Nightmare Hour

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Enter the most terrifying place of all…the mind of R.L. Stine!
The Nightmare Hour…the time when the lights fade, the real world slips into shadow, and the cold, moonlit world of evil dreams takes over your mind.
What horror awaits a boy who has to spend Halloween in a darkened hospital? How do you outwit a ghost who wants your skin? What makes Nightmare Inn the most frightening place to visit?
In this spine-tingling collection of stories that inspired the hit TV show R.L. Stine’s The Haunting Hour, bestselling author R.L. Stine spins a web of terror that will trap you in the world of nightmares.
And there’s more… In Nightmare Hour, the author shares the secrets behind his twisted tales. Where did the idea for each bone-chilling story come from?
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123 printed pages
Publication year
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  • b4355860949shared an impression4 years ago
    👍Worth reading

  • Heathen Readsshared an impression4 years ago
    👍Worth reading


  • Nicole Riverahas quoted7 years ago
    The pumpkin farm stretched before me under a gray afternoon sky. I planned to pick out a big, round pumpkin for a Halloween jack-o’-lantern. But it had been a warm autumn, and as I made my way through the rows of pumpkins, I realized I’d come too late. Most of the pumpkins were soft and rotting, with dark-purple spots spreading over their sides and swarms of insects crawling over the decaying rinds.
    The sun went down as I continued my search. The air grew cold. I stopped when I heard a soft thudding sound. I watched as a pumpkin came rolling toward me. It rolled over wilted vines, over the flat, dark field--and stopped at my feet.
    I stared at it. What had made it roll? The field was totally flat. Suddenly vines began to wriggle and twist. Another pumpkin came rolling over the ground. I turned and hurried away without a pumpkin.
    When I wrote this story, I thought about that eerie, gray day--and the pumpkin field that came alive….
    “Halloween is ruined!” Mike declared. “It’s no fun trick-or-treating while it’s still light out! Why do we have to be home by eight o’clock?”
    Mom rolled her eyes. “Get in the car,” she told him. “And stop complaining. You know why there’s a curfew this year.”
    “Because parents are stupid,” Mike grumbled.
    “Because those kids disappeared last Halloween,” I said. “And the Halloween before.”
    Mike shrugged. “What’s that got to do with us?”
    “Come on, Mike,” I said. “Get in the car. Liz and I want to get going.”
    “But I don’t want to pick pumpkins. It’s bor-ring.” Mike crossed his skinny arms over his chest and made his pouty face. “Why do we have to go?”
    “Because we do it every year,” Mom replied patiently. She is used to Mike’s tantrums. We all are.
    “Let’s skip it and pretend we went,” Mike said. He’s a real wise guy. Mike is ten, two years younger than me, and he’s angry all the time.
    Mom says he can’t help it because he’s a redhead. “Redheads have tempers,” she says.
    I don’t know what red hair has to do with it. Mike is always growling and complaining

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