THE NIGHTMARES BEFORE HALLOWEEN Sneak Peek

Copyright The Jason Segel Company
Tombstone art by Shutterstock/Zand
The Nightmares
Before Halloween!
Read if you dare!
SNEAK PEEKS
A NEW YORK TIMES

BESTSELLER
SNEAK PEEK
A YEARLING BOOK
Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek . . . .
CHAPTER ONE
THE STEPMONSTERS LAIR
t was five minutes past midnight, and a boy was gazingdown at Cypress Creek from the window of an old
mansion on the towns highest hill. It was an odd-looking
building. The front porch was overrun by a jungle of potted
plants. Thick green vines crept up columns, and lady ferns
and blood flowers fought for every patch of moonlight. An
octagonal tower sprouted straight from the houses roof,
and the entire structure was painted a dreadful shade of
purple. Anyone who saw it might assume that the mansions occupants were a bit on the strange sideand yet
the boy at the window appeared perfectly normal. He had
N IG H TMARE S !
sandy blond hair and no visible tattoos, scars, or hideous

warts. But judging by the miserable expression on his face,
something was terribly wrong.
His name was Charlie Laird, and hed lived in Cypress
Creek all twelve years of his life. He and his little brother,
Jack, had grown up in a house just down the street. In
fact, Charlie could see the old place from his new bedroom window. A different family of four owned it now.
Every night, Charlie watched the lights in his former home
go out and imagined the kids snuggled up nice and safe,
tucked into bed by their mother and father. He would have
Th e S te p m o n s te r s L a i r
given almost anything to trade places with them. It had

been three months since hed moved to the purple mansion
on DeChant Hill with his brother and father. And it had
been three months since Charlie Laird had gotten a good
nightssleep.
Charlie took a step back from the window and saw his
reflection in the glass. His skin was the color of curdled
milk, and dark bags sagged beneath his red-rimmed eyes.
He sighed at the sight and turned around to start his
nights work. Thirty-eight heavy boxes sat in the center of
the room. They were filled with video games and comic
books and Little League trophies. Charlie had unpacked
nothing more than a few changes of clothes. The rest of
his belongings were still stowed away in their cardboard
boxes. And every night, before he lay down in his bed, he
would move them. Nineteen boxes were used to block the
door to the hall. The other nineteen were pushed against
the bathroom door, though that often proved quite
inconvenient.
It would have seemed ridiculous to anyone else. Even
Charlie knew the barricades couldnt stop his bad dreams.
But the witch whod been visiting him every night for
three months wasnt like other nightmares hed had. Most
dreams faded, but he couldnt forget her. She felt just as
real as the nose on his face. So when the witch swore that
N IG H TMARE S !
one night soon shed come drag him away, Charlie figured
he should take her threats seriously. He just hoped all the
boxes could keep her out of his room.
Shed already gotten as far as the hallway. The first time
hed heard someone sneaking through the house, Charlie
had just woken up from a nightmare. The suns rays were
peeking over the mountains, but the mansion was still
and quiet. Suddenly the silence had been broken by the
creak of rusty door hinges opening. Then the floorboards
groaned and there were thuds on the stairs. The footsteps
were heavy enough to be an adults. But when Charlie
worked up the nerve to investigate, he found his father and
stepmother still asleep in their bed. A few nights later, he
heard the same thing again. Creak. Groan. Thud. His father said that old houses make noises. His brother thought
the place might be haunted. But Charlie knew there was no
such thing as ghosts. Hed been searching for almost three
years, and if theyd existed he would have seen one by now.
No, Charlie Laird had far bigger problems than ghosts.
The thirty-eight boxes were waiting. Charlie stared at the

daunting task in front of him and wondered where hed
find the energy to complete it. His nightmares had gotten
worseand every night he fought a losing battle against
sleep. Now his eyelids were drooping and he couldnt stop
Th e S te p m o n s te r s L a i r
yawning. As usual, hed stood by the window until midnight, waiting for his father and stepmother to go to bed.
He didnt want them to hear him sliding the boxes across
the floorboards or grunting as he stacked them against the
doors. But staying up was growing harder and harder. Hed
tried taping his eyes open, but Scotch tape was too weak
and duct tape pulled out his eyebrows. Pacing just made
him dizzy. And while hed heard that a full bladder could
keep sleep at bay, every time he tried chugging water at
bedtime, he ended up frantically shoving nineteen boxes
away from the bathroom door. So a few weeks earlier,
when all else had failed, Charlie had taken his first trip
to the kitchen for a cup of cold, leftover coffee. It always
made him gag, and sometimes he had to hold his nose just
to get it all downbut the coffee was the only thing that
kept him awake.
Charlie tiptoed to his bedroom door, opened it slowly so

the hinges wouldnt squeal, and took a peek outside. He
was relieved to see that the hallway was dark. He preferred
it that way. The walls were lined with old paintings that
were far creepier when the lights were on. He listened
closely for signs of movement and then sock-skated awkwardly toward the stairs. Past his brothers room. And his
father and stepmothers. He was almost outside the last
N IG H TMARE S !
door on the hall when he heard ita high-pitched laugh

that nearly sent him sprinting back to his bed. Behind the
last door lay the stairs to the tower. And at the top of those
stairs was a room known in the family as Charlottes Lair.
The door was open a crack, and Charlie heard the sound
of a fat cats paws padding down the wooden staircase. A
pale golden light leaked out into the hall.
His stepmother was still awake.
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If the book is coverless,
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nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product
of the authors imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2014 by The Jason Segel Company
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Childrens
Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of
Random House Childrens Books, New York, in 2014.
Yearling and the jumping horse design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this work as follows:
Segel, Jason, author.
Nightmares! / Jason Segel, Kirsten Miller ; illustrated by Karl Kwasny.
pages cm
Summary: Twelve-year-old Charlie and his friends must stop nightmares
from taking over their town before its too lateProvided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-385-74425-6 (hardback) ISBN 978-0-375-99157-8 (glb)
ISBN 978-0-385-38403-2 (el) [1. NightmaresFiction.] I. Miller, Kirsten, author.
II. Kwasny, Karl, illustrator. III. Title.
PZ7.1.S44Ni 2014
[Fic]dc23
2014025033
ISBN 978-0-385-74426-3 (pbk.)
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Yearling Edition 2015
Random House Childrens Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
ATTENTION, READER:
THIS IS AN UNCORRECTED ADVANCE EXCERPT
Copyright The Jason Segel Company
Youll never sleep the same again. . . .
A New York Times

Bestseller!
A Round of Shrieks and Laughs

for Nightmares! from Readers Like You
Tell Mr. Segel to write another book. Fast. Ben W.
The book was absolutely bone-chilling, but I couldnt put it down!
Katie G.
Fast read filled with thrilling SCARES! Advin P.

The action in this book might keep you up all night! Will H.
Play games and more at NightmaresNovels.com!
Order your copy of
BY JASON SEGEL AND KIRSTEN MILLER

Illustrated by Karl Kwasny
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#1 New York Times bestselling author of Pendragon
SNEAK PEEK
Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author
D. J. MacHale
Im not sure anyone does suspense

quite like D. J. MacHale.
JAMES DASHNER,
#1 New York Times bestselling author of the Maze Runner series
Kids Are Already RAVING

About Curse of the Boggin :
I read enough in just one day to fill
my school reading log for a week.
I CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT BOOK
in the series to come out!
Michael C., age 10
I was HOOKED FROM PAGE ONE.

Jack D., age 12
Its CHILLING. Youll want to know

more at every page.
Alec S., age 12
A unique, intriguing book filled with

PAGE-TURNING ADVENTURES.
Madeline H., age 12
D. J. MacHale
Random House
New York
Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek. . . .
MacH_9781101932537_2p_all_r1.indd 3
5/25/16 2:20 P
Prologue
It was under the bed.

Parents always tell their children theres nothing scary
down there, or lurking in the deep depths of a closet, or hiding low in dark shadows. Thats what parents always say,
and theyre right.
Most of the time.
Alec Swenor had something under his bed that night,
and it wasnt dust bunnies.
Again? his mother, Lillian, asked with frustration. Ive
checked under there every night for a week, and I always
find the same nothing.
Im sorry, Alec complained. Its not my fault I keep
hearing things.
Alecs bedroom was a typical nine-year-olds room. The
1
walls were covered with Avengers posters, a small desk had

a computer that was mostly used to play Minecraft, and a
long shelf held a vast collection of his favorite books.
He watched nervously from a safe distance as his
mother knelt down next to the bed to examine the dark
below. Mrs. Swenor got down low so that her face was
barely inches from the floor. She lifted the Jedi bedspread,
peered underneath, and . . .
Ahhh!
Alec jumped back with surprise. I told you!
I dont believe it! his mother exclaimed as she reached
under the bed and pulled out a plate of day-old scrambled
eggs.
She held out the congealed mess as if it were diseased.
You told me you finished your breakfast, she said, annoyed.
Alec let out a relieved breath. I ran out of time. It was
either eat breakfast or tie my shoes.
Or you could have gotten out of bed ten minutes earlier.
Im sorry. I was tired. I havent been sleeping so hot.
Mrs. Swenor softened. I know, sweetheart. But please
believe me, theres no boogeyman down there.
She kissed Alec on top of his head and walked toward
the bedroom door. I love you, even if you are a nutjob.
She left with the plate of stinky eggs, passing her husband, Michael, who was watching the scene from the door,
looking more worried about the situation than his wife was.
2
You okay, bud? he asked his son with genuine concern.

