Hide and Shriek

by R. L. Stine

Overview

A girl gets caught in a deadly game of hide-and-seek in this first book in the Ghosts of Fear Street series from the master of children’s horror, R.L. Stine—now with a reimagined look!

Do you believe in ghosts? Don’t say no until you take a walk down Fear Street. Past the woods, where no birds sing. Past the lake, where something lurks beneath the water. Past the cemetery, where everyone is dying to meet you.

New kid in town Randy discovers there’s much more at stake than she thought in the town’s annual after-dark game of hide-and-seek. Turns out, the seeker is the spirit of a long-dead kid from town, and anyone he tags “it” turns into a ghost! Even worse, the spectral seeker has a particular fondness for new kids...

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781665971317
Publisher:	Aladdin
Publication date:	07/15/2025
Series:	Ghosts of Fear Street Series , #1
Edition description:	Reissue
Pages:	160
Product dimensions:	5.10(w) x 7.60(h) x 0.50(d)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

R.L. Stine invented the teen horror genre with Fear Street, the bestselling teen horror series of all time. He also changed the face of children’s publishing with the mega-successful Goosebumps series, which went on to become a worldwide multimedia phenomenon. Guinness World Records cites Stine as the most prolific author of children’s horror fiction novels. He lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, and their dog, Lucky.

Hometown:

New York, New York

Date of Birth:

October 8, 1943

Place of Birth:

Columbus, Ohio

Education:

B.A., Ohio State University, 1965

Website:

http://www.rlstine.com

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One <figure> ONE
Randy! Randy!” My little sister, Baby, wiggled into my room. “Mom says she’s going to kill you.”

She giggled. She loves to see me get into trouble. Mostly because she’s always in trouble herself.

I ignored Baby and yelled down the stairs at my mother. “Stop bugging me, Mom! I’m coming!”

“You’re going to be late!” Mom yelled back.

“I know! I can’t help it!”

It was my first day at Shadyside Middle School. I didn’t want to be late. But I didn’t want to show up looking like a dork, either. I’d tried on everything in my closet. Nothing looked right. All my clothes looked babyish on me, which is the last thing I need.

I’m twelve, but people always think I’m younger.

I don’t see it, myself. I think I have a very mature face. I am small and wiry. But I’m not that small. I wasn’t even the smallest girl in the class at my old school.

Some people are so stupid. They don’t look at the facts.

I stared at myself in the mirror, tugging at the waist of my jeans. What did the kids in Shadyside wear, anyway? I had no clue. I’d only lived here for two days.

My family—me, Mom, Dad, and my insane little sister—just moved to Shadyside from Maine. We live on Fear Street.

It’s a weird name for a street, I think. Fear Street. Not exactly cheery.

Even Shadysiders seem to think the street name is weird. The day we moved in, I went to the post office with Mom, and the clerk gave us a funny look when Mom mentioned our address.

The clerk raised her eyebrows and said, “Fear Street, hmm?”

I thought the clerk was pretty weird herself. She stared at me really hard and then asked how old I was.

“Twelve,” I told her.

“Then you might be the one,” she commented.

My mom and I exchanged confused glances.

“The one what?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“You’ll find out soon enough—if you aren’t careful,” she answered mysteriously. “June tenth is right around the corner. You’ve moved to town at the perfect time.”

Yeah, right, I thought. It’s great starting a new school at the end of the year. I had to finish the last month of sixth grade in a new school with a bunch of kids I didn’t know.

And who didn’t know me. And who’ll take one look at me today, I thought, and decide right then and there if I’m cool or not.

I yanked off my jeans and tried on my gray jumper again. I wasn’t sure it looked good with my brown hair. Mom stormed in.

“Randy, if you try on another stitch of clothing, I’ll scream. You’re wearing that jumper, and that’s final.”

“Tell her, Mom,” Baby said.

I made a face at Baby. She made one back at me.

“Girls!” Mom snapped.

Mom could be tough when she wanted to be. The jumper would have to do. I grabbed my backpack and raced out of the house.

Baby screeched after me, “You’re going to be late! You’re going to be late! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Anybody want to adopt a seven-year-old girl?

I hurried down Fear Street and around the corner to Park Drive. When I got to Hawthorne, I started running.

Shadyside Middle School loomed ahead. The front doors were closed, and the school yard stood empty. I was definitely late.

Something about the sight of that empty school yard made my stomach flip over. Nervous, I guess. I ran up the steps and tugged on the door.

Locked!

I panicked. Locked out on my first day! Please don’t let this be true.

I yanked on the door again. It didn’t budge.

I almost burst into tears. What was I going to do?

I told myself to calm down. It can’t be locked, I said to myself. They wouldn’t lock all the kids inside the school, right? No, they wouldn’t.

It helps to think things through like that. Sometimes I get kind of panicky, you know. Carried away by my imagination.

But I also have a sensible side. I can look at the facts. It helps keep my imagination from taking over.

I gave the door one last pull—and this time it flew open. My sensible side was right, I thought. As usual. The door sticks. No reason to get upset.

My footsteps echoed as I stepped into a long, empty hallway. I shifted my backpack and nervously twirled my hair around a finger. I was supposed to report to the principal’s office. But I had no idea where it was.

I passed row after row of classroom doors, all closed. Through the doors I heard teachers’ voices and the shuffling of chairs. It made the silence of the hallway seem lonelier.

I hope I won’t get into trouble for being late, I thought nervously. They wouldn’t punish a kid on her first day, would they?

I passed a big bulletin board stuck to one wall. It was covered with announcements and end-of-the year awards. In one corner someone had tacked a large calendar. It showed the months of May and June, with all the dates x-ed out up to that day, May twenty-second. One date had been circled in red felt-tip—Saturday, June tenth.

I wondered if there was a big game that day. Something about the tenth of June felt familiar. I’d heard something about it somewhere, I knew. The creepy woman in the post office, I remembered. She’d mentioned that date.

Then I noticed a scrawl at the top of the calendar: 18 MORE DAYS UNTIL PETE’S BIRTHDAY. The number was removable so it could be changed as time passed.

Wow, I thought. I wonder who Pete is. He must be pretty popular if the whole school is looking forward to his birthday.

I tore my eyes away from the bulletin board and turned a corner.

“Oh!” I gasped, stopping short. My feet slipped a little on the shiny floor.

A boy staggered toward me. But not a normal boy.

He stumbled forward, clutching his head. His face looked odd—greenish. He must be sick, I thought.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “What happened?”

He moaned in pain. “Help,” he croaked. He reached out with bloody hands. Deep red blood oozed from a hideous gash in his head.

I screamed as the boy lurched toward me.