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THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN OF PASADENA

2014-03-12T02:39:00.002-07:00

THE ABOMINABLE
SNOWMAN OF PASADENA

Goosebumps - 38

R.L. Stine

1

All my life, I’ve wanted to see snow.

My name is Jordan Blake. My life has been twelve years of sun, sand, and chlorine. I’d never felt cold, ever—unless you count air-conditioned supermarkets. And I don’t. It doesn’t snow in the supermarket.

I’d never felt cold, that is, until the adventure.

Some people think I’m a lucky guy to live in Pasadena, California, where it’s always sunny and warm. It’s okay, I guess. But if you’ve never seen snow, it seems like something out of a science-fiction movie.

Fluffy white frozen water that falls out of the sky? It piles up on the ground, and you can make forts and snowmen and snowballs out of it? You have to admit it sounds weird.

One day, my wish came true. I got to see snow at last. And it turned out to be weirder than I thought.

Way weirder.

“Pay attention, kids. This is going to be cool.”

Dad’s face glowed under the red darkroom light. My sister, Nicole, and I watched him developing film. With a pair of tongs, he dipped a sheet of special paper in a chemical bath.

I’ve watched Dad develop film all my life. He’s a professional photographer. But I’d never seen him so excited about photos before—and that’s saying a lot.

Dad takes nature photos. Well, actually, he takes pictures of everything!

He never stops taking pictures. My mom says that once when I was a baby I saw Dad and screamed. I didn’t recognize him without a camera in front of his face. I used to think he had a zoom lens for a nose!

Our house is filled with embarrassing pictures of me—me as a baby in baggy diapers, me with food all over my face, me crying after scraping my knee, me hitting my sister…

Anyway, Dad had just returned from a trip to the Grand Tetons. That’s a mountain range in Wyoming—part of the Rocky Mountains. He was all worked up about the pictures he took there.

“I wish you kids had seen those bears,” Dad said. “A whole family of them. The cubs reminded me of you two—always teasing each other.”

Teasing. Ha. Dad thinks Nicole and I tease each other. That’s putting it mildly. Nicole—Miss Know-it-all—drives me crazy.

Sometimes I wish she’d never been born. I’ve made it my mission to make her feel the same way. I mean, I try to make her wish she’d never been born.

“You should have taken us with you to the Grand Tetons, Dad,” I complained.

“It’s very cold in Wyoming this time of year,” Nicole said.

“How do you know, Brainiac?” I jabbed her in the ribs. “You’ve never been to Wyoming.”

“I read up on it while Dad was away,” she explained. Of course. “There’s a picture book about it in the library if you want to know more, Jordan. It’s just right for you—it’s for first graders.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say back. That’s my problem. I’m too slow with the comebacks. So I jabbed her again.

“Hey, hey,” Dad murmured. “No jabbing. I’m working here.”

Dumb Nicole. Not that she’s dumb—she’s really smart. But in a dumb way—that’s my opinion. She’s so smart she skipped fifth grade—and landed in my class. She’s a year younger than I am and she’s in my class—and she gets straight A’s.

Dad’s pictures floated in the chemical bath, slowly becoming clear. “Did it snow in the mountains while you were there, Dad?” I asked.

“Sure, it snowed,” Dad replied. He was concentrating on his work.

“Did you go skiing?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “I was too busy working.”

“How about ice-skating?” Nicole asked.

Nicole acts as if she knows everything. But like me, she’d never seen snow, either. We’d never left Southern California—and you could tell by looking at us.

We’re both tan all year round. Nicole’s hair is greenish-blond from the chlorine in the community pool, and mine is brown with blond streaks. We’re on the school swim team.

“I’ll bet it’s snowing at Mom’s house right now,” Nicole said.

“Could be,” Dad replied.

Mom and Dad are divorced. Mom just moved to Pennsylvania. We’re going to spend the summer with her. But we stayed in California with Dad to finish out the school year.

Mom sent us some pictures of her new house. It was covered with snow. I stared at the pictures, trying to imagine the cold.