Yeah, Alec replied, embarrassed.
Want to sleep with us tonight?
Nah, Im being dumb.
No, youre not. You know you can always shout, and
well come running. No matter what. Okay?
Okay, Dad.
Good night. I love you.
I love you too.
Michael Swenor gave a last, concerned look to his son,
then left, gently closing the door behind him.
Alec gazed across the room to his bed. It was as normal
as any bed on the face of the planet. He had absolutely no
problem with it.
Until a few days ago.
It began with subtle scratching, as if rats were scurrying
below. The Swenors apartment was on the top floor of an
old four-story brownstone in New York City. It wouldnt be
weird for rats to be scampering under the floorboards.
Then came the knocking.
Rats didnt knock.
Alec would run out of the room and drag his parents
back in to listen, but each time, the sounds had stopped
before his mom and dad arrived. During the day, Alec felt
silly for being so scared. But at night, when all was quiet,
things were different.
3
Alec sprinted across the floor and flung himself the last
few feet into the bed in case blood-soaked claws were waiting to reach out and grab his ankles. He dug under the covers, lifted them up to his chin, and listened.
Nothing.
All he heard was the far-off wail of a police siren and
the white noise of the city beyond his closed window. He
believed his mom. There was no boogeyman under his bed.
It was silly to act like a jumpy two-year-old instead of a
mature nine-year-old. He scrunched his eyes shut, and after
a long twenty minutes, he fell asleep without having heard
any more weird sounds.
All was well.
Until just after midnight.
Theres no logical reason why strange doings begin when
the day changes, but thats often how it goes.
The scratching returned.
Alecs eyes snapped open as though he had heard the
crash of a cymbal. He lay very still. Whatever was under his
bed was back. His panic grew and his mouth went dry. He
wanted to yell for his parents, but his throat was closed so
tight, he couldnt utter a peep.
Then came the knocking. Whatever was down there
was alive. Or at least alive enough to be making sounds.
He couldnt take it anymore. He had to know what it was.
Slowly, moving his body as if it weighed a ton, he peered

over the edge of the bed, toward the floor.
His Jedi blanket was half off the bed and bunched below.
Moonlight streamed in through the window, providing
enough light for Alec to make out the image of Chewbacca
with his head thrown back midroar. All was normal.
Until the blanket moved.
Oddly, it didnt scare him. Instead, it confirmed that
something was really there. Something normal. Something
real. Nothing spooky. It was probably a rat. Alec hated rats,
but they didnt scare him. Enough! He reached down and
yanked the blanket back.
What he saw was something far stranger than a common rat.
Words were scratched into the floorboards. Words that
hadnt been there before. They looked to have been crudely
scraped by a knife.
Or a claw.
Alec had to lean down close to read them.
Surrender the key, he read aloud.
He reached for the floor, wanting to touch the etched letters to figure out if they were real or a trick of light. His hand
slowly dropped lower, growing closer to the mysterious message. As his fingertips were about to touch the odd markings, an ominous growl came from under the bed.
Rats didnt growl.

Alec pulled his hand back quickly and cowered against
the wall as . . .
. . . the Jedi blanket came to life. It flew across the floor
to the center of the room, stopped suddenly, and fell to the
floor, revealing the culprit.
It was a dog. A pit bull. Its head was nearly as large as its
muscular body, with jaws that split its skull, like a leering jacko-lantern . . . with teeth. Fangs, actually. The beast turned to
face Alec and tensed, staring him straight in the eye.
This was not a friendly dog.
Dad! Alec called out weakly, fearing his words might
trigger the beast.
The animal stood between him and the door, its body as
tense and tight as a banjo string, staring at Alec.
Alec glanced toward the window above his bed. It was
his only option. He lunged for it, threw it open, and rolled out
onto the metal landing of the fire escape.
Behind him, the dog sprang.
Dad! Alec finally shouted out.
He slammed the window shut as the powerful animal
launched. It drilled the glass with its head, creating a spiderweb of cracks. The window didnt shatter, but that didnt
stop the beast. It hammered away at the glass, butting with
its head again and again, determined to break through.
Alec had to move. His familys apartment was on the top

floor. Climbing up to the roof would be fast and easy. He
grabbed the metal rungs of the ladder and made the short
climb. He was only a few feet from the top when the window below him shattered and the dog blasted through in an
explosion of broken glass.
Alec froze and looked down to see the animal staring up
at him with angry red eyes.
Leave me alone! he screamed at the beast.
He threw himself over the low safety wall, onto the black,
tar-papered surface, and ran for his life. It was the dead of
night. The only light came from the city and the moon and
stars above. He dashed to the far side of the roof, hoping
there would be another fire escape. When he reached the
edge of the building, he looked over to see . . . no fire escape.
He spun around, frantically looking for a doorway that might
lead back down to the fourth floor. What he saw instead was
the pit bull standing on the far edge of the roof, staring back
at him.
How did it climb the ladder? Alec thought.

He didnt have time to come up with an answer, because
as soon as the dog locked eyes with Alec, it leapt off the
safety wall and ran directly toward him.
Alec spun around, desperate to find an escape route.
This time he saw something he hadnt noticed before. A
metal ladder was attached to the outside of the building.

How could he have missed that? Didnt matter. It was his
only hope.
The vicious dog was halfway to Alec and charging hard.
Thick slobber flew from its mouth as it bared its sharp fangs.
Alec had to move. He ran the few feet to the top of the metal
ladder, threw his legs over the edge, and began to climb down
as . . .
. . . the ladder disappeared. Vanished. Poof. Gone.
Alec had already committed to going over, and he fell.
Desperately, he grabbed for the roof and managed to catch
the edge. He hung there by the fingertips of both hands, his
bare feet dangling four stories above the hard pavement. So
many thoughts flashed through his head: How could I have
been so stupid? Why did I think there was a ladder? Will the
dog bite my fingers?
The dog.
Alec heard the scraping of its claws as it arrived at the
edge of the roof. He looked up, expecting to see the dog
looming over him, dripping slobber.
Instead, peering down at him was an old woman.
Help me! Alec called to her.
She had waist-length gray hair and wore a long forestgreen dress. Over it was a black shawl that she clutched to
her chest with a bone-white hand. The tendrils of hair blew
about her head like a pack of wild dancing spirits. Though
8
her face was pale and wrinkled like that of someone a hundred years old, her eyes were focused and alive with fiery
madness.
Alecs brief moment of relief was shattered when he
looked into those horrible eyes.
Dad! he screamed in desperation.
He didnt have the strength to hang on much longer.
Save me! he cried to the woman. Please!
The woman leaned down over the edge to stare him
straight in the eye.
Oh no, she replied in a low, dark voice that sounded like
the hollow echo from an empty grave. That wouldnt help
me at all. Now, if you dont mind . . . please fall.
Dad! Alec screamed again . . .
. . . and lost his grip.
His fingers slipped off the edge, and he began to fall as . . .
. . . a hand shot down and grabbed his wrist, stopping
him from a death plummet. He was quickly hauled up and
over the edge as if he weighed no more than one of his
Transformers toys. A second later he was deposited safely
on the roof.
Dad! Alec cried, and threw his arms around his father.
Youre okay, Michael Swenor said soothingly as he
hugged his son to his chest. I promise.
Where is she? Alec asked, looking about with fear.
Where did she go?
9
Who?
The old lady. She wanted me to fall. And there was a
dog under my bed. And a ladder, but it disappeared. I swear!
Im not lying!
I know youre not lying, Mr. Swenor said, his voice
cracking with emotion as he fought back his own tears. Lets
get back to your mother, and well talk about it.
Alec reluctantly released his bear hold on his father.
Do you know what happened, Dad? he asked.
Michael Swenor took a deep breath before replying, as if
the answer pained him.
I do, and its a long story, he finally said. Its time you
heard it. All of it. Your mom too.
So you believe me? Alec asked, finally getting control
of himself.
I do.
Michael Swenor stood up and reached his hand down to
take his sons. Lets go see Mommy.
They never connected.
The pit bull was back.
It came charging across the roof like a runaway freight
train.
Look out! Alec screamed.
Michael Swenor barely had time to look up before the
dog leapt at him. He instinctively backed away, but he was
10
too close to the edge of the roof. He stumbled, hit the low
safety wall, and tumbled over.
No! Alec screamed.

In the bedroom below, Lillian Swenor heard the scream.
Her entire body tensed as if she had been hit with an electric
prod. She was momentarily frozen, unsure of what she
should do.
In her heart she knew there was nothing.
She looked around at Alecs room as if she might find an
answer there. The window was open. It wasnt shattered; it
was just open. Michael had opened it when they came running in after hearing Alecs frightened cries. There was no
broken glass, no hint of the terror that had visited Alec and
chased him onto the roof.
There was only one clue to the mystery that remained.
Mrs. Swenor looked down at the floor through tear-filled
eyes, as if in a dream. She ran her fingers across the words
that had been carved into the wood.
Surrender the key.

