Choose Your Own Adventure

If you die, come back to square one:

Section 1 

As a ghostwriter for R.L. Stine, you expected less notoriety. Sure, you made it obvious, but you didn’t expect this town of artless ignoramuses to even get the reference. 

You were still sore that your mom made you move here for her new job. You were finally making friends in Napocaville, and then she came to your bedroom in the evening while you were reading your favorite spooky books, and she had that look. You knew before she said a word that you were moving again. 

“This is important, Brooke. I’m sorry, honey. We have to make more sacrifices as a single parent family, but we’re going to be better off.” She said that the last three times too. Dental Hygienist school, two clinical rotations, and now, finally, a job. You guessed this might be the last move, but you actually hoped not. The town was boring. What’s the population in Hunedoara … 53? It was desolate. And you couldn’t stand how everyone asked you, “Everything Hune-key–doara-ey?” when you interacted in public. And their overuse of idioms drove you wild. 

Anyhow, there you were. Just two weeks into living in this town. You dressed in your ghost sheet with R.L. Stine’s solid frame glasses over the eye holes and his characteristic wan smile painted on the mouth. You made a ‘Hi My Name Is NOT: Mr. Stine’ sticker and stuck it to your chest. You had your trusty typewriter under your arm. You taped a cardboard sign to it that read, ‘Ghostwriter for hire. $5/page.’ 

Sore. Your arm was sore from carrying your very erudite, albeit heavy, typewriter. You were sore about moving. And you were sore your mom made you come to this Halloween party. “We need to do some mixing, honey,” she said. 

The house was huge. The host explained that it was a sort of governor’s mansion in another life, but since, “...Hunedoara fell off the map, it became just a beautiful home we could afford.” They loved hosting the town’s festivities, but they especially liked decking the house out for Halloween. It did look creepy as you came up the walk through the rose gardens. Convincing headstones sprinkled the sprawling lawns. Red lights splashed the columns on the front of the house. Gargoyle werewolves crouched in the shadows of the massive front porch. Their mouths were open in frozen howls exposing their massive canines. 

Of course, your mom jumped right into “mixing.” She’ was well practiced. As her coat came off in the entryway, she was supplied with a ghoulish drink with dry ice steam flowing over its rim and floating eyeballs. She was nailing the Morticia Addams look. A long black dress hugged her figure. Her hair, sprayed black and straightened for the costume, looked luxurious. You never understood how she was still single. And you never understood why you didn’t look just like her. You preferred hiding under your bed sheet costume. 

“You’d never guess it, but there’s a beautiful teenager under there,” your mom said to the host. The host was wearing a white bird mask framed by a black hood. Their black cape was feathered. The mask’s hooked beak was elongated. Two beady eye holes offered a glimpse of cold blue irises underneath. 

The host looked you up and down and then said, “You’re giving me Goosebumps.” A blue eye winked behind the bird mask. 

“You guessed it,” you said. You were surprised by the host’s literary prowess.

A hand on your elbow made you turn. With the bed sheet on, you had to turn your whole body to get a clear look at anything to your sides. The eye holes didn’t track well as you turned your head. An incontrovertible Frankenstein, both in size and complexion, said, “My son is playing video games in the upstairs library. I’m sure he’d love your company. If you’re a teenager that doesn’t like video games, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Thanks,” you said.

MAKE A CHOICE 

Should you go to the upstairs library to play video games? (Go to Section 2)

OR

Should you stay with your mom? (Go to Section 3)

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Section 2 

A winding staircase replete with a velvet runner and an ornate banister led you upstairs. Wandering down the hallway in the direction Frankenstein had indicated, you found the library after errantly peeking through two sets of double doors and three single doors. The dimly lit room was mostly full of shelves and books. In one corner, the boy was seated on a leather chaise lounge in front of a coffee table with a TV setup. The entertainment center looked makeshift and out of place, like he’d been displaced. You knocked lightly as you entered. Without looking at you, the boy said, “Come in.” 

You walked over to him and stood beside the furniture. He was playing classic Pacman. Eventually he died and he turned to look at you. He eyeballed your costume.

“Funny,” he said. 

“What?” you asked. 

“You,” he said. “The plot thickens,” he added in a goofy voice as he made a sprinkling gesture with his hand, laughing to himself. 

He was wearing a Pacman shirt that read, ‘I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts”. The ‘o’s were all Pacmen. 

“Want a turn?”

“Sure.”

You set down your typewriter and sat and played. As Pacman, you ate some dots, some cherries, and some ghosts, but eventually you were chased down, cornered, and overrun.

“New kid, right? Where are you from?” he asked. 

“Yep.” You hated that question. “Is there a bathroom?” you asked.

“That door,” he pointed across the room. “It’s a Jack and Jill, so lock both doors. Just a heads up.”

