R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 03 Read Online Free PDF Page B

face, grinding it to powder.
    They high-fived each other. “You like snow, right, Max?” Willy asked, grinning at me, his piggy black eyes glowing. He and his brother took me by the shoulders and dragged me over to a low hedge by the curb.
    “Here.” Billy scooped some snow into his gloves. “Eat some of this. It's real tasty.”
    I tried to pull back, but they held my head. “What is it?” I croaked.
    “Yellow snow,” Billy said. “Your favorite.”
    “Hey—no way!” I cried. I stared at the heap of snow in his hands. It was totally drenched with yellow.
    “Eat it,” Billy Wilbur said. “It's good. Yellow snow is the best!”
    I turned my face away. I tried to squirm free. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicky and Tara. They stood in my neighbors’ yard, leaning on two big snowmen, watching me struggle.
    “Help me!” I called.
    The Wilbur brothers laughed. “No one here tohelp you, Brainimon. Come on, eat. It's got vitamins and minerals.”
    “Couldn’t we maybe talk about this?” I said, watching Nicky and Tara. “My doctor says yellow snow might be fattening.”
    “Funny,” Billy said, pushing the disgusting stuff toward my face. “But you know what's funnier? You eating yellow snow.”
    I watched Nicky and Tara bend down and start to make snowballs.
    “Hey, guys—check it out,” I said to the Wilburs. I pointed to the snowmen.
    The Wilbur brothers raised their eyes—and saw snowballs come flying at them.
    “Whoa!”
    “No way!”
    Billy dropped the disgusting yellow snow. Willy let go of me and took a step back. The two snowmen grinned at us as snowballs flew one after the other.
    “What's up with
that
?” Billy cried.
    A snowball thudded to the ground at Willy's feet.
    Billy's mouth dropped open. “Who's throwing those snowballs? It c-can’t be the snowmen!”
    They forgot about me and took off running. Kicking up snow, bumping into each other, they bleated like two stampeding water buffaloes.
    Nicky and Tara floated over to me, and we watched the Wilburs run. “Nice work,” I said.
    But Billy Wilbur turned at the corner. He scooped up snow—and heaved a fat snowball at me.
    “Hey—”
    Smack
. The snowball hit Tara in the face.
    She staggered back a few steps, then raised her hands to her cheeks and started to scream. “Ow! It burns! It's burning hot! Help me! My face—it
burns
!”
    I grabbed Tara, spun her around, and gasped. Her face was red as fire!

12
    I RUBBED MOST OF the snow off Tara's face with my glove. Then Nicky and I helped her into the house.
    It was nearly five o’clock. Everyone was home.
    Mom was in the kitchen. I could smell something good baking. The basement door stood open, and I could hear Dad and my older brother, Colin, having one of their Ping-Pong wars.
    Ping-Pong isn’t a game with them—it's a contact sport. They smash the ball at each other and try to knock each other over. They crush about a dozen balls a game and usually knock out a few teeth, and think it's great fun.
    My dad is a big loud red-faced Mack truck of a guy with a tattoo of a fire-eating dragon on one arm. It's perfect—because Dad
acts
like a fire-breathing dragon too.
    He and Colin get along great because Colin is tall and good-looking, and popular, and a big sports star—in other words, perfect in every way.
    I’m perfect in
other
ways. But only Mom seems to notice.
    Anyway, Nicky and I led Tara up to my room. I got a towel and gently wiped the rest of the snow off her face. Her cheeks were still bright red, but her skin didn’t burn as much.
    “I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “Suddenly I’m allergic to
snow
?”
    I tossed the towel into the corner and dropped onto the edge of my bed. “Well, I’m allergic to
yellow
snow,” I said. “Thanks for rescuing me, guys.”
    Nicky sat down beside me. He slapped my back. “Now we need you to rescue
us,
old buddy.”
    “We’re desperate,” Tara said. “We’ve got to find our parents. Nicky and I