Master of chilling suspense R. L. Stine proves that you never outgrow a good scare. If he frightened you then, he'll terrify you now. . . .Ellie Saks is dying to escape the city. She's sick of dead-end jobs, her mother's disapproval, her loser ex-boyfriend, Clay, who won't take a hint, and the memories of a terrible incident that occurred years ago. When her best friend suggests a summer in the Hamptons, full of glitzy parties, cool cocktails, and hot dates, Ellie's on the first Jitney out. To fund all this glamour, Ellie takes a job as a nanny.From the outside, the family's beachfront home is perfect. But then Ellie meets four-year-old Brandon, who hasn't spoken for months. The boy's icy stare and demonic laughter make clear to Ellie that he is troubled, haunted by something too horrible for words.
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December 31, 2002
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Excerpt from The Sitter by R. L. Stine
What are you drinking ' I shouted.
My friend Teresa stared back at me. We had moved to the bar in the corner of the club, but it wasn ' t much quieter over here.
' What are you drinking '
She squinted at me. ' Huh '
' What . . . are . . . you . . . drinking ' I screamed over the music.
' Oh. ' Teresa held up her glass. The ice cubes jangled in a dark liquid, darker and thicker than Coke. ' It ' s Red Bull and J ' germeister. Here. Try it, El. '
She shoved the glass into my hand. I took a sip, swallowed, and felt my face shrivel up. ' It ' s disgusting. That ' s the worst thing I ever tasted. '
She smiled. ' I know. ' She took back the glass and raised it, toasting me.
The place was called Beach Club, even though it was nowhere near a beach. We were on Second Avenue on the East Side of Manhattan. It was our favorite club, our subterranean hideaway where we escaped nearly every weekend.
My name is Ellie Saks, and I ' m twenty-four years old. Why do I need a subterranean hideaway Don ' t ask.
A long metal stairway, dark and kind of creaky, like a subway entrance, led down to the club. And when we got to the bottom, our heels clicking on the rickety metal steps, we found ourselves in this amazing place, all silver and chrome and lights and mirrors.
Rows of silver tables and booths stretched along both walls, with the dance floor between them. Couples jammed the wide dance floor. Red and white lights pulsed in time to the throbbing dance music.
An enormous ceiling mirror reflected the dancers and the lights. Following Teresa to the curving chrome bar in the back, I had stared up at the upside-down dancers and thought it might be fun to be up there with them, graceful and oblivious, safe from the chaos below.