Werewolf Skin: From the New York Times–bestselling Goosebumps series, ignoring his family's warnings, a boy goes into the woods after dark and encounters werewolves.
Picture this—Alex Hunter, photography freak, hanging out in Wolf Creek. Who lives in the small town of Wolf Creek? Alex's uncle Colin and aunt Marta. They're professional photographers. Uncle Colin and Aunt Marta are pretty cool. They only have two requests. Don't go into the woods late at night. And stay away from the creepy house next door. Poor Alex. He just wanted to take a couple of pictures. But now he's about to find out the secret of Wolf Creek. Late one night. When the moon is full . . .
I stepped down from the bus and squinted into the sunlight. Shielding my eyes with one hand, I searched the small parking lot for Uncle Colin and Aunt Marta.
I didn't remember what they looked like. I hadn't seen them since I was four, eight years ago.
But the Wolf Creek bus station was so tiny. Just a little wooden shack in the middle of a big parking lot. I knew I couldn't miss them.
"How many suitcases?" the bus driver growled out of the side of his mouth. Despite the cold October air, he had a damp sweat stain on the back of his gray uniform.
"Just one," I said. I was the only passenger to get off at Wolf Creek.
Across from the bus station, I saw a gas station and a one-block stretch of small stores. Beyond that, I could see the woods. The trees shimmered yellow and brown, the autumn leaves still clinging to their branches. Dry, brown leaves fluttered across the parking lot.
The driver grunted as he hoisted up the sliding door to the baggage compartment. He pulled out a black bag. "This yours, kid?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
I shivered from a gust of cold wind. I wondered if Mom and Dad had packed enough warm clothes for me. They'd had to pack me up in such a hurry.
They weren't expecting to be called out of the country on business just before Halloween. They'd had to fly to France. And they'd had to find a place for me to stay for two weeks. Maybe longer.
My aunt and uncle were the lucky winners!
I adjusted the camera bag on my shoulder. I kept my camera on my lap the whole bus ride. I didn't want it bouncing around in the baggage compartment.
My camera is the most valuable thing I own. It's the old-fashioned kind with film. I don't go anywhere without it. And I seldom let it out of my sight.
The driver slid my suitcase over the pavement to me. He slammed shut the baggage compartment. Then he started back into the bus. "Someone picking you up?"
"Yes," I replied, searching for Uncle Colin and Aunt Marta again.
A mud-splattered blue van squealed into the parking lot. The horn honked. I saw a hand waving to me from the passenger window.