“I wish we stayed at Mom’s house while you were gone,” I said.

“Jordan, we’ve been over this.” Dad sounded a little impatient. “You can visit your mother when she’s settled. She hasn’t even bought furniture yet. Where would you sleep?”

“I’d rather sleep on a bare floor than listen to Mrs. Witchens snoring on the couch,” I grumbled.

Mrs. Witchens stayed with Nicole and me while Dad was away. She was a nightmare. Every morning we had to clean our rooms—she actually inspected them for dust. Every single night she served us liver, brussels sprouts, and fish-head soup with a tall glass of soy milk.

“Her name’s not Witchens,” Nicole corrected me. “It’s Hitchens.”

“I know that, Sicole,” I retorted.

Under the red light in the darkroom, the photos grew clearer. I heard excitement in Dad’s voice.

“If these shots come out well, I can publish them in a book,” he said. “I will call it The Brown Bears of Wyoming, by Garrison Blake. Yes, that has a nice ring to it.”

He stopped to pull a photo out of the liquid. It dripped as he stared at it.

“That’s weird,” he murmured.

“What’s weird?” Nicole asked.

He set the picture down without saying anything. Nicole and I glanced at it.

“Dad—” Nicole said. “I hate to break it to you, but that looks like a teddy bear.”

It was a picture of a teddy bear. A stuffed brown toy bear with a lopsided grin, sitting in the grass. Not the kind of creature you usually find in the Grand Tetons.

“There must be some mistake,” Dad said. “Wait until the rest of the photos develop. You’ll see. They’re amazing.”

He pulled up another picture. He studied it. “Huh?”

I grabbed the photo. Another teddy bear.

Dad picked up a third picture. Then a fourth. He moved faster and faster.

“More teddy bears!” he cried. He was frantic. Even in the darkroom, I could see the panic on his face.

“What’s going on?” he shouted. “Where are the photos I took?”

2

“Dad—” Nicole began. “Are you sure those bears you saw were real?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Dad boomed at her. “I know the difference between a brown bear and a teddy bear!”

He began to pace back and forth across the darkroom floor. “Did I lose the film somehow?” he murmured, clutching his head with one hand. “Could someone have switched it?”

“The weird part is that you were taking pictures of bears,” Nicole noted. “And you ended up with teddy bears. That’s just so strange.”

Dad furiously tapped his hands on the developing table. He muttered to himself. He was starting to lose it.

“Did I lose the film on the plane somehow? Switch carry-on bags with someone else, maybe?”

I turned my back to Dad, my shoulders shaking.

“Jordan? What’s the matter?” Dad grabbed my shoulders. “Are you all right?”

He spun me around. “Jordan!” Dad cried. “You’re—laughing!”

Nicole crossed her arms. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What did you do to Dad’s pictures?”

Dad frowned. His voice was calmer now. “All right, Jordan. What’s the big joke?”

I gasped for breath, trying to stop laughing. “Don’t worry, Dad. Your pictures are okay.”

He shoved one of the teddy bear shots in my face. “Okay! You call this okay?!”

“I borrowed your camera before you left for Wyoming,” I explained. “I took a bunch of shots of my old teddy bear, for a joke. The rest of the film should have your real bears on it.”

I can’t resist a good practical joke.

Nicole said, “I had nothing to do with it, Dad. I swear.”

Little Miss Goody-Goody.

Dad shook his head. “A joke?” He turned back to the photos and developed a few more. The next shot showed a real bear cub fishing in a stream. Dad laughed.

“You know,” he said, putting the picture of the real bear next to one of the teddy bear shots, “they don’t look as different as you’d think.”

I knew Dad wouldn’t stay angry. He never does. That’s one reason I like to play tricks on him. He likes to play practical jokes, too.

“Did I ever tell you about the trick I pulled on Joe Morrison?” he asked. Joe Morrison is a photographer friend of Dad’s.

“Joe had just gotten back from Africa, where he had spent months photographing gorillas. He was all excited about these fabulous gorilla shots he’d taken. I saw the pictures, and they were really spectacular.