The words were still there.
Oh, Michael, she whispered to no one. What have you
done?
11
C H A P T E R
Use your brains, people, for a change, Mr. Winser commanded impatiently as he prowled the aisles of thirdperiod social studies class, hunting for his next victim.
Winser had been teaching seventh-grade social studies since before I was born. Maybe before my parents
were born. He was a fossil who wore wide ties that were
so ugly, I couldnt tell if the hideous patterns were intentional or just a bunch of stains from spilled food.
Can someone please offer me an intelligent
response? he asked with disdain. What were some
of the negative impacts of evolution between the Homo
erectus period and the Homo sapiens period?
Winser spun and pointed his finger at an unsuspecting girl.
12
Miss Oliver! he declared.

Gwen Oliver sat bolt upright, as if lightning had flown
from Winsers fingertip. Gwen wasnt a social studies
scholar. Or a math scholar. Or any kind of scholar, for
that matter. She was the kind of girl who did her best to
get through the day without having to think too much.
Or at all.
Umm . . . , she said, stalling, hoping Winser would
move on.
Unacceptable! he shouted. He said that a lot. Stand
up. Get the blood flowing to that underused brain of
yours.
Gwen gave him an uncertain look and didnt budge.
I said stand! Winser barked.
She stood slowly, with her shoulders slumped, while
tugging at her long auburn hair nervously. All eyes were
fixed on her. If it wasnt her worst nightmare, it sure
came close.
Now, fill the room with your knowledge. Enlighten
us all with your insightful thoughts on evolution.
He might as well have asked her to explain cold
fusion.
I . . . I dont know, she said in a voice so small that
only highly trained rescue dogs could have heard it.
Unacceptable, he barked. Have you read the
material?
13
Gwen nodded and shrugged.

What does that mean? he said, making an exaggerated shrug, imitating her.
Gwen shrugged again. She looked ready to cry.
Ill answer for you, he said. You read it, but you
didnt understand it. Would that be accurate?
Gwen gave him a sad smile and a weak nod.
Pathetic. Sit! Winser commanded, as if talking to
a dog. These are not difficult concepts, except to you,
maybe.
Gwen sat down, both relieved and humiliated. She
may not have understood the chapter on evolution, but
she sure didnt deserve to be treated like that.
Winser spun and pointed right at me.
Marcus OMara.
I didnt flinch. I was hoping hed nail me.
Im giving you a gift, Mr. OMara! Winser exclaimed.
The underwhelming Miss Oliver is an easy act to follow. He chuckled at what he thought was a clever
remark.
Nobody else did.
I stared straight at the guy and didnt answer.
Well? Winser said impatiently.
I looked him square in the eye and didnt say a word.
Did you hear me, Mr. OMara? Or are your ears as
disengaged as your brain?
14
I did my best impersonation of a statue.

Should I interpret your silence as proof that you
dont understand the material either?
I gave him nothing. Not a twitch. Not a blink.
Winser fidgeted nervously. He wasnt used to having kids do anything but tremble in fear when he got in
their faces.
Im waiting for a response, Mr. OMara, Winser
said, with a touch of uncertainty.
I stood up, slowly, and walked deliberately to the
front of the class. I dont think anybody was breathing, because the only sounds I heard were those of my
own footsteps. I walked to the whiteboard, picked up a
marker, and in bold blue letters wrote:
YOURE A TEACHER. TRY TEACHING.

When I hit the period for emphasis, the class erupted
in cheers.
Winsers face went red with rage. He raised his hands,
and the class quieted down, waiting for the next move.
That buys you two days detention, he said through
clenched teeth.
I turned back to the board and wrote:
AND YOULL STILL BE A LOUSY TEACHER.

15
The class broke out in wild applause and whistles.

I held the marker out toward Winser, stared him
down, and dropped it to the floor.
Boom!
The kids all jumped to their feet and cheered. Even
Gwen Oliver joined in, smiling broadly.
That afternoon, after school, I found myself in an
empty classroom, spending the first of five days in detention. I didnt care. Were always getting lectures about
the evils of bullying. In my opinion, those rules apply to
teachers too.
To be honest, I didnt hate being in detention. It gave
me a chance to do homework. Okay, it forced me to do
homework. At least Id be done and could watch some
TV at home. Gotta look on the bright side.
Seriously? came a voice from outside. You
dropped the marker and did a walk-off?
Youre out of your mind, came another voice.
Standing outside the open window were my two
friends, Annabella Lu and Theo McLean.
Lu was hard to miss. She was Chinese American,
with straight jet-black hair that was blunt-cut to just
below her jaw, and bangs that barely cleared her eyes.
While most girls wore subtle lip gloss, Lus lips were
always a shocking red. Her pale skin made them stand
out even more, like a talking stoplight. She wore a red
16
plaid shirt over a black T-shirt and cutoff jeans. None

of the other girls looked anything like Lu, which was
exactly what Lu was going for.
I called her Lu because Annabella had way too many
syllables.
The guy is a tool, I said with a shrug.
And now youre a legend, Lu said.
I dont want to be a legend.
Then be careful. People might start liking you.
Youve set a bad precedent, Theo said. Now Winser will be gunning for you all year.
Theo always talked like a professor giving a lecture.
He was a black guy who dressed as though hed just
come from brunch at some country club. His shirts and
khakis were always ironed as smooth as paper. He wore
ties too. Bow ties. Basically, he looked like the kind of
guy who would get beaten up every day. The only reason he didnt was because he had an insurance policy.
Me.
Nobody messed with me.
Its only October, Theo said. Theres a whole lot
of seventh grade left.
Yeah, for Winser too, I said. If he doesnt lighten
up, neither will I.
I dont like it, Theo said with a deep frown. This
can only get worse.
17
Five days of detention, Lu said. Was it worth it?

What do you think? I asked her.
What do I think? Lu asked with surprise. Do you
have to ask? Have we met? Yeah, it was worth it.
Thank you, I said.
Gotta go, Lu said. Ive got practice.
She pushed away and sped toward the sidewalk on
roller skates. Lu was a roller-derby girl. Lu-na-tic was her
derby name. Perfect. In a flash of plaid and long legs, she
was gone.
Do you need anything? Theo asked.
Jeez, Theo, relax. Its detention, not prison.
All righty, he said.
Yes, Theo used the phrase all righty a lot. If he werent
my best friend, Id probably want to beat him up myself.
Ill see you tomorrow, he said, and headed off the
other way.
I didnt have a lot of friends at Stony Brook Middle
School. Okay, I had exactly two. Lu and Theo. I wasnt
a group guy. The three of us didnt care about being
on the popular track, which meant you had to wear
the same clothes as everyone else and make fun of anyone who didnt conform. We did whatever we wanted
because we didnt care what anybody else thought about
us. It was total freedom.
I checked the clock. Twenty minutes left on day
18
number one of my sentence. Piece of cake. I pulled out

my earth science textbook and was about to explore the
wonders of magma when I got a strange feeling . . . as if
I was being watched. I looked back to the window to see
if Lu or Theo had come back.
They hadnt.
But I wasnt alone.
I looked toward the open door of the classroom and
saw a man standing there, staring at me with a totally
blank expression. As if that wasnt weird enough, he was
wearing pajamas and a bathrobe.
It sent a cold shiver up my spine.
You looking for somebody, chief? I asked.
Crash! The sound of breaking glass came from outside in the hallway. It was so loud and so sudden, I actually jumped in my seat.
The guy in the doorway barely reacted. He looked
down the hallway to my right, then turned and slowly
walked away in the opposite direction.
I leapt up from the desk and ran to investigate. When
I peered out the door, into the hall, I shouted after the
guy, Hey! What was that ?
The guy was gone. Huh? He should have been a few
feet away, but he was nowhere to be seen. I guessed he
must have ducked into the next classroom. Odd.
I looked the other way and saw what had made the
19
crashing sound. Halfway down the hall, a glass trophy

case was completely destroyed.
Whoa.
Ms. Holden!? I called out.
Holden was the assistant principal and my detention warden. She had stepped out of the classroom a
while earlier to do whatever assistant principals do after
school. Wherever she was, she didnt answer.
I walked the twenty yards to the damage, my sneakers crunching on broken glass as I got closer. The case had
held years of trophies and plaques won by long-forgotten
teams. The remnants were strewn everywhere. Some
were broken in two, others totally mangled. The glass
window that had protected it all (ha!) lay in a million
tiny pieces on the floor. Whoever had done this wouldnt
get away. The guy in his jammies must have seen it all
happen.
I took a step closer and crunched glass again. I
jumped back quickly and looked down to see something
on the floor that was, in a word, impossible.
Tiny bits of glass were scattered everywhere, but
directly beneath the case the debris was arranged into a
pattern that spelled out words. Actual words, formed by
thousands of small glass fragments, like a mosaic.
Surrender the key, I read out loud.
20
My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. Could the

