Welcome to Camp Slither by R. L. Stine
“What’s going on?” a voice yelled.
“Help!”
Suddenly, the safety bar slid out of my hands.
“Huh?” I cried. Before I could catch my breath, the bottom of the car flew open with a loud SNAP!
And I toppled out into black space.
“AAAAAIIIII!” A hoarse scream burst from my throat as I fell.
I flew through the darkness, screaming all the way down.
Gazing up, I saw Matt plummeting toward me. And other kids falling. Everyone falling.
A hot wind rushed past me as I dropped through the blackness.
I shut my eyes. And pictured my family. Mom … Dad … Heather …
The last faces I would ever see.
“Unnnnh.” The breath shot out of me as I landed. Landed hard on my back.
I bounced. Once. Twice.
Struggled to breathe.
THUD. THUD.
Kids crashed down all around me. Their hard falls sent me bouncing some more.
“Are we alive?” someone asked.
I struggled to regain my breathing. My heart pounded like crazy.
I sat up and squinted into glaring gray light. “Hey — it’s some kind of mattress!” I managed to cry.
We had all landed on an enormous air mattress.
“It’s a free-fall ride,” Carly Beth said. “I guess we were supposed to fall.”
Some kids laughed. A few kids cheered. We were all happy to be alive.
But it didn’t take long to remember the trouble we were in.
“Can we get to the tunnels from here?” Matt wondered. “Hurry. Climb off this thing. Let’s go.”
Before I could slide to the floor, I felt a hard grip on my shoulder.
I spun around — and stared into the scowling face of a gigantic green-and-purple Horror.
A bunch of big, powerful-looking Horrors surrounded the air mattress. And Ned stepped forward. He wasn’t smiling.
“Well, you survived the R.I.P.P.E.R. DIPPER,” he said. “Good work, everyone.”
He motioned for the Horrors to grab us. “Now let’s see what thrills and chills The Keeper has in store for you….”
No way we could escape. The Horrors forced us to a rickety elevator that took us back up to the surface. Then they marched us through the park.
Some park visitors cheered us as we passed by. They probably thought it was a parade or something.
The Horrors walked us across Zombie Plaza. I saw shops, and food carts, and game booths. Other kids were having fun. Why couldn’t we?
We came to the Haunted Theater. Above the entrance, the marquee read: MONDO THE MAGICAL.
Were they taking us into a magic show?
No. The Horrors guided us into a little shop at the side of the theater. The shop was called MONDO’S TRICKS AND TREATS.
I guessed Mondo was selling his magic tricks there. The shelves were filled. I passed a display of boxes that read: A MONDO EXCLUSIVE! PULL A HAT OUT OF A RABBIT!
No time to look at the store. The Horrors pushed us behind a curtain toward a little room in back. At the far wall, a steep staircase led straight down.
Our shoes clattered on the metal stairs. No one spoke.
The stairs led to another flight of stairs. And then another. I realized we were now three floors beneath the park.
My throat suddenly felt dry. Despite the hot air down there, my hands were cold.
This was way scary. What did they plan to do with us? Just lock us up and keep us down there?
We stepped out into bright lights. A huge room with furry orange and green chairs and couches. Sunlight-yellow wallpaper with blue fish all over it. A big zebra-skin rug. A purple-and-white polka-dot table with big claws on the legs. A floor lamp with red and white stripes like a barber pole.
So many colors, it was almost blinding down there! And all the furniture was totally weird looking and crazy.
“Where are we?” I demanded. “Where have you taken us?”
“You will be safe here,” Ned said. “Unless you get on the wrong side of The Keeper. Be careful with him. Do everything he tells you. He is called The Keeper, but there is one thing he can’t keep. He can’t keep his cool!”
“You can’t do this!” Matt screamed. “Let us out — now!”
“See you soon,” Ned said. The door slammed shut behind him.
A hush fell over the room. We stood blinking, gazing around at the crazy colors and weird furniture.
Finally, a boy named Robby Schwartz broke the silence. “There’s no one else down here. Let’s break out,” he said.
“How?” Abby demanded. “We’re a mile beneath the park!”
“I didn’t hear Ned lock the door,” I said. I ran to it. Tried it. Wrong. It was locked.
“Look. Another room,” Matt said. He pointed to a curtained doorway on the far wall.
We burst into the next room. It was just as big as the first, with bright colors everywhere. The room was cluttered with strange junk. Some kind of storeroom, probably.
I saw a rusted suit of armor leaning in one corner. A stuffed raven with a stuffed mouse in its mouth. A huge fish skeleton in a glass case.
Suddenly, Abby let out a scream. “No — I don’t believe it!” she groaned.
She stared at a mummy propped up in a chair. The wrappings were yellowed and stained. The mummy’s head tilted to one side.
But Abby was staring in horror at its middle. The ancient wrappings over the mummy’s stomach had been ripped open!
Before I could ask why she was so upset, I heard a scream behind me. Carly Beth pointed to something on a low table. A rubber mask. “Sabrina,” she cried. “The Haunted Mask! How … how did it follow me here?”