“Joe had a big meeting set up with the editor of a nature magazine. He was going to go in and show the editor these photos. He was sure the magazine would snap them up in a second.

“Joe didn’t know that the editor and I had gone to college together. So I called her up and asked her to help me play a little joke on Joe.

“When Joe went to see her, he showed her the pictures. She looked at them without saying a word.

“Finally he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He blurted out, ‘Well? Do you like them or not?’ He’s an impatient guy, Joe.”

“What did she say?” I asked.

“She frowned and said, ‘You’re a good photographer, Mr. Morrison. But I’m afraid you’ve been tricked. The creatures you photographed aren’t gorillas at all.’

“Joe’s jaw practically fell off his face. He said, ‘What do you mean, they’re not gorillas?’

“She said, with a perfectly straight face, ‘They’re people in gorilla suits. Can’t you tell the difference between a real gorilla and a man in a gorilla suit, Mr. Morrison?’”

I chuckled. Nicole asked, “Then what happened?”

“Joe practically had a nervous breakdown. He snatched up the photos and stared at them. He shouted, ‘I don’t get it! How could that happen? I spent six months of my life studying people in gorilla suits?’

“Finally the editor burst out laughing and told him it was a joke. She loved the photos and wanted to publish them. Joe wouldn’t believe her at first—it took her fifteen minutes to get him to calm down.”

Dad and I both laughed.

“I think that’s really mean, Dad,” Nicole scolded.

I get my joker streak from Dad. Nicole takes after Mom. She’s more practical.

“Joe thought it was funny once he got over the shock,” Dad assured her. “He’s played his share of tricks on me, believe me.”

Dad swished another photo through the chemical bath. Then he held it up with his tongs. It showed two bear cubs wrestling. He smiled with satisfaction.

“This roll came out great,” he said. “But I’ve got a lot more work to do in here, kids. Go on outside for a while, okay?”

He turned the red light off and flipped on the normal light. Nicole opened the door.

“Don’t get all messed up and dirty, though,” Dad added. “We’re all going out to dinner tonight. I want to celebrate my luck with the brown bears.”

“We’ll be careful,” Nicole promised.

“Speak for yourself,” I said.

“I mean it, Jordan,” Dad warned.

“Just kidding, Dad.”

A wave of heat blasted us when we opened the darkroom door. Nicole and I stepped out into the backyard, blinking in the afternoon sun. It always takes my eyes a long time to adjust after I’ve been in the darkroom.

“What do you want to do?” Nicole asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’s so hot. It’s too hot to do much of anything.”

Nicole closed her eyes and zoned out for a minute.

“Nicole?” I nudged her. “Nicole? What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about the snow in Dad’s pictures of the Grand Tetons. I thought it would make me feel cooler.”

She stood perfectly still with her eyes closed. A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead.

“Well?” I asked. “Is it working?”

She opened her eyes and shook her head. “No. How can I imagine snow if I’ve never felt it?”

“Good point.” I sighed and gazed around me.

We live in a subdivision in the suburbs of Pasadena. There are only three different kinds of houses in our neighborhood. The same three house styles are repeated for miles around.

It’s so boring to look at, it makes me feel even hotter, somehow. Each block has a couple of palm trees, not enough to give much shade. There’s a vacant lot across the street from us, next door to the Millers’. The most exciting feature of our backyard—maybe the whole block—is Dad’s disgusting compost heap.

I squinted and stared some more. Everything appeared bleached in the sunlight. Even the grass looked almost white.

“I’m so bored I could scream,” I complained.

“Let’s ride our bikes,” Nicole suggested. “Maybe the breeze will cool us off.”

“Maybe Lauren will want to go with us,” I added.

Lauren Sax lives next door to us. She’s in our class at school. I see her so often, she might as well be my sister.

We rolled out our bikes from the garage and walked them over to Lauren’s. We left our bikes at the side of her house. Then we went around back.

We found Lauren sitting on a towel under a palm tree in her backyard. Nicole sat beside Lauren on the towel. I leaned against the tree.

