Read The Boy Who Ate Fear Street for Free Online

parts—the part about Paul Revere and the Battle of Bunker Hill.
    Totally focused now on the story, I continued to pet Fred and nibble away on my snack.
    Wait a minute, I thought. What snack? I searched the table for the eggs. Then I remembered I had thrown them away.
    I peered down at the food in my hand.
    Please let them be chocolate sprinkles, I prayed as I raised my hand slowly.
    I brought my hand right up to my eyes.
    I stared at the sprinkles between my fingers.
    I stared at them as they wiggled their tiny legs.
    â€œNoooo,” I moaned. “Oooooh, no! Fleas!”

11

    â€œI ’m eating fleas!” I shrieked.
    My stomach heaved.
    I clamped my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t throw up—and felt a flea crawl off my finger and across my cheek.
    â€œAghh!” I swiped it away.
    But now something tickled my throat. No, not a tickle. More like a sting.
    â€œOh, no! There’s a flea stuck in my throat!”
    I tried to cough it out, but its sharp legs dug in deeper and deeper.
    I charged upstairs to the bathroom.
    I grabbed my toothbrush and frantically brushedat my throat. I brushed and brushed until I couldn’t feel the flea’s pinching legs.
    Then I rinsed and watched the flea float down the drain.
    Ugh.
    I brushed my teeth. I brushed my gums. I brushed my tongue. I brushed the roof of my mouth.
    I didn’t stop brushing until my entire mouth turned too sore to brush anymore.
    I have to tell Kevin. Something is definitely wrong with me. Kevin will help me figure out what it is.
    I’ll have to tell him about the fleas, I realized. But I knew I didn’t have a choice. I needed help—fast.
    I dialed the Sullivans’ number. Aunt Sylvie answered the phone. “Hello.”
    â€œIt’s Sam Kinny,” I said. “Is Kevin there?”
    â€œHello? Hello?”
    â€œIt’s Sam Kinny,” I repeated. “Is Kevin there?”
    â€œHello. Who is this? I can’t understand you,” Aunt Sylvie said.
    Must be a bad connection, I thought. “It’s Sam Kinny,” I shouted into the phone. “Are Kevin or Lissa there?”
    â€œI’m sorry. I still can’t understand a word you’re saying,” she replied. “Concentrate hard—I’ll try to read your mind.”
    I hung up the phone.
    I redialed, hoping Kevin would pick up.
    â€œHello.” Aunt Sylvie again.
    Maybe she’s hard of hearing, I thought.
    â€œIt’s Sam,” I screamed into the phone. “Is Kevin there?”
    â€œOwww!” Aunt Sylvie cried. “Now you’ve hurt my ears. How rude!” She hung up on me.
    Okay. This is it. I’ll call once more, then I’m giving up. Aunt Sylvie picked up the phone before the first ring ended.
    â€œIt’s Sam Kinny,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your ears, but I was wondering if I could speak to Kevin. It’s kind of important.”
    â€œSlower! Slower! Please!” Aunt Sylvie said.
    Slower?
    What did she mean—slower?
    â€œIt’sSamKinny,” I repeated. “Iwanttospeakwith . . .”
    Yikes! Aunt Sylvie was right. I was talking fast. Really fast.
    I inhaled deeply. I counted to five.
    â€œIt’sSamKinny.”
    Oh, no!
    I tried again.
    â€œIhavetospeaktoKevin.”
    Now I couldn’t even understand what I was saying.
    â€œI’m not in the mood for jokes, young man,” Aunt Sylvie scolded. “Don’t call back again.” She slammed the phone down with a crash.
    â€œTsamny! Tsamny!” I repeated the sentence over and over, trying my hardest to slow down. But it didn’t work.
    I focused on my lips. My tongue. Trying to control them.
    â€œIt’sSamKinnyIwanttospeaktoKevinandLissa.”
    I couldn’t slow down no matter how hard I tried.
    â€œIt’sSamKinnyIwanttospeakKevandLisIt’sSamKinnyIwanttospeaktoKevandLis.”
    Oh, no! Now I couldn’t stop talking!
    I broke out in