“There’s something very wrong here,” Julie said in a trembling voice. She pointed to an old camera inside a glass case. “Th-that camera is evil! It gave me so much trouble back home!”
Billy and Sheena were wide-eyed, frozen in front of an oil painting of a one-legged pirate. “Captain Ben!” Sheena murmured, shaking her head.
Carly Beth turned away from the ugly mask. “Don’t you see what’s happening?” she said. “All the hideous things that happened to us back home … they’ve all followed us to HorrorLand!”
“But — how?” Robby asked. “Do you think someone knew we all had horrifying adventures back home? Do you think that’s why we were invited here?”
Before anyone could answer, a door slammed behind us. A strangely costumed figure bounced into the room.
And Robby went pale. His mouth fell open, and he screamed, “No! No way! It’s impossible! It can’t be!”
Robby staggered back until he hit the wall.
The man wore a long, flowing leopard-skin cape over a bright orange superhero costume. His yellow-feathered boots came up to his knees. His hair was covered by an orange hood. His eyes were dark and round and rolled crazily in his head.
“I AM THE KEEPER!” he boomed in a deep, thundering voice.
Robby took a step forward. “No, you’re NOT!” he cried. “You’re Dr. Maniac!”
The man brushed back his cape. “Wowie wow wow. Guess I’m more famous than I thought!”
“You’re not famous!” Robby screamed. “I created you!”
The weird superhero tossed back his head and laughed at the ceiling. He had a high-pitched giggle of a laugh. He giggled for a long time, holding his sides.
Then he turned back to Robby, and his expression turned angry. “Kid, why don’t you turn your teeth around and bite your face! You’ve got it all backward, dummo. I created YOU!”
“LIAR!” Robby screamed. He wasn’t frightened now. He seemed way angry. “You’re a liar!”
“I’m not a liar!” the superhero boomed. “I’m a MANIAC!”
Again, he tossed back his head and giggled up at the ceiling.
I turned to Robby, who was now red-faced and trembling. “What’s with this guy?” I asked.
Robby pulled a drawing out of his backp
Dr. Maniac swiped the drawing from Robby’s hand. He examined it for two seconds. “It looks a little like me,” he said. “Not quite right around the chin. I’m much better looking than that!”
He ripped the drawing into shreds — and stuffed the shreds into his mouth.
“This guy is crazy,” I whispered to Robby.
“I’m not crazy — I’m a MANIAC!” the superhero screamed again. He spit out shreds of the paper.
“And I’m The Keeper. Don’t any of you think about escape. You can’t escape from a MANIAC! HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Why were we invited to this park?” Matt demanded. “Why are you keeping us here now?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out!” Dr. Maniac bellowed.
“You can’t keep us prisoner down here,” Matt said.
“But that’s my job!” the superhero cried. He giggled again. “Keeping you here is EASY! That’s why they call me The Keeper! They don’t call me The Let-’Em-Goer — do they?”
Matt clenched his hands into fists. “We have you outnumbered,” he said.
“Ooh, I’m scared. I’m SCARED!” the superhero moaned. He made his whole body shake as if he were frightened.
Then he stepped up to the wall and threw a switch. “Why don’t you all take a walk?” he cried.
“Whoa!” I uttered a startled gasp as the floor started to move beneath us.
I saw Carly Beth and Robby stumble and fall onto their backs.
I started walking, struggling to keep my balance.
The floor was rolling underneath us, moving faster and faster.
“Stop it! Stop it!” we screamed.
But Dr. Maniac tilted his head back and drowned out our cries with his insane laughter.
The floor of the room was a giant treadmill. We had to walk faster … faster … to keep up with it.
Dr. Maniac raised himself off the floor and floated in front of us. “Keep in step, people!” he ordered. “A few hours of walking will show you that The Keeper means business.”
He giggled. “Don’t thank me. Just throw money! HAHAHAHA. I’ve got plenty more activities planned. Anyone like to play Hangman? We’ll play it later — with a real noose!”
I was jogging pretty hard to keep my balance. My heart was pounding, and my chest began to ache.
Robby was trotting next to me. He was having a tough time. I could see he was thinking hard, unable to believe what was happening. I guess he was kind of in shock.
Suddenly, the door burst open — and another superhero darted into the room. This dude was huge, with enormous biceps and a massive chest.
His top and tights were bright purple. They matched his cape and his boots. He was a totally purple guy, except for his face, which was tomato-red.
“No!” Robby cried out. “No. It can’t be! The Purple Rage!”
“Did you make him up, too?” I asked, huffing and puffing as I kept my legs going.
Robby nodded.
The Purple Rage flew up beside Dr. Maniac. “Do you know what CRUNCHES my POTATO CHIPS?” he cried.
“This is good news,” Robby muttered to me. “They are mortal enemies. They hate each other’s guts. The Rage will rescue us!”
“Are you sure?” I murmured. I pointed.
The two superheroes were hugging.
“Know what FLIPS my ROOSTER?” the Purple Rage boomed. “Working together with you! I’ve always wanted to work with a MANIAC!”
He turned to us. “Keep walking,” the Rage said. “Walk till you SQUAWK!”
