Read Online The Five Masks of Dr. Screem by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. L. Stine
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I stepped away from the wall. “Peter — look!” I cried.
I recognized where we were.
“Peter,” I said. “We’re at the back of the History Museum.”
We heard a horn honk. Two cars rolled along Museum Drive.
We stood there for a long moment, catching our breath.
“We’re back — and we have two masks,” Peter said finally.
I sighed. “It wasn’t exactly easy,” I said. “My eyes still sting from that sandstorm. And I can still smell the boiling tar.”
Peter pulled out the list of masks. “We have to keep going,” he said. “It must be getting late.”
He read the list. “The Himalayan snow wolf mask is next.”
I stared at him. “Himalayan snow wolf? We talked about them in school. They live in the Himalayan Mountains.”
“Is that far?” Peter asked.
I think he was joking.
“The snow wolves live on snowy mountain peaks,” I said. “We don’t have any snowy mountain peaks. We don’t have any mountains in Hillcrest.”
“So … where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?” Peter asked. “A wolf preserve?”
“Our town doesn’t have a wolf preserve,” I said.
Peter banged his head with both fists. “Think. Think,” he urged himself. “Where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?”
Suddenly, I had an idea.
27
“Are we really going to climb this in the dark?”
Peter didn’t sound like his usual crazy, energetic self. He sounded afraid.
I pointed to the sky. “The moon came out,” I said. “Look. It’s lighting the path for us.”
Peter gazed up the hill. “But the path curves around the hill. Some of it will be totally dark. And it’s so steep —”
I patted his shoulder. “This is the only steep hill in town. The only hill that’s a little like a mountain. And it’s even called Wolf Hill!”
“But we don’t know the mask is up there,” Peter said. “What if we climb all the way to the top and there’s no mask?”
“Then we look somewhere else,” I said.
His whole body sagged. Like a balloon losing its air.
“Come on, Peter. Step up,” I said. “This isn’t like you. Normally, you’d be dancing up this hill.”
“But … this whole thing is impossible,” he whined.
“Of course it’s impossible,” I said. “But we have to do it.”
Leaning into the wind, I turned and started up the path. My shoes slid on the gravelly, sandy surface.
I glanced back. Peter was following close behind, kicking small stones out of the way as he climbed.
It’s funny that our town is called Hillcrest. Because it’s very flat. There are only a few big hills in the whole city.
Wolf Hill is the steepest hill in town. It rises up over our small downtown section. Hillcrest ends at the hill. On the other side, there is only farmland.
You can’t drive to the top because there’s no road. There’s only a rocky dirt path that curves around and around as it takes you up the hill.
Hikers like to climb Wolf Hill because of the amazing view of the town down below. Last winter, some crazy teenagers tried snowboarding near the top. They nearly sailed off the rocky cliffs. Police got there before anyone was hurt.
The sand gave way to gravel and stone as I pulled myself up the path. The half-moon sent pale light in front of me like a spotlight. But thepath kept turning away from the light. I struggled not to stumble in the long dark patches.
“Peter, how you doing?” I called back to him.
He mumbled an answer. He had fallen behind. I stopped to take a breath and let him catch up.
The wind whistled around the hillside. There were no trees up here. Tall weeds jutted up on both sides of the path. They swayed and rustled in the wind.
Just above us, the path led right out onto a narrow rock cliff. Peter stepped past me and peered down the side of the cliff. “Wow. We’re up pretty high,” he said.
He stepped out onto the rock. Then he raised his hands in the air and screamed, “I’m falling! Help! I’m falling!”
My
I stepped away from the wall. “Peter — look!” I cried.
I recognized where we were.
“Peter,” I said. “We’re at the back of the History Museum.”
We heard a horn honk. Two cars rolled along Museum Drive.
We stood there for a long moment, catching our breath.
“We’re back — and we have two masks,” Peter said finally.
I sighed. “It wasn’t exactly easy,” I said. “My eyes still sting from that sandstorm. And I can still smell the boiling tar.”
Peter pulled out the list of masks. “We have to keep going,” he said. “It must be getting late.”
He read the list. “The Himalayan snow wolf mask is next.”
I stared at him. “Himalayan snow wolf? We talked about them in school. They live in the Himalayan Mountains.”
“Is that far?” Peter asked.
I think he was joking.
“The snow wolves live on snowy mountain peaks,” I said. “We don’t have any snowy mountain peaks. We don’t have any mountains in Hillcrest.”
“So … where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?” Peter asked. “A wolf preserve?”
“Our town doesn’t have a wolf preserve,” I said.
Peter banged his head with both fists. “Think. Think,” he urged himself. “Where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?”
Suddenly, I had an idea.
27
“Are we really going to climb this in the dark?”
Peter didn’t sound like his usual crazy, energetic self. He sounded afraid.
I pointed to the sky. “The moon came out,” I said. “Look. It’s lighting the path for us.”
Peter gazed up the hill. “But the path curves around the hill. Some of it will be totally dark. And it’s so steep —”
I patted his shoulder. “This is the only steep hill in town. The only hill that’s a little like a mountain. And it’s even called Wolf Hill!”
“But we don’t know the mask is up there,” Peter said. “What if we climb all the way to the top and there’s no mask?”
“Then we look somewhere else,” I said.
His whole body sagged. Like a balloon losing its air.
“Come on, Peter. Step up,” I said. “This isn’t like you. Normally, you’d be dancing up this hill.”
“But … this whole thing is impossible,” he whined.
“Of course it’s impossible,” I said. “But we have to do it.”
Leaning into the wind, I turned and started up the path. My shoes slid on the gravelly, sandy surface.
I glanced back. Peter was following close behind, kicking small stones out of the way as he climbed.
It’s funny that our town is called Hillcrest. Because it’s very flat. There are only a few big hills in the whole city.
Wolf Hill is the steepest hill in town. It rises up over our small downtown section. Hillcrest ends at the hill. On the other side, there is only farmland.
You can’t drive to the top because there’s no road. There’s only a rocky dirt path that curves around and around as it takes you up the hill.
Hikers like to climb Wolf Hill because of the amazing view of the town down below. Last winter, some crazy teenagers tried snowboarding near the top. They nearly sailed off the rocky cliffs. Police got there before anyone was hurt.
The sand gave way to gravel and stone as I pulled myself up the path. The half-moon sent pale light in front of me like a spotlight. But thepath kept turning away from the light. I struggled not to stumble in the long dark patches.
“Peter, how you doing?” I called back to him.
He mumbled an answer. He had fallen behind. I stopped to take a breath and let him catch up.
The wind whistled around the hillside. There were no trees up here. Tall weeds jutted up on both sides of the path. They swayed and rustled in the wind.
Just above us, the path led right out onto a narrow rock cliff. Peter stepped past me and peered down the side of the cliff. “Wow. We’re up pretty high,” he said.
He stepped out onto the rock. Then he raised his hands in the air and screamed, “I’m falling! Help! I’m falling!”
My
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