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.
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.
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.
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.
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.