“Now I get it!” Robby cried breathlessly. “Everyone — do you get it? Listen to me! If Dr. Maniac and the Purple Rage are working together — that must mean that all the bad guys we defeated back home are working together!”
Some kids gasped.
“I get it,” Carly Beth said. “They’re working together — against us!”
I didn’t understand what Robby and Carly Beth meant. I only knew that my legs were aching, and I was out of breath from walking so fast to stay on my feet.
I turned to the Purple Rage. Breathlessly, I called out. “You mean you’re not going to rescue us from that maniac?”
The Rage let out a deep growl. His face turned as purple as his costume. I could swear I saw steam pour out of his ears.
He rushed forward and grabbed the front of my shirt. “You’ve really BURNED my BUTTER DISH!” he shouted in my face. “I’m going to make an example of you, punk! Watch this, everyone! Watch what the Mighty Rage does to this smart guy!”
“No! Let me do it!” Dr. Maniac pushed the Purple Rage out of the way. “Here’s a hot new trick I learned.”
He began rubbing the palms of his gloved hands together, faster and faster. “Watch carefully. I can set my hands on fire. A little trick taught to me by the Scorch.”
He rubbed his gloves harder. Faster. Smoke rose up between them.
He turned to the Rage. “Do you know the Scorch? Nice guy. But he’s got a fiery temper! HAHAHAHA!”
The Rage shoved Dr. Maniac aside. “Know what WILTS my WALLABY? Waiting for you to take care of this punk! You’re taking too long!”
He wrapped his purple gloves around my throat and lifted me up by the neck. Then he turned to the other kids. “I used to earn a little extra money by making balloon animals,” he said. “What animal should I twist this guy into? Come on — don’t everyone speak at once!”
Was this a joke? Some kind of comic-book superhero joke?
I shut my eyes and prayed it was a joke.
But I knew it was real. I knew we were all totally helpless against these insane nuts. Helpless — and doomed.
I tried to cry out as the Purple Rage began to twist my arms behind me. But he was squeezing my neck so tightly, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.
“How about a nice poodle?” he said. “Or should I twist you into a giraffe with a long, long neck?”
Sometimes being a twin totally rocks, and sometimes it’s the pits.
I hate all the jokes. People say, “You look so much alike. How can I tell you apart?”
That’s supposed to be funny, see. Because I’m a girl and my twin is a boy. Ha-ha.
Our parents didn’t help us out. I mean, naming us Jillian and Jackson. That’s too cute for words, right? I’ve been thinking when I get older, I may change my name to Adrianna.
Or do you think that’s too snobby sounding?
Well, I’m stuck with Jillian for now. But I don’t let anyone call me Jilly or Jill. And I never wear the same color clothes as Jackson.
I guess I’m more sensitive about the twin thing than my brother. He’s the relaxed one in the Gerard family. Everything is cool with him.
Mom says I think too much. It sounds like a compliment. But she doesn’t mean it in a good way. She says if I were a superhero, I’d be Worry Woman.
Jackson and I are into superheroes. We’re saving up our allowances to go to the big comic-book convention in San Diego next summer.
But that’s a whole other story.
Jackson and I are twelve. We both are tall and thin. We have wavy brown hair and dark, serious eyes. I’m on the swim team at school, and I like to play tennis, and I take horseback riding lessons on Saturdays.
Jackson is into sports, too. Mainly, Madden Football on his PlayStation 3.
Dad says Jackson should get up off the couch and get more exercise. Jackson told him, “I’ll get a lot more exercise if you buy me a Wii.”
This argument goes on and on.
Anyway, one good thing about being a twin is you always have someone to go to the movies with. One rainy night after dinner, Dad dropped us off at the tenplex at the mall. We ran to the ticket window to make sure Butt-Kicker II wasn’t sold out.
Butt-Kicker is our favorite superhero. He started out as a member of the Mighty Muta
How cool is that?
Jackson and I bought big buckets of buttered popcorn. Then we made our way down the aisle of the crowded theater. We like to sit very close to the screen. We don’t like people to come between us and the movie.
We sat down on the end of the third row. I stared up at the screen. Basketball players were leaping about a mile off the floor. It was a commercial for sneakers that could make you “almost” fly.
“Great seats,” Jackson said, digging into his popcorn. “I don’t mind a stiff neck — do you?”
“Of course not,” I said. I accidentally bumped his arm with my elbow. A little popcorn spilled onto the floor.
“Hey — watch it!” Jackson snapped. He twisted away from me. “This is my new sweater. You’ll get butter on it.”
“Jackson, it’s a black sweater,” I said. “The stains won’t show.”
Jackson didn’t reply. He was staring past me to the aisle. And he had a horrified look on his face.
“Oh, noooo,” he moaned. “I don’t believe it. Oh, noooo.”
And that’s when all our trouble began … on the day Jackson and I got our strange, new powers.
R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.
Goosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.
Goosebumps HorrorLand #9: Welcome to Camp Slither
copyright © 2009 by Scholastic Inc.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, GOOSEBUMPS, GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.