Crack the creaky door to R.L. Stine's
Nightmare Room and what you're really stepping into is a twilight zone for 12-year-olds. Here, tween scenarios more twisted than getting caught at the mall with Grandma take flight, freaking out the kind of hapless middle- and high-schoolers we hook up with in
Scareful. First, normally Mr. Nice Guy would shrug off getting the cold shoulder from his dream babe, but a raw red rash he develops lights up the switchboard to his sinister side. Next, what happens when you cast aside the dolls you treasured as a kid? Mostly nothing, but battered old Buddy won't go into the box quietly. Wrapping things up is a pathological liar whose every elaborate ruse turns suddenly, scarily real. Dim the lights, pass the Doritos, and lock your doors--only a nationwide ban on MTV could send bigger swarms of kids (ages 8 to young teens) screaming into the night.
--Tammy La Gorce