glass have landed that way randomly? No way. But there
hadnt been time for somebody to set it up.
Crash!
The vandal was still at work. The sound had come
from around the corner at the end of the hallway. I
sprinted toward it, reached the end of the hall, turned
the corner, and saw the culprit.
My knees went weak.
Standing twenty yards in front of me was a massive
black bull.
Yes, a bull.
Holy . . .
The animal swung its head from side to side in agitation, flashing its long, pointed horns. It was an eighthundred-pound monster that looked more like shadow
than substance.
I had no idea how to react until the bull fixed its eyes
on me.
The animal stiffened, chuffed, and pounded a hoof
on the floor. I had seen enough movies about bullfights
to know this wasnt good. I didnt dare move for fear of
pulling the trigger on the monster and releasing its fury.
On me.
Mr. OMara?
21
I shot a look to my left to see Ms. Holden standing

beyond the classroom Id just come from. Bad move. As
soon as I broke eye contact, the bull charged.
There was only one thing to do.
Run.
Move! I shouted to Ms. Holden as I sprinted
toward her.
Holden kept walking closer, looking confused.
What are you doing? she asked.
The bull reached the corner behind me, its hooves
slashing at the linoleum to maintain traction, but it
couldnt make the turn. It skidded and slammed into the
far wall with a huge thud and a pained grunt. The floor
shook with the force of impact, but, rather than slowing
the beast down, the crash only fueled its rage. It let out
a furious bellow that made the hairs go up on the back
of my neck. I sprinted through the broken glass in front
of the destroyed trophy case, crunching over the gritty
surface, fearing I would slip and fall.
The bull was on the move again and closing in fast.
Ms. Holden continued walking toward me with
her hands out and palms up in a What is going on?
gesture.
Get out of the way! I screamed.
The bull let out a chilling howl. I had no idea bulls
could howl. I was sure I could feel its hot breath on my
22
neck. No way I could outrun this monster. In seconds

Id be trampled. Or gored. Or trampled and then gored.
Get in the classroom! I yelled.
I cut the angle and headed for the doorway.
The thundering sound of hooves on the hard floor
grew louder. It was going to be close. I braced, ready
to feel the points of the bulls horns stabbing me in the
back. I hit the brakes and slid across the waxed floor. For
a second I thought Id overshoot the door, but my sneakers caught, and I threw myself into the room. I instantly
hit a desk in the first row and tumbled to the floor in a
tangle of books and furniture. I vaguely heard the sound
of the enraged bull galloping past the open door like a
freight train on its way to another station.
When I looked up to get my bearings, I saw that I
wasnt alone.
The guy in the bathrobe was back. He stood with
his arms at his sides, totally calm in spite of the pandemonium. He reached into the pocket of his bathrobe,
took out a brown leather cord, and held it out to me.
Hanging from it was a key. An oversized, old-fashioned
brass key.
He held it out as if offering it to me.
I got to my knees, my eyes focused on the dangling
key that swung in front of my face hypnotically. I reached
out to grab it, but when I closed my fingers around the
23
key, my hand passed through it as if it was nothing more

than a projection. A shadow. An illusion.
A ghost.
I looked to the guy, questioning. He gave me a sad
shrug.
Mr. OMara!
I spun back to see Ms. Holden standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, looking totally peeved.
Reality had returned.
I jumped up and ran to her, stumbling over books
and nearly tripping over the desk again.
Are you okay? I asked.
Am I okay? Holden replied angrily. What in the
world is wrong with you?
What do you think? I said, incredulous. The
bull!
Yeah, thats a good word for it, Holden said with a
frown. Explain yourself.
My mind raced. Nothing was adding up. I ran past
her to the door.
Whats to explain? I exclaimed. You saw it.
I peered out into the hallway to see . . . no bull. I
looked to the smashed trophy case.
The glass was intact. The trophies were undamaged.
There was no shattered glass, and there were no words
written in glass fragments on the floor.
24
Huh?
I stood staring, trying to understand what I was seeing. Or not seeing.
Then I remembered.
Ask him! He saw it! I exclaimed, and spun around.
Hey, chief, tell her about the
The guy was gone.
Wha ? I sputtered as I scanned the room for the
man in the bathrobe. There was no other way out of the
room. Hed just vanished. Again. Or maybe hed never
really been there.
Like the ghostly key.
I ran my hand through my thick brown hair and
wiped sweat from my forehead.
Are you trying to get more detention time? Holden
asked.
I . . . no. I thought I saw . . . didnt you see it?
See what? Holden asked with growing impatience.
I didnt answer. I knew how crazy it would sound,
because I was feeling pretty crazy.
She had no idea what I was talking about.
Nothing, I said. I thought I . . . never mind. I hurried to the upended desk and lifted it back into position.
Sorry.
I felt Holden staring at me. She must have been as confused as I was, though I wasnt sure if that was possible.
25
Are you feeling all right, Mr. OMara?

I wasnt even close to feeling all right.
Im fine, I said, and sat at my desk. Sorry for that.
Ill get back to homework.
Holden watched me for a second, then turned and
went for the door. Halfway there she stopped, looked at
me, then turned around and sat down at the teachers
desk. I think she wanted to keep an eye on me.
No problem. I didnt want to be alone anymore.
I opened my earth science book and took out a blank
piece of paper. Holden must have thought I was going to
take notes on magma. I wasnt. I wanted to draw something. A key. I wanted to re-create the image before I
forgot the details. I quickly sketched the four-inch-long
key that I had seen for only a moment before my hand
passed through it. Below the drawing I wrote the phrase
that made about as much sense as any of the impossible
things I had just seen.
Or thought I had seen.
Surrender the key.
26
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2016 by D. J. MacHale
Jacket art copyright 2016 by Shane Rebenschied
Jacket lettering copyright 2016 by Leah Palmer Preiss
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Childrens Books,
a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of
Penguin Random House LLC.
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at
RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on request.
ISBN 978-1-101-93253-7 (trade)
ISBN 978-1-101-93254-4 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 9781101932551 (ebook)
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Random House Childrens Books supports
the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
ATTENTION, READER:
THIS IS AN UNCORRECTED
ADVANCE EXCERPT
MacH_9781101932537_2p_all_r1.indd
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5/25/16
2:20
Order your copy of
CURSE OF THE BOGGIN

by D.J. MACHALE
A vivid, compelling fantasy that sends you off into a world you
will not soon forget. Norton Juster, author of The Phantom Tollbooth
GABRiEL
FiNLEY
& the Ravens Riddle
GEORGE HAGEN
SNEAK PEEK
GABRiEL
FiNLEY
& the Ravens Riddle
GEORGE HAGEN
A YEARLING BOOK
Hage_9780399552229_1p_fm_r1.indd 5
12/4/15 12:35 PM
Ravens
Ravens love riddles.
and Riddles
In fact, ravens greet other ravens by telling a riddle.

When one meets another, hell introduce himself by asking
something like: Can a raven and owl be friends?
The other might shift from one foot to the other, puzzled, because ravens and owls are mortal enemies. But then
hell think of an answer like:
Yes, if the owl is stuffed and mounted on the wall!
Then both ravens will start laughing in a coarse, throaty
way that sounds rather painful, but it is just raven laughter.
A good many raven jokes are about owls. This is because
ravens fear owls. Owls prey on ravens and eat their young;
they swoop down upon their victims soundlessly; they are
cold-hearted killers. Ravens consider owls to be stupid and
dangerous, which is why they get so upset when they hear
people use the expression as wise as an owl. There isnt an
owl alive who is as clever as a raven.
The most popular riddle ravens tell is the one about owls
and sparrows.
GABRIEL FINLEY the Raven's Riddle
How stupid is a sparrow? the first will say.

As stupid as two owls! the second will reply.
After this, they will cackle with laughter and become fast
friends.
Why do ravens greet each other with a riddle?

