The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight
R.L. Stine: The Scarecrow Walks At Midnight (Goosebumps #20)
We both laughed. You never know what Stanley is going to say! "I think I stepped in something gross," Mark complained, catching up to us.
1
I always know what Mark is going to say. My brother only knows three words — cool, weird, and gross. Really. That's his whole vocabulary. As a joke, I gave him a dictionary for his last birthday. "You're weird," Mark said when I handed it to him. "What a gross gift." He scraped his white high-tops on the ground as we followed Stanley to the beat-up, red pickup truck. "Carry my backpack for me," Mark said, trying to shove the bulging backpack at me. "No way," I told him. "Carry it yourself." The backpack contained his Walkman, about thirty tapes, comic books, his Game Boy, and at least fifty game cartridges. I knew he planned to spend the whole month lying on the hammock on the screened-in back porch of the farmhouse, listening to music and playing video games. Well . . . no way! Mom and Dad said it was my job to make sure Mark got outside and enjoyed the farm. We were so cooped up in the city all year. That's why they sent us to visit Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam for a month each summer — to enjoy the great outdoors. We stopped beside the truck while Stanley searched his overall pockets for the key. "It's going to get pretty hot today," Stanley said, "unless it cools down." A typical Stanley weather report. I gazed out at the wide, grassy field beyond the small train station parking lot. Thousands of tiny white puffballs floated up against the clear blue sky. It was so beautiful! Naturally, I sneezed. I love visiting my grandparents' farm. My only problem is, I'm allergic to just about everything on it. So Mom packs several bottles of my allergy medicine for me — and lots of tissues.
"Hey, Jodie — wait up!" I turned and squinted into the bright sunlight. My brother, Mark, was still on the concrete train platform. The train had clattered off. I could see
We both laughed. You never know what Stanley is going to say! "I think I stepped in something gross," Mark complained, catching up to us.
1
I always know what Mark is going to say. My brother only knows three words — cool, weird, and gross. Really. That's his whole vocabulary. As a joke, I gave him a dictionary for his last birthday. "You're weird," Mark said when I handed it to him. "What a gross gift." He scraped his white high-tops on the ground as we followed Stanley to the beat-up, red pickup truck. "Carry my backpack for me," Mark said, trying to shove the bulging backpack at me. "No way," I told him. "Carry it yourself." The backpack contained his Walkman, about thirty tapes, comic books, his Game Boy, and at least fifty game cartridges. I knew he planned to spend the whole month lying on the hammock on the screened-in back porch of the farmhouse, listening to music and playing video games. Well . . . no way! Mom and Dad said it was my job to make sure Mark got outside and enjoyed the farm. We were so cooped up in the city all year. That's why they sent us to visit Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam for a month each summer — to enjoy the great outdoors. We stopped beside the truck while Stanley searched his overall pockets for the key. "It's going to get pretty hot today," Stanley said, "unless it cools down." A typical Stanley weather report. I gazed out at the wide, grassy field beyond the small train station parking lot. Thousands of tiny white puffballs floated up against the clear blue sky. It was so beautiful! Naturally, I sneezed. I love visiting my grandparents' farm. My only problem is, I'm allergic to just about everything on it. So Mom packs several bottles of my allergy medicine for me — and lots of tissues.
"Hey, Jodie — wait up!" I turned and squinted into the bright sunlight. My brother, Mark, was still on the concrete train platform. The train had clattered off. I could see