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”
I shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it. What are we going to do now? How are we going to get home?”
The sky darkened. The wind grew colder.The sand shifted and moved like ocean waves.
A hard gust of wind sent a burst of sand into my eyes. I cried out. It felt sharp, like cut glass.
The wind howled. Sand seemed to rise up from the ground, wave after wave.
Peter and I covered our heads. The sand swept over us. Pounded us. It felt as if my skin was erupting in a thousand cuts.
I struggled to breathe.
Another high wave of sand crashed into me. I toppled into the temple wall.
I couldn’t see. All I could hear was the roar of the wind and the crash of the sand.
And then … silence.
The sandstorm stopped as suddenly as it had started.
I took one deep breath after another. I brushed sand off my costume with both hands.
Peter turned to me, dazed. He shook his head, and sand flew out of the mask in all directions.
“Scary,” he muttered.
I glanced at the temple wall. Whoa. Wait a minute.
Was that door there before?
I stared at the door. And a row of windows next to the door. A sign read:
The priests held the red jewels in front of them and began swinging them from side to side. They began to chant strange words in deep, low tones.
“Let me go!” Peter screamed. “You can’t do this! We don’t belong here! We’re from America!”
The priests swung the red jewels and chanted as if Peter wasn’t standing there screaming at them.
Then one of them motioned with both hands toward the cauldron.
The two men lifted Peter off his feet.
He kicked furiously and screamed his head off. But he was helpless against them.
They raised him higher.
I knew I had to do something. I had only seconds.
The men raised Peter high over the cauldron.
Too late
, I realized. I let out a long moan of horror.
Too late
.
25
The men held Peter over the bubbling cauldron. His kicking feet were just inches above the tar.
He twisted and squirmed. He screamed and begged.
I took a deep shuddering breath.
Maybe … Maybe I could do something….
I didn’t even plan it. I suddenly sprang forward. I guess after so much gymnastics practice, the moves just came naturally to me.
I flipped onto my hands. Did a handstand on the edge of my stretcher.
Then I did a forward pike roll — up and over the heads of the men holding me captive.
I dropped hard onto the sand. Leaned far over and did another forward pike.
I sailed high — and landed both feet on the nearest priest’s chest.
Startled, he made a choking sound. His mouth dropped open as my kick sent him stumbling back.
I landed on my feet and watched as he went toppling into the boiling cauldron.
He splashed onto his back in the hot muck. Tar rolled over the sides of the cauldron.
Shrieking at the top of his lungs, he smacked his arms against the surface of the tar.
Cries of panic and shock rang out over the temple. Everyone moved at once.
The two men holding Peter set him down on the ground. They leaned over the steaming cauldron and grabbed wildly at the robe of the screaming priest.
The other priest dropped to his knees in shock. He shut his eyes and raised his hands to the giant cat sculpture.
White-robed men rushed to help pull the screaming priest from the cauldron.
I grabbed Peter. “Let’s go.”
26
We took off, running hard.
I led the way toward the front of the temple. Glancing back, I could see the men still struggling over the boiling cauldron.
We ran along the side of the temple to the back. No one followed us.
We stopped and stared into the distance. Nothing but sand. Behind the temple, the desert seemed to stretch on forever.
Peter put his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. “Wow! Was that a close call!” he said. His voice was muffled by the mummy mask.
He raised a foot. “Look. I have tar stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”
I shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it. What are we going to do now? How are we going to get home?”
The sky darkened. The wind grew colder.The sand shifted and moved like ocean waves.
A hard gust of wind sent a burst of sand into my eyes. I cried out. It felt sharp, like cut glass.
The wind howled. Sand seemed to rise up from the ground, wave after wave.
Peter and I covered our heads. The sand swept over us. Pounded us. It felt as if my skin was erupting in a thousand cuts.
I struggled to breathe.
Another high wave of sand crashed into me. I toppled into the temple wall.
I couldn’t see. All I could hear was the roar of the wind and the crash of the sand.
And then … silence.
The sandstorm stopped as suddenly as it had started.
I took one deep breath after another. I brushed sand off my costume with both hands.
Peter turned to me, dazed. He shook his head, and sand flew out of the mask in all directions.
“Scary,” he muttered.
I glanced at the temple wall. Whoa. Wait a minute.
Was that door there before?
I stared at the door. And a row of windows next to the door. A sign read:
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