It is to tell the good ravens from the bad.
This may surprise you, but long ago, ravens were our best
friends. Ravens talked to us as easily as we talk to each other;
they traded jokes and sang to babies to amuse them; they
flew high above the fields and watched over our sheep; they
led our fishing boats toward great schools of fish in the ocean.
Out on the battlefields, as knights and soldiers lay wounded
or dying, their faithful ravens would tend their wounds, give
them medicine, or carry messages home for help.
After one tragic battle long ago, a grim phantom of a
bird appeared. It looked like a raventhe same beak, silky
feathers, and dark talonsbut its eyes glowed a sickly yellow
that pierced the mist of death around the fallen soldiers. This
phantom asked each raven a question:
How would you like to live forever?
Live forever? Impossible! How can any raven live forever? each replied.
It is simple, continued the phantom. Eat the flesh of
your master.
Many ravens were disgusted and flew away; but one ra-
Ravens and Riddles
ven listened. He had stood by his master for hours, offering

words of comfort as the soldiers last mortal breaths faded in
the chill air. Death was a horrible thing, he told himself. Feeling terribly alone and helpless, he considered the grim birds
promise.
Could I truly live forever? he replied.
The phantom nodded. One bite.
The raven leaned over the body of his fallen companion
and took the tiniest peck of flesh. First he felt ashamed; then
a queasiness filled his belly, followed by an icy sensation that
trickled into his heart. Suddenly, his heart began to race so
fast that he thought it would burst from his chest.
In the same instant, time began to move faster for him:
the grass wriggled out of the ground in a hurry to reach the
sky; the sun crossed from east to west as quickly as a second
hand sweeping around a clock. Then the terrible parthe
felt hunger: a nagging, gnawing, craven ache in his belly. He
ate more to make the hunger disappear, but it grew worse.
When his master was nothing but a pile of bones, he became
horrified. Had he done this? A cold, wretched bitterness engulfed his soul.
The hole in his belly would be there forever.
You are a valraven now, said the phantom to his new
disciple. Come, help me. We shall make more of our kind!
Soldiers couldnt tell the difference between ravens and
valravens. When they saw one bird eating the flesh of a soldier they blamed all ravens and swatted them away with their
GABRIEL FINLEY the Raven's Riddle
swords and told their families, Dont trust ravens anymore;

theyll eat you.
It saddened the ravens to be shunned by men, for they
were loyal creatures who loved jokes, laughter, and life.
Afraid of being stoned or caged, they dared not speak to
humans anymore. Instead, they spoke only to each other and
kept company with their own kind.
As for valravens, they were vicious, spiteful creatures. If
a raven refused to join them, he would be killed or blinded.
Perpetually hungry, valravens never lost their taste for human flesh.
That is why ravens use riddles to tell the good ones from
the bad.
No riddle is funny to a valraven.
That is always the first clue that you are in trouble.
So if a valraven asks you a riddle, what should you do?
Run for your life.
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If the book is coverless, it may have
been reported to the publisher as unsold or destroyed and neither the author nor the publisher may
have received payment for it.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2014 by George Hagen
Cover illustrations copyright 2016 by Petur Antonsson
Interior illustrations copyright 2014 by Scott Bakal
Frontispiece illustration copyright 2014 by Jake Parker
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Yearling, an imprint of Random House
Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Originally published in
hardcover in the United States by Schwartz & Wade Books, an imprint of Random House Childrens
Books, New York, in 2012.
Yearling and the jumping horse are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Hagen, George.
Gabriel Finley and the ravens riddle / George Hagen. First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Eleven-year-old Gabriel, with the help of the young raven Paladin, with whom he has
a magical bond, travels to the foreboding land of Aviopolis, where he must face challenges and
unanswerable riddles to rescue his long-missing father.
ISBN 978-0-385-37103-2 (hc) ISBN 978-0-385-37104-9 (glb) ISBN 978-0-385-37105-6 (ebook)
[1. Adventure and adventurersFiction. 2. Voyages and travelsFiction. 3. MagicFiction.
4. Missing personsFiction. 5. RavensFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H12346Gab 2014
[Fic]dc23
2013032533
ISBN 978-0-399-55222-9 (pbk)
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Random House Childrens Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
ATTENTION, READER:
Order your copy of
GABRiEL
FiNLEY
& the Ravens Riddle
BY GEORGE HAGEN
Such deliciously creepy fun! I fell in love with Dr. Fell!

So will urchins and whippersnappers everywhere. CHRIS GRABENSTEIN,
author of the New York Times bestseller Escape from Mr. Lemoncellos Library
Dr. Fell
and
the
Playground
of
DOOM
DAVID NEILSEN
SNEAK PEEK
DAVID NEILSEN
CROWN BOOKS
FOR YOUNG READERS

NEW YORK
Neil_9781101935781_3p_all_r1.indd 3
12/23/15 6:38 A
Chapter 1
The Arrival of Dr. Fell

The large brick house at the end of Hardscrabble Street
had been empty for a generation. During that time it had
been a royal castle, a haunted ruin, an alien spaceship, and
anything else the children of the neighborhood wanted it
to be.
Lindsey Brackentwig said the last people to live in the
house had been a family of circus performers who had practiced their skills on the abnormally flat roof. Josh Gallowsbee
said they had been three witches who had stirred magic potions in the enormous bathtub on the second floor. Hannah
Festerworth said they had been the parents of a young boy
whom they kept locked away in the unfinished basement.
Every child had a story about the house, each wilder than
the last. It was a house of imagination, a blank canvas just
waiting to be painted with the gleeful brushstrokes of youth.
Every parent in the neighborhood had forbidden their children from entering the house, and every parent in the neighborhood knew full well their children were disobeying them.
But when local real estate agent Dorothy Canvaswalter
placed a Sold banner atop the aged, weather-beaten For Sale
sign that had stood sentry on the front lawn for years, even
the parents were disappointed.
Its like the heart of the neighborhood is being ripped
right out, said PTA Co-President Candice Gloomfellow.
I still remember when little Johnny broke his arm falling down those rickety stairs, agreed PTA Co-President
Martha Doomburg with a wistful tear in her eye.
Every adult on Hardscrabble Street, as well as all those on
nearby Vexington Avenue and Von Burden Lane, and nearly
all on Turnabout Road (Old Lady Witherton could not be
bothered), wondered about the new owners. Would they be a
tidy family? Would they be a handy family? Would they be
a noisy family?
The children of Hardscrabble Street, Vexington Avenue,
Von Burden Lane, and Turnabout Road did not wonder
about the new owners. As word spread of the sale, they gathered in twos and threes to stand in front of their magnificent
former playhouse and sigh, pout, even weep. Some felt childhood was over. Others felt they had lost their best friend. All
felt mildly resentful of the sale and were determined to dislike whoever ultimately moved in, no matter what.
2
Why would anyone buy that house? asked ten-yearold Gail Bloom, staring longingly at a second-floor balcony
on which shed fenced the imaginary-yet-dastardly Lord
Dunderhead only days before.
Maybe theyve got kids, answered her eight-year-old
brother, Jerry, with his rose-colored viewpoint, eyeing the
flat roof where only last week hed set up his slot-car track
and raced the cars wildly in circles for hours on end. This is
a good neighborhood for kids.
But its our place, complained Gails best friend and
Jerrys worst nightmare, ten-year-old Nancy Pinkblossom,
imagining the infamous Stairway of Death down which
shed tumbled each and every one of her Pretty Patty dressup dolls. Who said they could just come and take it away
from us?
The three children stood in place a moment more on that
warm spring Saturday morningeach gathering and storing
away an admittedly short lifetimes worth of memories. Finally, at some unspoken signal, they turned away almost in
unison.
What should we do today? asked Gail.
We could go to the river, answered Jerry, referring to
the tiny trickle of a stream that snaked behind Hardscrabble
Street. Theres lots to do near the river.
She wasnt asking you, Snothead, said Nancy automatically, too upset to muster up a real insult.
Wanna go see if Lindsey Brackentwigs home? suggested Gail.
Sure, said Jerry. Shes fun.
3
Go find your own friends, Dorknose, said Nancy.

Im not a dorknose.
Yes, you are. Youre a total dorknose.
Youre a dorknose.
Oh God, grow up, Dorknose.
Guys, whos that? interrupted Gail.
Jerry and Nancy put their epic Battle of the Dorknose
on hold to follow the line of Gails finger to a tall, fraillooking man shambling toward them, hunched over as if he
had long ago lost the struggle against gravity. He was dressed
all in black except for a huge purple top hat, and he carried a
small black leather bag by its polished white handle of bone.
Even though he was still a ways away, the kids could make
out a repeated creaking that sounded with each footstep, as
if he were walking on a squeaky wooden floor rather than a
concrete sidewalk.
The children stared at the strange man as he approached,
and he at them. But where the children gawked in openmouthed wonder, the man merely smiled.
A supremely pleasant good morning to you, urchins,
announced the man slowly in a high-pitched, weak, warbling
voice. Are you residents of this fine enclave of humanity?
The children remained slack-jawed a moment more until
the man chuckled good-naturedly.
Forgive my manner of speech, young ones. What I
mean to say is . . . do you live here?
Gail and Nancy remained immobile, but Jerry managed
to nod slightly.
A wide grin forced its way across the thin, heavily wrinkled
4
face. Then I am delighted to make your acquaintance. My

name is Dr. Fell. How do you do?
Dr. Fell extended a pale, bony hand toward the children.
They watched it approach as if it were in slow motion, each
knobby knuckle looking like it was ready to crack into dust
at the faintest breeze. Finally, Gail, not wanting to be impolite, met the hand with her own and gave it a limp shake,
careful not to exert too much pressure for fear of crushing
the old mans fingers.
Hi was all she said.
Ive just purchased the very house you stand before,
wheezed Dr. Fell. Im your new neighbor.
The children looked the man up and down. Gail, who
had released the hand, wondered why such an elderly individual would choose to move into this loud and boisterous
community so late in life. Jerry tried to imagine the decrepit
figure climbing up and down the Stairway of Death each day
without breaking a leg.
Nancy, however, got right to point. That was our playhouse.
Dr. Fell raised first one eyebrow, then the other, before
looking out over the heads of the children at his new home.
Was it? How dreadfully rude of me, he said, then smiled
back down at Nancy. I do apologize. I trust this will not
forever damage our relationship?
Nancy, who normally would stand toe to toe with anybody, felt the need to take a step back, bumping into Gail,
who gently nudged her aside.
What she means, sir began Gail.
5
Please, interrupted Dr. Fell. Im not a sir. Heaven

