Many of us read the Goosebumps series, from #1 ("Welcome To Dead House") to #62 ("Monster Blood IV"). But few know that after #62, author R.L. Stine kept writing for another decade. As these excerpts show, the later installments lacked that certain creative spark.

#812: Something About A Werewolf XXVII

Janice walked towards the door, the very scary door or whatever. It was dark, so she couldn't see anything at all, especially not – you guessed it – werewolves. Well anyway, the door creaked, she heard a sinister laugh, there was thunder and lightning, and long story short something ate her face. So there she is without a face, yadda yadda yadda, there's blood everywhere, a clown, a ventriloquist dummy, some more lightning, a mummy showed up and did some stuff, and that was pretty much it.

#944: The Chafing Loofah

Randy turned on the shower faucet, humming a cheery tune. What he did not realize was that something evil was lurking in the shower. Something on the end of a stick, next to the Pantene Pro-V. His supple buttocks glistened, unaware of what was to come. He picked up the loofah and began to cleanse himself with it, rubbing and lathering for far too long. Soon, a slight pink area began to develop on his skin. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, his buttocks rashed, a clown, a ventriloquist dummy, and Randy began to feel… mildly uncomfortable.

#1,017: The Grocery List

Brady knew he needed 2% milk, eggs, bread, orange juice, hummus (not the garlic kind), broccoli, iceberg lettuce, a clown, a ventriloquist dummy, tomatoes and a low fat snack, maybe yogurt. Oh, and now that Brady was thinking about it, I have a dentist appointment at 2:30.
#1,380: The Very Lonely Author

The has-been author sat by himself in his basement. He would have felt cold, if he'd known what it was to feel anymore. No, the only feeling he had now was a lack thereof, a numb emptiness that ate at him like one of the monsters in his first 1,379 misguided literary dumps. A door creaked, some thunder, a clown, a ventriloquist dummy, and he threw back a handful of Prozac and passed out to the soft lullaby of late-night infomercials.