“It’s so hot!” Lauren whined. She tugged on her yellow shorts. She’s tall and muscular, with long brown hair and bangs.

She has a nasal voice, good for complaining. “This is supposed to be winter. It’s winter everywhere else. A normal winter has snow and ice and sleet and freezing rain and cold, cold air. What do we get? Nothing but sun! Why do we have to be so hot?”

Suddenly I felt a pain in my back.

“Ow!” I jerked forward. Something stabbed me. Something stinging sharp—and ice cold! My face twisted in pain.

“Jordan!” Nicole gasped. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

3

I clutched the icy spot on my back. “What is it?” I cried. “It’s so cold!”

Nicole jumped to her feet and examined my back. “Jordan, you’ve been stabbed!” she announced. “With a purple Popsicle!”

As I turned around I heard mean laughter. The Miller twins jumped out from behind the tree.

I should’ve known. The Miller twins—Kyle and Kara. The twin pug noses, the beady little eyes, the matching short-cropped red hair. Yuck. They carried twin Super Soakers, red ones.

The Miller twins love practical jokes. They’re worse than I am. And much meaner.

Everyone in the neighborhood is afraid of them. They pounce on little kids waiting at the bus stop and rob them of their lunch money. Once they blew up the Saxes’ mailbox with a stink bomb. Last year, Kyle sucker-punched me during a basketball game. He thought it was funny to watch me turn purple.

The Millers like to pick on me more than anyone, for some reason.

Kara is just as scary as her brother Kyle. I hate to admit it, but Kara can take me out with one punch. I know that for a fact. She gave me a black eye last summer.

“‘Oh, it’s so hot. It’s so hot!’” Kara sneered, making fun of Lauren’s whiny voice.

Kyle flipped his Super Soaker from one hand to the other behind his back. He tried to make it look like a really complicated move.

“Arnold taught me how to do that,” he bragged.

Kyle wanted me to think he was talking about Arnold Schwarzenegger. He claims he knows Arnold. I have my doubts.

Nicole tugged on the back of my shirt. “Dad’s going to kill you, Jordan,” she said.

“Why?”

I craned my neck backwards. The back of my white polo shirt was stained dark purple.

“Oh, great,” I muttered.

“Dad said not to get messed up,” Nicole reminded me. As if I needed to be reminded.

“Don’t worry, Jordan,” Kyle said. “We’ll clean it off for you.”

“Uh—that’s okay,” I murmured, backing away. Whatever Kyle meant by “clean it off”, I knew I wouldn’t like it.

I was right.

He and Kara raised their Super Soakers and squirted me, Nicole, and Lauren.

“Stop it!” Lauren screamed. “You’re getting us all wet!”

Kyle and Kara laughed their maniac laughs. “You said you were hot!”

They drenched us. My shirt was so wet I could wring a glass of water out of it. I glared at them.

Kyle shrugged. “We were only trying to help.”

Yeah. Sure they were.

I should’ve been grateful that all they did was soak us. We got off easy.

I can’t stand the Miller twins. Neither can Nicole and Lauren. They think they’re so hot. Just because they’re thirteen and they have a swimming pool in their backyard.

Their father works at a movie studio. They’re always bragging about how they go to sneak previews and hang out with movie stars.

I haven’t seen a movie star show up at their house yet. Not once.

“Aw, you’re all wet,” Kara said, sneering. “Why don’t you take a bike ride to dry off?”

Nicole and I exchanged glances. When we’re alone, we don’t get along so well. But when the Millers are around, we have to stick together.

We knew the Millers too well. They wouldn’t mention our bikes without a reason. A bad reason.

“What did you do to our bikes?” Nicole demanded.

The Millers faked wide-eyed innocence. “Who—us? We didn’t do anything to your precious bikes. Go see for yourself.”

Nicole and I glanced around the side of Lauren’s house, where we’d left our bikes.

“They look okay from here,” Nicole whispered.

“There’s something wrong with them,” I said. “They look weird.”

We approached our bikes. They looked weird all right. The handlebars had been unscrewed and twisted backwards.

“Hope you have reverse gear,” Kyle snickered.