knows Ive not been knighted. I am simply Dr. Fell. As
he spoke his name, he bowed his already-bowed body even
more. There was a sudden flash of sunlight as something
shiny slipped out of his jacket pocket and clattered to the
ground at his feet.
Oh! cried Dr. Fell in alarm.
I got it, said Jerry, quickly stooping to pick it up. He
moved to hand it to the old man but stopped when he saw
what it wasa gold pocket watch.
Thank you, young sir, for retrieving my little trinket,
said Dr. Fell. Ill take that now.
Wordlessly, Jerry handed the watch back, and Dr. Fell
carefully tucked it into his pocket. Now then, he continued, you were in the midst of explaining how my recent
real-estate purchase had upset the unwashed masses.
Well, continued Gail, your house has sort of been the
unofficial playground for the neighborhood as long as any of
us can remember.
An odd, mute understanding slowly dawned on the face
of Dr. Fell. Oh, my dear bones. I imagine there are quite
a number of disappointed young urchins hereabouts due to
my arrival. He looked back at the house, his eyes seeming
to focus inward for a moment. I shall have to find a means
of making amends.
Despite his pleasant words, friendly smile, and easygoing nature, something about Dr. Fell gave all three
children the briefest of shivers on that warm spring Saturday morning.
7
Indeed, continued the good doctor. That will be paramount.

Jerry tugged on his sisters arm. Come onlets go to
Lindseys house, he said.
Yeah, said Nancy, happily going along with the lie.
Shes waiting for us.
Running along, are you? asked Dr. Fell. Well, it has
been an absolute pleasure to meet you. Do have yourselves a
festive and fantastically fun day.
He jerked his hand up toward his purple top hat, struggling to lift his arm above his shoulders. Finally, his shaking fingers reached the hats brim, and gripping it tightly, he
tilted both his hat and head slightly downward in farewell.
Im sure Ill be seeing each of you again soon enough.
The children ran all the way to Lindsey Brackentwigs
house.
This book is dedicated

to children with
the curiosity to
peer into the darkness.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product
of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2016 by David Neilsen
Jacket art and interior illustrations copyright 2016 by Will Terry
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Books for Young Readers, an imprint
of Random House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Crown and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Neilsen, David.
Dr. Fell and the playground of doom / David Neilsen. First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Three children must defeat a mysterious doctor who builds an irresistible and
dangerous playground in their neighborhood and then uses his power to heal children who get
injuredstealing some of their life essence in the processProvided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-101-93578-1 (trade) ISBN 978-1-101-93579-8 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 978-1-101-93580-4 (ebook)
[1. Good and evilFiction. 2. SupernaturalFiction. 3. NeighborhoodsFiction.] I. Title.
II. Title: Doctor Fell and the playground of doom.
PZ7.1.N4Dr 2016 [Fic]dc23 2015017787
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Random House Childrens Books supports the
First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
ATTENTION, READER:
Neil_9781101935781_3p_all_r1.indd 4
12/23/15 6:39 AM
Order your copy of
Dr. Fell
and
the
Playground
DOOM
of
By David Neilsen
LAUREL GALE
Just because youre dead doesnt mean you dont deserve a life.
SNEAK PEEK
LAUREL GALE
A YEARLING BOOK
CHAPTER ONE
Being dead stank. Cuts didnt heal. Hair fell out and
didnt grow back. Maggots burrowed in the stomach,
which couldnt have digested anything anyway. And
then there was the actual stink. The smell. The stench
of rotting flesh. No matter how much spray-on deodorant Crow Darlingson used, he couldnt quite mask it.
Death was lonely, too. While other boys his age
played ball in the street, he watched from his window. When they went off to school in the morning, he
stayed home. But he still had to study and take tests;
his mother saw to that.
Cant we go outside? he asked. We can go into
the backyard where nobody can see us.
Mrs. Darlingson, a slender woman with perfect
makeup and hair, shook her head firmly. Too warm.

Are you ready for your geography test?
Anything much above forty degrees was too warm.
Heat made the smell worse. Every once in a while, the
Darlingsons overworked air conditioner would break,
and for days Crows stink would spread throughout
the block.
Maybe that was why the previous neighbors had
moved, although they hadnt said anything. But leave
they did, in quite a hurry, and now another family was
taking their place. Crow could see the moving truck
from his window. He could see the new family, tooa
man, a girl, and a dog. The girl appeared to be around
eleven, same as Crow, with short brown hair, plaid leggings, and a very bright tie-dyed T-shirt.
She looked up at the window, her head cocked to
one side, and waved.
Crow waved back, shocked. Nobody had waved to
him in years.
Mrs. Darlingson grabbed his hand, gently so it
wouldnt fall off, and guided him away from the window. Time for your geography test.
He aced his test, as always, even though it was a particularly hard one that involved drawing and labeling
a map of Africa from memory. He made sure to spell
each country, from Algeria to Zimbabwe, correctly.
School had never presented much of a challenge for
2
him. Hed helped his class win the academic bowl in

the fourth grade, right before his death. Hed won the
grade-level spelling bee that year, too, and would have
gone on to compete against the fifth graders if hed
managed to stay alive for it.
Getting good grades was even easier without distractions like friends. Or food. Or fun. So of course he
aced everything his mother placed in front of him.
Mrs. Darlingson put the test, marked with a bright
red A+, on the refrigerator, where it joined the other
quizzes and essays from that week. Wonderful work.
Im so proud of you.
Crow shrugged. The motion caused the dry skin of
his shoulders to crack, adding to the series of fissures
already there. What does it matter? Its not like Ill
ever go to college.
There are online colleges.
Its not like Ill ever get a job.
There are online jobs, too. You can do everything
online these days. She smiled brightly.
Crow did not smile. So Im just supposed to stay
inside this house forever? Whats the point of studying geography if Ill never get to go anywhere?
Youll get to go out in a few weeks, just like you
did last year. Dont you remember? You visited all the
neighbors. You saw other children your age. You even
got a bag full of candy.
Halloween doesnt count. While the other boys
3
and girls dressed up as their favorite superheroes and

vampires, Crow chose a costume to hide behind. And
he couldnt actually enjoy any of the candy. His taste
buds had rotted away years ago, and trying to eat just
made the maggots worse.
He used to love Halloween. On the year before his
death, hed dressed up as an astronaut. His mother had
sewn the space suit for him, and the costume was good
enough to be used in the school play later that year. At
least, it would have been used in the school play if he
hadnt died first.
Now Halloween just reminded him of everything
hed lost. Maybe it was better to stay inside forever.
The doorbell rang.
Mrs. Darlingson frowned. Stay here. Ill see who
it is.
The doorbell never rang. Mrs. Darlingson, much
like her son, had stopped having friends ages ago. Mr.
Darlingson had friends, but even when he had still
lived at homebefore the divorcethey had never
come to the house. A sign instructed solicitors to stay
away, and another sign warned about a dangerous, but
entirely fictional, dog. Packages werent even sent to
the house; they had a post office box for that.
Nobody came over, and that was just the way Mrs.
Darlingson liked it. Only now somebody had come
over. An impatient somebody, toothe bell rang a
second time. A third time. Mrs. Darlingsons frown

deepened as she walked to the door. Crow stayed in
the kitchen, as ordered, although he did sneak a peek
or two around the corner.
Im sorry. You must have the wrong house. She
tried to shut the door, but something blocked it. Crow
leaned forward to get a better view. A small foot was
preventing the door from closing. He craned his neck
and saw that the foot was attached to a girl. The girl
who had waved at him. She had a friendly face, mostly
freckles and smile, and long, lanky limbs that, judging
by the way she fidgeted, she didnt seem to know what
to do with.
Of course I have the right house. Im your new
neighbor, Melody Plympton. I wanted to see who lived
hereyou know, make sure I hadnt moved next door
to a bunch of ax-murdering psychos or spell-casting
witches. She pushed the door open as far as Mrs. Darlingson would let her. Why is it so cold?
I think the temperatures fine, Mrs. Darlingson
said, although she was wearing a very thick wool
suit and a pair of leather gloves. I also think its rude
to ask questions like that. Or to assume that were a
bunch of ax murderers.
Uh-huh. I saw a boy in the window. Where is he?
Hes sick. In bed.
No hes not. Melody pointed at Crow, whose head
was poking out of the kitchen. Hes right there. Why

