Don't Stay Up Late (Fear Street) by R. L. Stine

By R. L. Stine

Within the small city of Shadyside, don't not sleep past due, simply because terrible issues can happen...

Both day and evening, Lisa Brooks is plagued with nightmares and hallucinations. may possibly they be brought on by the scary coincidence that landed her within the clinic for weeks? while Lisa reveals out neighbor is seeking a babysitter for her little boy, Lisa jumps on the probability to maintain busy and take her brain off of her troubling techniques. yet then the murders commence -- and her associates start demise one after the other. Are Lisa's nightmares coming precise? discover within the subsequent installment of R.L. Stine's worry highway sequence, Don't not sleep overdue.

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Additional resources for Don't Stay Up Late (Fear Street)

Sample text

He began to turn away to go back into the house. Coke Rymer put a wet hand on his shoulder. Wait a minute, feller. It ain't polite to go walking off while somebody's talking to you. I don't much like it when people don't treat me polite. He turned again. Get your hand off, he said. His voice was drowsy. I don't much like people giving me orders, neither. Especially when it's some chicken bastard like you. I don't know what you're doing, hanging around here anyhow. Why don't you just cut out while you got the chance?

But surely it was obvious, even to the boy, the superiority… Go on, go at it. I want to see you kill each other off. Mina, of course. She stood on the porch watching and now began to let herself gently down into the broken rocking chair. She rocked complacently, enfolding the whole scene with her still gaze. Go on, she said. Kill each other off, why don't you? Ain't neither one of you worth what it takes to keep you alive. It's been a long time since I seen a good fight. Let's see you do it. They looked at one another helplessly.

The simple fact that she countenanced Coke Rymer at all was unfathomable. All her motives were buried under the ocean. He sighed. Moving to the left still, still trying to get out of his sight every part of Coke Rymer and the knife, he struck with his foot something solid and metal. At first he couldn't find it; buried in the deep dust. He dug in and dredged it out: a handle for a water pump: It was lovely, it was about two and a half feet long, dull iron. It had a very slight S curve and the end of the handle was smooth, his hand fitted it perfectly.

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