Sure enough, the bathroom connected the library to another large room with more shelves, large desks, and taxidermied animal heads. How weird, you thought. You pulled the second door closed and locked it. You really didn’t need the bathroom, but you didn’t want to chat about moving around from town to town. You were beating yourself up over running from a chance to make a social connection until you heard two voices enter in conspiratorial conversation in the room with the animal heads. 

“She’s here,” one said. “She’s in black. I heard her joking about how happy everyone has been to see a new dental hygienist. She thinks we’re all eager to get dental work.”

“And her offspring?” the other asked. “Did she come alone?”

“No, her offspring came too,” the first answered. “She’s a ghostwriter for R.L. Stine. Bedsheet and typewriter. I love it.” You got goosebumps hearing them mention you. 

“Good. Then we’re all set. The shovels are in the truck,” the other said. You could hear footsteps leaving the room.

MAKE A CHOICE

Should you follow the two people who were talking about you and your mom to see what they’re up to? (Go to Section 4)

OR

Should you return to the video game room? (Go to Section 6)

___________________________________________

Section 3 

“But no thanks,” you said to Frankenstein. “I’m actually not big on video games. What sort of a hat are you going to eat now? Hopefully it’s an apple cap or a porkpie cap.”

Frankenstein shook his head. “Are you sure you’re a teenager?” he grumbled and walked away. 

“We’re mixing, remember,” your mother said quietly to you. 

The host led you to a ballroom. A minotaur, a mummy, a vampire, a skeleton, a zombie, and a satanic goat were waltzing. The ballroom was an expanse of hardwood floors. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. They cast the only light in the room, and the floor and walls were dappled with their lights and shadows like leopard spots. 

Your mom asked you to dance, but you declined in horror. “That’s scarier than any of these costumes, Mom,” you said. 

Once again, you felt a large hand grip your elbow. You rotated to look behind. Sure enough: Frankenstein. He was holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres, and he said, “There are plenty of munchies in the banquet room. It’s just down the hallway on the left. I couldn’t find my hat yet, but don’t worry, I have a huge appetite.”

Having to look upward to meet his eyes, you believed him. “Thanks,” you said.

“Sure.” You crept past him, still schlepping your typewriter under your arm. 

You were about to enter the banquet room when you heard hushed voices. The conspiratorial timber of the muted exchange made you stop short before entering the room. Though it was difficult, you could make out snippets of the bandying. 

Someone said, “Is everyone on board?”

Another voice responded, “Everyone but that lazy teen. He didn’t even dress up.”

The first voice again: “What’s his problem? It’s back to square one if we can’t get these two tonight. Are the shovels here?”

The second voice: “Yes. She’s Morticia Addams. The kid is a ghostwriter for R.L. Stine. Great costume. Almost makes me feel bad. She has a typewriter! It’d be great to get a page out of her first, but there’s probably no time for that.

The first again: “Be reasonable. Time is of the essence.”

MAKE A CHOICE

Should you follow the two people who were talking about you and your mom to see what they’re up to? (Go to Section 5)

OR

Should you return to the main party and talk to your mom? (Go to Section 7)

___________________________________________

Section 4 

You followed the men. Their strange conversation was irresistible. You listened for their footsteps, and trailed behind them at a safe distance. 

They ended up in the gravestone littered rose garden out front. You thought the gravestones were fake, but then you started to doubt that as you hid behind one. It was solid in the ground. You could see the men’s costumes. One was a minotaur, the other was a satanic goat. Both wore dark cloaks. The minotaur disappeared for a moment and then returned with shovels. 

They dug fast and without resting. When the hole was deep enough that their heads started disappearing with each shovel stroke, the earth began to tremble. The men climbed out of the hole. They threw down their shovels and fled. A terrible, high-pitched howl ripped from the grave. 

You swiveled your head to look for better cover and spotted a garden shed with an ax hanging from an outside hook. 

MAKE A CHOICE

Should you run to the garden shed and get the ax? (Go to section 8)

OR

Should you run for home? (Go to section 9)

___________________________________________

Section 5

You followed the men. Their strange conversation was irresistible. You listened for their footsteps, and trailed behind them at a safe distance. 

They ended up in the gravestone littered rose garden out front. You thought the gravestones were fake, but then you started to doubt that as you hid behind one. It was solid in the ground. You could see the men. One was dressed like a minotaur, the other like a satanic goat. Both wore dark cloaks. The minotaur disappeared for a moment and then returned with shovels. 

They dug fast and without resting. When the hole was deep enough that their heads started disappearing with each shovel stroke, the men climbed out of the hole. They disappeared momentarily, and returned dragging a writhing mass of white. It appeared to be a body tied in a bedsheet. They lugged it carelessly. When it was parallel to the hole, they paused. The minotaur put a hoofed foot up on the still writhing mass, ready to kick it in. The satanic goat grabbed its shovel.

“Ready?” the goat asked.

“It’s hardly brain surgery,” the minotaur shrugged. 