isnt he at school? I have today off because I just got
into town, but he should be there.
Well, if you knew where he was, why did you
ask? Before Melody could respond, Mrs. Darlingson
added, And he is sick, Im afraid. Very sick. He cant
have any company.
Melody rubbed her arms to warm herself. Okay.
Ill come back in a few days.
No. Hell still be sick in a few days. And in a few
weeks. Dont come back. Mrs. Darlingson forced the
door shut, ignoring Melodys foot, still in the way, and
Melody herself, who squealed in pain.
She locked the door, doorknob and dead bolt, before returning her attention to her son. Ready for
your geometry lesson?
Silence fell over the house as midnight approached.
Crow made himself yawn. He did this once or twice
every month, hoping the action of yawning would
stimulate drowsiness, just as drowsiness stimulated
yawning. It never worked. He hadnt slept in years.
Not even one short nap. Not since hed woken up from
death. Before, back when his heart still beat, hed
spent his nights dreaming that he could fly through
the universe or ride on a dinosaur. But no sleep meant
no dreams. No more flying. No more dinosaurs. Just
lots and lots of time.
6
So occasionally, and even though he knew his

mother would be furious if she learned about it, he
went downstairs in the middle of the night, opened
the back door, and tiptoed outside.
Blaze, a small town in the middle of the Nevada
desert, had temperatures in the eighties, nineties,
and hundreds most of the year. During the day, Crow
couldnt venture outside without his flesh giving off a
putrid odor strong enough to make the maggots faint.
Why dont we move somewhere cold? Crow had
suggested on numerous occasions. North Dakota.
Canada. The North Pole. Then I could go outside.
Without having to sneak, but he had enough sense
not to say that.
We cant move, Mrs. Darlingson would say. Our
house is here. That was her favorite response, but she
was also fond of bringing up how difficult the move
would be. Before Mr. Darlingson had moved out, shed
given his job as an excuse. Its not so bad, staying
inside with me. Is it?
And Crow knew that was the real reason she didnt
want to move. She wanted him to stay inside with her.
Always. Forever.
He couldnt do it. He needed out, if only for an hour
a night.
Everyone was sound asleep by now, leaving no one
to complain about the smell. Besides, on an early October night, it wasnt all that bad. In a few weeks, on
7
Halloween, Crow would even go out with his mothers

permission. Other children would wrinkle their noses,
but no one would faint. Hopefully.
Under Mrs. Darlingsons orders, Mr. Darlingson had
taken down the old swing. The bike had been donated
to charity. Pebbles had replaced the grass. Nothing remained to tempt Crow, except the fresh air and the
stars. It was enough.
He stacked the pebbles in taller and taller towers.
He searched for insects. Then he lay down and looked
up at the stars.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.
Closer by, a fence creaked. Much closer. Someone
was trying to open the Darlingsons back gate.
A burglar, Crow thought. He wanted to run inside
and tell his mother, but then hed have to admit to
sneaking out. His mother would seal the doors shut.
Shed nail boards over his windows. Hed never see the
stars again.
There was only one other option. Hed have to fight
the burglar off himself. He grabbed a handful of pebbles, ready to pelt the intruder with them.
The fence wobbled. Someone was climbing up the
other side. A head peeked over, and Crow threw his
pebbles.
Ouch! Melody said, rubbing her shoulder where
the pebble had struck her. She jumped down from the
fence into the backyard. What did you do that for?
8
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If the book is coverless,
it may have been reported to the publisher as unsold or destroyed and neither the author
nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of
the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2015 by Laurel Gale
Cover art and interior illustrations copyright 2015 by Yoko Tanaka
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Yearling, an imprint of Random House
Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Originally published
in hardcover in the United States by Crown Books for Young Readers, New York, in 2015.
Yearling and the jumping horse design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random
House LLC.
Gale, Laurel.
Dead boy / Laurel Gale ; illustrations by Yoko Tanaka. First edition.
pages cm.
Summary: Eleven-year-old Crow Darlingson has been dead for two years, forced to stay in
the house with his overprotective mother except when he can sneak out, but new neighbor
Melody Plympton offers a chance at friendship and, perhaps, getting his life back.
ISBN 978-0-553-51008-9 (trade) ISBN 978-0-553-51009-6 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-553-51010-2 (ebook)
[1. DeadFiction. 2. FriendshipFiction. 3. MagicFiction. 4. SupernaturalFiction.
5. ShapeshiftingFiction.] I. Tanaka, Yoko, illustrator. II. Title.
PZ7.1.G347De 2015 [Fic]dc23 2014034081
ISBN 978-0-553-51011-9 (pbk.)
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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BY LAUREL GALE
They
always
text
back.
SNEAK PEEK
Delacorte Press
Coop_9780385743921_2p_all_r1.indd 3
4/28/16 9:19 AM
CHAPTER 1
ANNA
Annabel Craven stared down at the lifeless body of

a girl in her late teens. Her body was still limp and
warm, so she hadnt been dead for long. She lay facedown, her neck bent at an awful angle. Her long red
hair was clumped to one side. Anna looked up at the
balcony the girl had fallen from. Third story, second
window from the left.
She knew this because the dead girl was ranting
about it.
Well, in her spirit form.
Anna stayed hidden in the shadows, gritting her
teeth. It was just her luck that after all these months
without any ghostly contact, she just happened to
stumble upon this while walking home.
So much for my almost normal life, Anna mumbled. She knew she had to help this girl. Whether she
liked it or not, she was someone who helped bridge
the gap between the living and the dead.
Timing was everything, so Anna waited in the shadows while watching the dramatics of the dead girl play
out in front of her like a horrible high school production that wasnt worth the five-dollar ticket.
A spirit floated next to the body. I was just standing on that balcony, for crying out loud! The dead
girls spirit threw her arms in the air. One minute Im
there, and the next, Im. . . here! she screeched, staring down at her own body lying inches in front of her.
Look at me! Who did this? Who wouldve pushed
me, Harper Sweety, off that balcony? the girl wailed.
She looked down once more at her body. Why wont
you get up? she whispered.
Even as a ghost, Harper had style: Her hair flowed
symmetrically, spilling red waves over her slim shoulders. She wore a chic black belted dress, cropped jacket,
and open-toed gold high heels, looking as if shed just
stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Her
lips glowed with glossy pink lipstick, and a luminous
glitter trail ran across her dusky eyelids.
Harper had no idea what was happening to her. But
Anna knew she couldnt just march right up to her
and tell her she was dead. No. Harper had to come to
2
terms with this herself. And then Anna could gently

guideor shoveher in the right direction, depending on how stubborn she was. In fact, shed started
referring to herself as a Guided.
Going through such a traumatic life-and-death situation could easily cause someone to do silly, if not
ridiculous, things.
Anna clamped a hand over her mouth as Harper
brushed the pavement with the palms of her hands,
sweeping away loose rocks. Then the ghost got down
on all fours and lay down on her body.
Harper lay motionless. Her eyes were tightly closed
in concentration.
Anna let out a long sigh, her stomach growling. She
pulled out her new phone to text her mom.
Sorry, late for dinner. Lost track of time studying.
Be home soon.
She hated lying to her mom, but what was she supposed to say? Sorry, Mom, late for dinner, this ghost is
having body issues?
Harpers sobs snapped Anna out of her thoughts.
There were no tears. Anna had learned ghosts couldnt
actually cry, although they could go through the motions.
Harper reached into her left coat pocket and
3
plucked out her phone. The rhinestone-encrusted

case glimmered in the twilight. She angrily punched
the buttons as she cried.
Annas own phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced
at the screen. One missed call from a blocked number.
Anna shuddered. The last time a blocked number had
contacted her, it had been from the dead blowing up
her phone. And that hadnt ended well. But that was
forever ago. And that was on her old phone. The one
shed buried in the cemetery.
Okay, lets do this, Anna whispered to herself. She
had only taken a few steps before Harper gasped.
Im alive! Harper jumped up and down excitedly
as her vacant body started twitching. Anna hated this
part. Well, she hated many parts, but this was in the
top three. She had to gently break the painfully bad
news to Harper that she was not waking up. She was
dead. And the twitching was rigor mortis setting in.
As Anna skulked over, her sneaker hit a rock and sent
it bouncing across the pavement, causing Harper to
spin around.
Her hazel eyes were lit with hope as they connected
with Annas dim brown ones. Harper raked her hands
down her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles.
Did you see? Did you? Harper pointed at her body,
speaking excitedly.
Anna definitely wasnt expecting that reaction.

