The Boy Who Ate Fear Street Read Online Free PDF Page B

the second egg. Ewwww! This one tasted even worse than the first. Kind of slimy and sour.
    What was going on?
    Why did my milk taste sour? And my Cream of Wheat? And now the eggs?
    My stomach let out a loud, complaining rumble.
    I was starving.
    I had to find something to eat that didn’t taste terrible.
    I checked the refrigerator again—nothing.
    I searched the pantry. Canned soup. Crackers. Corn flakes. Chocolate sprinkles. Tuna fish.
    I decided to wait for Mom to get home. I’d ask her to make me a big bowl of macaroni and cheese.
    My stomach let out another loud rumble.
    To take my mind off how hungry I was, I decided to concentrate on my homework. I rummaged through my backpack for my English assignment. I had to read the next three chapters of Johnny Tremaine. Ms. Hartman planned a quiz on it tomorrow.
    I opened the book. The story takes place in Boston, during the American Revolution. I really like reading that stuff, and I dove right in. When I reached the most exciting part, the part where Johnny burns his hand, I heard the slurping sounds.
    I glanced across the kitchen. Fred hung over his bowl, devouring his dog food.
    â€œHey, Fred! Can you hold it down?”
    Fred lifted his head from his bowl and gazed up at me. Drool and dog food dribbled from his mouth onto the floor.
    â€œFred, that’s disgusting,” I told him. Fred wagged his tail.
    I returned to my book.
    Slurp. Slurp.
    â€œFred, please!”
    Fred glanced up again, then plunged his head back into his bowl.
    Slurp. Slurp.
    The sound of Fred’s tongue lapping up his food made me feel queasy.
    I leaped up from the chair and pushed his bowl away. “Go into the living room. Go to the window and wait for Mom.” I pointed toward the front door.
    Fred didn’t budge.
    â€œGo!”
    Fred inched over to his bowl.
    I bent down and moved it farther away—and caught a whiff of his food.
    It smelled good—great, actually.
    My stomach began to growl. Fred’s ears perked up when he heard it—then he edged away from me.
    He watched me sink to my hands and knees.
    He watched as I lowered my head to his bowl.
    He moved in, trying to nudge me away from his food.
    I pushed him back, and he began to snarl.
    He nudged me again.
    I pushed him away again.
    I lowered my head, closer and closer to the food, breathing in the aroma. The incredibly delicious smell.
    And then I dove headfirst into the bowl. My tongue darted out, ready to lap up the juicy beef chunks.
    STOP! a voice inside my head screamed. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
    I leaped up from the floor and threw myself into the kitchen chair.
    I don’t believe this! I almost ate Fred’s dog food, I thought in horror. I pictured myself hanging over Fred’s bowl, and I started to gag. What is wrong with me? How could I even think about eating dog food?
    Slurp. Slurp.
    Fred had returned to his bowl.
    The smell of the dog food floated up to my nostrils as he ate.
    The delicious smell.
    I gripped the table with both hands, forcing myself to stay seated. I held on so tightly, my knuckles turned white.
    Fred’s slurping grew louder.
    I grew hungrier.
    I wanted that dog food.
    I had to have that dog food.
    I wanted it now.
    â€œNo! No! NOOO!” I chanted over and over. “I will not eat dog food!”
    I held on to the table until Fred finished eating. Then I let go, and my hands began to tremble. I sat on them for a few minutes to make them stop.
    I inhaled deeply, then let my breath out slowly.
    You are in control, I told myself. You did not eat the dog food. Now, go back to your book. Everything is okay.
    I forced myself to focus on the words. Fred stretched out in a corner of the kitchen, scratching at his flea bites.
    â€œHere, boy!” I called. “Sorry I pushed you!”
    Fred trotted over and plunked down on the floor next to me. I petted him with one hand and turned the page of my book with the other. This was another one of my favorite