MAKE A CHOICE

Should you run for home? (Go to section 9)

OR

Should you attack the men? (Go to section 10)

___________________________________________

Section 6 

The boy was playing another round of Pacman. “Did you find it?” he asked. He didn’t look at you. 

“Yes,” you said. “Say. I just heard a weird conversation.”

The boy paused the game and turned. He looked into the eye holes of your bed sheet. “I bet,” he said. 

“What’s that mean?” you asked.

He looked you over and thought. Then he said, “You get the short end of the stick pretty often, huh?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you said. 

He thought for a minute while staring at you, then he leaned to one side and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. Taking out a five, he said, “I’ll hire you for a page.” 

You sat down and got your typewriter in order. “It was sort of a joke,” you said quietly. 

“You’ll thank me,” he said. “And I’ll pay for telling you — in more ways than one. I’ll give you a plot summary, and you weave it into a story. Here goes: a small town is cursed with a beast that feasts each Halloween. The townspeople band together to protect themselves by organizing sacrifices of outsiders. The dentist recruits the victims through job postings. The beast lives under the front lawn of the town’s mansion.”

Your mouth hung open. You hadn’t typed a single word. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“You’re lying,” you said. “You’re trying to scare me. And it’s working.”

“I wouldn’t believe me either, but you should. Follow those men you heard talking if you don’t believe me. They’ll be on the front lawn about now.”

MAKE A CHOICE

Should you go down to the front lawn? (Go to section 4)

OR

Should you return to the party and find your mom? (Go to section 7)

___________________________________________

Section 7 

Your mom was dancing with the host to The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian.” Morticia Addams looked exceptional scooting through the leopard spot lighting with elbows zagged and pumping. 

You grabbed her by the low wrist and spun her towards you. “Mom, we need to leave now.”

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

“I’m sick. I’m going to throw up.” 

The whole party seemed eager to comfort you, but you persisted. You made incessant gagging sounds inside your bed sheet. The party followed you and your mother to the door, and a few folks walked you down the broad stairway into the lawn’s rose garden. 

In the car, with the doors locked, you told your mom. She shook her head and fought back anger. “Don’t be ridiculous, honey. Are you telling me you faked being sick? I almost want to turn around and go back.”

She didn’t though. At home, she tucked you in and reassured you. “It’s going to get better here. This is a good move for us.” She stroked your hair as she said it.

A loud knock at the door interrupted her. A man’s voice shouted, “You raaaang?” 

You screamed in terror at the sound of shattering glass and the footsteps entering your home. 

THE END

___________________________________________

Section 8

Dropping your ridiculous typewriter for the first time all evening, you ran for the garden shed. As you sprinted from behind the cover of the gravestone, a cry rang out, “Brooke?!” 

Your mom’s voice! 

With difficulty – this damn bed sheet and stupid eye holes! – you spotted her. 

She was tied to a gravestone. 

Another howl ripped into the night from behind you. You turned in time to see a wolfish beast crawl over the rim of the hole. It seemed to look past your frozen figure and settle its grisly gaze on your mother. It knew where to look. It began to walk towards her. 

With an unconscious series of swift, terror-fueled movements you completed the run to the garden shed and tore the ax from its hook. 

The beast was still fixated on your mother, stalking her way. As it prowled towards her, you took quick strides to come abreast of it. You lifted the ax overhead. It didn’t seem to notice you at all. You brought the ax down swiftly. It was the sound of a smashing pumpkin and the feel of biting a thick carrot with your back molars. You brought the ax up and held it across your chest defensively. The beast quivered at your feet. 

You ran to your mother and cut her bindings with the ax. You were both sobbing.

Through obstructive eye holes and streaming tears you ran looking for your car. You fled Hunedoara at 100 miles an hour and didn’t stop driving until light crept into the sky. 

“I think you should look for a different job,” you told your mother.

THE END

___________________________________________

Section 9 

You ran home without returning to the party. You called your mother from the house. You closed all the shades as the phone rang and rang. You checked all the locks as you hung up and dialed again. 

As you locked the back door, a loud knock came from the front. Your mom had not answered. 

“Anyone home?” a voice called out. It sounded like Frankenstein.

THE END

___________________________________________

Section 10

With your ridiculous typewriter underarm, you bobbed and weaved like a running back through the gravestones. As you rushed upon the minotaur from behind, you raised your typewriter overhead and brought it crashing down between his horns. He crumpled forward and fell into the freshly dug pit. The satanic goat stumbled backwards in surprise, dropping its shovel. Instinctually, you grabbed the shovel handle and swung it like a bat, the shovel flat like a blade, and sliced the goat's face wide open. He ran, screaming. The person in the tied bed sheet continued to struggle at your feet. In a panic, you untied the knots and found your mother gagged inside the bundle. 

Through obstructive eye holes and streaming tears you ran looking for your car. You fled Hunedoara at 100 miles an hour and didn’t stop driving until light crept into the sky. 

“I think you should look for a different job,” you told your mother.

THE END