She was expecting something more along the lines of
Who are you? or What happened?
Well, did you? Harper asked, looking at her impatiently.
Anna had to choose her words carefully now. She
had to let Harper down gently. Nothing was worse
than traumatizing a ghost right after death. It would
be near impossible to help her cross over if that happened.
Youre dead, Anna blurted out before she could
stop herself. For good. As in not coming back, cant
reanimate yourself, youre a goner. She said it without expression, in a monotone. It was important not
to get emotionally involved in these highly sensitive
situations. Anna had learned that the hard way too,
not so long ago, when shed had to deal with her first
ghost ever. Lucy had been a ghost in denial (and in
love), and only cold hard factsand a glass coffee
tablecould help her see the truth.
Anna hoped this worked for all ghosts.
Harper stared wide-eyed at her, speechless. It was
a good look for her, Anna thought. But like all good
things, it came to an end.
Oh God. Please do not tell me youre my guardian angel. Harper placed her right hand on her hip,
looking Anna up and down. You have horrible fashion

sense.
Anna sighed. This girl was worse than a drama
queen. Much, much worse.
She was a dead diva. And she smelled like wet socks.
Anna had no choice but to deal with her.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 by Rose Cooper
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of
Random House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of
randomhousekids.com
Cooper, Rose
Title: The ungrateful dead / Rose Cooper.
Description: First Edition. | New York : Delacorte Press, [2016]
Identifiers: LCCN 2015042021| ISBN 978-0-385-74392-1 (hardback) |
ISBN 978-0-385-37322-7 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: DeadFiction. | Future lifeFiction. | Text messages
(Cell phone systems)Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues /
General (see also headings under Family). | JUVENILE FICTION /
Social Issues / Adolescence.
Classification: LCC PZ7.C78768 Un 2016 | DDC [Fic]dc23
The text of this book is set in 13-point Chaparral Pro.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
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THE UNGRATEFUL DEAD

BY ROSE COOPER
PHILIP KERR
SNEAK PEEK
PHILIP KERR
ALFRED A. KNOPF
NEW YORK
CHAPTER 1
Billys Love of Books
Welcome to Hitchcock. Its an ordinary town of 250,000

people. When the town got started, in 1800, one of the first
things its founders built was a beautiful public library so that
people who couldnt afford to buy books could borrow them
instead.
Lets go inside. Under a large onion-shaped roof is a big
reading room, where Hitchcocks older citizens look at newspapers and fall asleep. And there are miles and miles of wooden
shelves and on them lots and lots of books. The Hitchcock
town library has over twenty thousand books, many of which
have never been read by anyone.
One person whos read at least a hundred books in the library is the boy standing in Childrens Literature. His name is
Billy Shivers.
If Billy Shivers were able to talk, he would say Im very

pleased to meet you, but this is a library, and if he did say anything, the librarian, Miss Junker, would make a cross, shushing
noise, point at a large sign that reads silence and very probably remind him that theres no talking allowed in the library.
So youll forgive him if he just looks up from that book in his
hands, smiles and nods back at you for now.
Still, silence is golden and, in this case, its useful, too. It allows you a chance to look at Billy and see what kind of a boy
he is. The first thing youll notice is that hes tall, and kind of
pale-lookingeven a bit sickly, like hes been ill or something.
But thats only to be expected of someone who was in a serious car accident.
Billy remembers very little about the accident, except
that now he knows exactly what it feels like to be a thin layer
of strawberry jam between two enormously thick slices of
bread. Before the accident he was like any other boy his
age,enjoying games and running around outside. But since
the accident he doesnt do a lot of that. He gets tired very
easily and doesnt care at all for loud noises. His eyes are
more sensitive to sunlight, and he feels the cold more than
he used to, so that he prefers being indoors to being outside.
This probably helps to explain why Billy spends so much
time in the Hitchcock Public Library. Its nice and warm
there. That and the fact that he likes to read books. Lots of
them.
Billy had always loved books. But after the accident his love
of books grew stronger than ever. He just couldnt get enough
of them. He loved the way a book could transport you to a different place in the space of just a few pages, like it was a kind
of taxicab for the mind. Sometimes he would take a book and

find a quiet corner to sit down, and the next time he looked up,
several hours would have passed. Reading a book could make
him forget who and what he was and that he had ever been in
an accident at all.
Whatever subject you can choose, theres probably at least
a hundred books that have been written about it. Billy could
have remained in the library forever and he would never have
run out of books to read, especially as the people of Hitchcock
were always donating their booksmost of them unread, of
course.
At first Billys favorite books were all about horses. Then
his favorite books were all about space. When hed read dozens of books about this, he went on to read several more dozens of books about detectives and murder. Next he decided
his favorite books were about magicians and wizards. Billy
wasnt much interested in books about sports. He much preferred watching sports to reading about them. In the same
week that he grew tired of reading about wizards, he tried
reading books about cooking, mountaineering, jungle exploration, spying, lions, Scotland and the history of music. But
none of these books struck him as being particularly interesting. And then, quite by chance, he picked up and read a book
about ghosts, then another, and another, and pretty soon Billy
had come to the conclusion his favorite books were all about
ghosts.
About the same time it happened that Billy became interested in reading about ghosts, his attention was drawn to
a small, dog-eared poster on the library notice board. The
poster had been on the notice board for a while and the event
it advertised was long out of date, but it was only now that Billy
paid any attention to it.
The poster read as follows:
You are invited to the Haunted House of Books on
Hitchcock High Street, for a Halloween evening of
chilling ghost stories and spooky tales. Not to Mention
Our Newest Attraction: The Curse of the Pharaohs.
Around midnight we will be joined by some creepy
local authors who will be signing their Most Horrifying books . . . in blood. Free snacks and mulled wine,
plus a ten percent discount on all cash purchases. For
further details, telephone 555-6666, or email Rexford
Rapscallion at s@tan.com, if you dare.
Immediately Billy was fascinated. It didnt matter that Halloween had been over for several months and that none of the
creepy local authors would be present to sign their horrifying
books. What mattered most to Billy was the idea of a bookshop that was haunted. What could be more wonderful? What
could be more exciting? What could be more fantastic?
It wont have escaped anyones attention who has ever
been in a bookshop that books cost money. Sometimes a great
deal of money. The book you are reading now cost a small
fortune and, frankly, you ought to be very grateful to whoever
bought it for you. Unless of course you paid for it yourself, in
which case you must be stinking rich. After all, why pay money
for something that you are only going to use once? Unless of
course you think you might want to read the book again. Or
unless you want to put it on a shelf with a lot of other books
to start a collection of house dust, or just to show people how

clever you are. Which is fair enough. But these days, whos got
money to waste on books? Or enough space in their houses to
give it up to having bookshelves?
Billys family didnt have money to waste on anything at all
and nor indeed did Billy, which was why the boy went to the
Hitchcock Public Library to read in the first place.
this is a borzoi book published by alfred a. knopf

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright 2016 by Philip Kerr
Jacket art copyright 2016 by Benjamin Schipper
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf,
an imprint of Random House Childrens Books, a division of
Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of
Names: Kerr, Philip, author.
Title: The most frightening story ever told / Philip Kerr.
Description: New York : Alfred A. Knopf, [2016] | Summary: Scary-story enthusiast
Billy Shivers helps out when the Haunted House of Books threatens to go out of
business. Provided by publisher
Identifiers: LCCN 2015035400 | ISBN 978-0-553-52209-9 (trade) |
ISBN 978-0-553-52210-5 (lib. bdg.) | ISBN 978-0-553-52211-2 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Haunted housesFiction. | BookstoresFiction. | Ghosts
Fiction. | ContestsFiction. | Humorous stories. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION /
Mysteries & Detective Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Books & Libraries.
Classification: LCC PZ7.K46843 Mo 2016 | DDC [Fic]dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015035400
The text of this book is set in 11-point Amasis MT.
September 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
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THE MOST FRIGHTENING

STORY EVER TOLD
BY PHILIP KERR

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Copyright The Jason Segel Company

Tombstone art by Shutterstock/Zand

A NEW YORK TIMES

Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek . . . .

THE STEPMONSTERS LAIR

sandy blond hair and no visible tattoos, scars, or hideous

given almost anything to trade places with them. It had

The thirty-eight boxes were waiting. Charlie stared at the

Charlie tiptoed to his bedroom door, opened it slowly so

door on the hall when he heard ita high-pitched laugh

Copyright The Jason Segel Company

Youll never sleep the same again. . . .

A New York Times

A Round of Shrieks and Laughs

Fast read filled with thrilling SCARES! Advin P.

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BY JASON SEGEL AND KIRSTEN MILLER

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#1 New York Times bestselling author of Pendragon

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

Im not sure anyone does suspense

Kids Are Already RAVING

I was HOOKED FROM PAGE ONE.

Its CHILLING. Youll want to know

A unique, intriguing book filled with

Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek. . . .

It was under the bed.

walls were covered with Avengers posters, a small desk had

You okay, bud? he asked his son with genuine concern.

Slowly, moving his body as if it weighed a ton, he peered

Rats didnt growl.

Alec had to move. His familys apartment was on the top

How did it climb the ladder? Alec thought.

metal ladder was attached to the outside of the building.

No! Alec screamed.

Surrender the key.

Miss Oliver! he declared.

Gwen nodded and shrugged.

I did my best impersonation of a statue.

YOURE A TEACHER. TRY TEACHING.

AND YOULL STILL BE A LOUSY TEACHER.

The class broke out in wild applause and whistles.

plaid shirt over a black T-shirt and cutoff jeans. None

Five days of detention, Lu said. Was it worth it?

number one of my sentence. Piece of cake. I pulled out

crashing sound. Halfway down the hall, a glass trophy

My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. Could the

I shot a look to my left to see Ms. Holden standing

neck. No way I could outrun this monster. In seconds

key, my hand passed through it as if it was nothing more

Are you feeling all right, Mr. OMara?

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& the Ravens Riddle

Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek. . . .

Ravens love riddles.

In fact, ravens greet other ravens by telling a riddle.

GABRIEL FINLEY the Raven's Riddle

How stupid is a sparrow? the first will say.

Why do ravens greet each other with a riddle?