Piano Lessons Can Be Murder (Goosebumps #13)
R. L. Stine
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Convinced that there is something creepy about his new piano teacher, Jerry soon hears terrifying stories about Dr. Shreek's music school and students who never completed their lesson alive.
work early on Fridays. I can drive him.” “That will end our lesson for today, Jerry,” Dr. Shreek said. “Practice the new notes. And I’ll see you Friday.” He followed my mom to the living room. I heard them chatting quietly, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I stood up and walked to the window. It had started to snow, very large flakes coming down really hard. The snow was already starting to stick. Staring into the back yard, I wondered if there were any good hills to sled on in
can concentrate on your fingering.” “Wow,” I said. “That’s really neat.” “Here. Put this on,” Mr. Toggle urged. He slipped a brown leather cap over my head. The cap had several thin wires flowing out the back, and it was attached to a small keyboard. “What is it?” I asked, adjusting the cap over my ears. “Blink your eyes,” Mr. Toggle instructed. I blinked my eyes, and the keyboard played a chord. I moved my eyes from right to left. It played another chord. I winked one eye. It played a note.
Then she came jogging toward me, her black hightops crunching over the snow. “How’s it going?” she asked. “Pretty snow, huh?” I nodded. “Yeah. Want to shovel some? I still have to do the walk.” She laughed. “No thanks.” She had a high, tinkly laugh, like two glasses clinking together. “You coming from a violin lesson?” I asked, still leaning on the shovel. “Yeah. I’m working on a Bach piece. It’s pretty hard.” “You’re ahead of me,” I told her. “I’m still doing mostly notes and scales.” Her
darkness was so black, it startled me. I stayed close behind my dad as we made our way down the creaking stairs. Back in my bed, I pulled the covers up to my chin. It was kind of cold in my room. Outside, the winter wind gusted hard. The bedroom window rattled and shook, as if it were shivering. Piano lessons might be fun, I thought. If they let me learn to play rock piano, not that drippy, boring classical stuff. After a few lessons, maybe I could get a synthesizer. Get two or three different
me. The words came flying out, almost beyond my control. She stopped playing and opened her eyes. She stared hard at me, studying me. Her smile faded quickly. Her face revealed no emotion at all. I stared back, into the gray. It was like looking at someone in a heavy, dark fog. With the music stopped, the house had become so quiet, so terrifyingly quiet. “Who—who are you?” I repeated, stammering in my tiny voice. Her gray eyes narrowed in sadness. “This is my house,” she said. Her voice was a