Field of Screams Read Online Free PDF Page B

from my own time. The house where I met Ernie Ames, the bus driver.
    The house where everything started.
    Only now it didn’t look abandoned. It was a little shabby, maybe, but the paint wasn’t peeling off or anything.
    An old car pulled into the house’s driveway. The engine died and the bus driver stepped out.
    He waved to me. I waved back slowly.
    Did he recognize me? I mean me, Buddy Sanders?
    I’ve got to talk to him, I thought. Alone. I need to find out why he sent me here—and how I’m supposed to get back to my own time.
    â€œBuddy,” Coach Johnson called. “Come on inside.”
    â€œSure,” I said. I walked slowly toward the Johnsons’ house.
    Everything is going to be okay, I told myself. All I have to do is stay calm.
    Calm—hah! If I knew then what was about to happen to me, I would have run screaming down Fear Street.
    Because my nightmare was just starting!

10

    W e tromped up the wooden steps to the front door. A lady who had to be Boog’s mom stood in the doorway, waiting for us.
    Her red hair hung to her shoulders, and her cheeks had a rosy glow. She wore a dark blue dress with a white lace collar.
    â€œDon’t take another step without taking those muddy shoes off! I just scrubbed these floors,” she scolded. Then she smiled. “So, how did we do today, boys?”
    â€œA feast for your conquering heroes!” Coach Johnson teased.
    Mrs. Johnson laughed. “I guess you won again.”
    â€œDon’t we always, Mom?” Boog asked.
    â€œIt was a close call though,” the coach said. “We almost lost our star player to a fastball to his head.”
    Mrs. Johnson gasped. “Oh, no! Here, Buddy, let me see.” She tipped my head to the side and probed gently at the bruise. She made a soft “tsk.”
    â€œIt looks painful,” she told me. “But I think you’ll live. Not a lot of swelling. Any dizziness, Buddy? Are you feeling sleepy?”
    â€œI’m okay,” I mumbled.
    â€œGood. Now, you boys run upstairs and wash up for supper. Everything’s ready. Go on, scoot.”
    I followed Boog up the stairs, thinking that people were sure a lot less careful in 1948. In my own time, Mom and Dad would have sent me to the doctor as soon as I was hit.
    I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around, confused. Boog stood in a doorway. “Well? You just going to stand there?” he snapped.
    â€œI don’t remember—”
    Boog’s eyes narrowed. “What’s with you, Buddy?” He pointed to a door down the hall. “In there. I got dibs on the bathroom.”
    He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door. I heard water running. Good. He was out of my way. Now I could really check the place out.
    I went down the hall and opened the door to the room Buddy Gibson was staying in. It was smaller than the one I had at home, but it looked nice andcozy. It had a shelf filled with Hardy Boys and Tarzan books. Hey! I read those—way in the future. Gibson had a few of those Tom Swift books too.
    I looked around for the stereo. It was nowhere to be found.
    Maybe he’s got a TV, I thought. But I couldn’t find one of those either.
    Duh—1948. Hardly anyone had TVs back then.
    So what did people do for fun around here?
    I spied a window at the far end of the room. I walked over to it and lifted the blinds.
    Yes! The window faced the front. I could see Fear Street, and Ernie the bus driver’s house.
    I glanced down. A rose trellis clung to the side of the house—right below the window. Perfect for climbing out after dark. All right!
    Someone knocked on the door. I dropped the blinds.
    â€œI’m done in the bathroom. You’re up, goofus,” Boog bellowed from the other side.
    â€œKeep your shirt on, you big loser,” I muttered under my breath.
    There was a chest of drawers positioned against the wall behind me. A mirror was placed over