Normally, I’m not the kind of guy who goes around getting into fights. But something in me snapped. This time Kyle and Kara had gone too far.

I jumped on Kyle. We tumbled to the ground. We wrestled. I tried to pin him with my knee, but he pushed me over onto my side.

“Stop it!” Nicole screamed. “Stop it!”

Kyle rolled me onto my back. “You thought you could jump me, Jordan? You’re too big a wimp!”

I kicked him. He pinned my shoulder to the ground with one knee.

Nicole shouted hysterically, “Jordan! Look out!”

I glanced up. Kara stood over me, clutching a rock the size of her head. A mean grin spread across her face.

“Drop it, Kara!” Kyle ordered.

I tried to roll out of the way, but I couldn’t move. Kyle had me pinned.

Kara heaved the rock. Then she let it drop—right onto my head.

4

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The rock landed on my forehead—and bounced off.

I opened my eyes. Kara laughed like a hyena. She picked up the rock and dropped it on my face again. It bounced off, just like the first time.

Lauren grabbed it. “It’s made of sponge,” she announced. She squeezed it in her hand. “It’s a fake.”

Kyle laughed. “It’s a movie prop, moron.”

“You should’ve seen your face,” Kara added. “What a chicken!”

I kicked Kyle off me and pounced on him again. This time I was so mad I had the strength of two Kyles. I wrestled him to the ground. I had him pinned!

“What’s going on, guys?”

Uh-oh. Dad.

I leaped to my feet. “Hi, Dad. We were just kidding around.”

Kyle sat up, rubbing his elbow.

Dad didn’t even seem to notice that we’d been fighting. He was excited about something.

“Listen, kids—I have great news. Wilderness magazine just called. They want to fly me to Alaska!”

“Great, Dad,” I said sarcastically. “You get to go on another exciting trip while we stay here and die of boredom.”

“And heat,” Nicole added.

Dad laughed. “I called Mrs. Hitchens to see if she could come stay with you again—” he began.

“Not Mrs. Hitchens again!” I cried. “Dad, she’s horrible! I can’t stand her cooking. I’ll starve to death if she stays with us!”

“You will not, Jordan,” Nicole said. “Even if you ate only bread and water, you could survive a week easily.”

“Nicole? Jordan? Hello?” Dad said, knocking lightly on our heads. “Will you please listen to me? I haven’t finished yet.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Anyway, Mrs. Hitchens can’t come. So, I guess you two will just have to come along with me.”

“To Alaska?” I cried. I was too excited to believe it.

“Hurray!” Nicole yelled. We jumped up and down.

“You guys are so lucky!” Lauren said. Kara and Kyle stood by. Saying nothing.

“We’re going to Alaska!” I shouted. “We’ll get to see snow! Tons of snow! Alaskan snow!”

I was thrilled. And Dad hadn’t even told us the interesting part yet.

“It’s a strange project,” Dad continued. “They want me to track down some kind of snow creature—an Abominable Snowman.”

“Wow!” I gasped.

Kyle and Kara snorted.

Nicole shook her head. “An Abominable Snowman? Has anybody really seen him?”

Dad nodded. “Some kind of snow creature has been spotted. Who knows what it really is. Whatever it is, the magazine wants me to shoot photos of it. I’m sure it’s a wild-goose chase. There’s no such thing as an Abominable Snowman.”

“So why are you going?” Nicole asked.

I poked her in the ribs. “Who cares? We’re going to Alaska!”

“The magazine is paying a big fee,” Dad explained. “And even if we don’t find a snow creature, I’ll still get some great shots of the tundra.”

Lauren asked, “What’s a tundra?”

Dad began to reply, but Nicole stepped forward. “I’ll handle this one, Dad,” she interrupted. I felt like screaming. She does that in school all the time, too.

“A tundra is a huge frozen plain. It exists in the Arctic, in Alaska, and in Russia. The word tundra comes from the Russian, meaning—”

I clapped my hand over her big mouth. “Any other questions, Lauren?”

Lauren shook her head. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“Egghead here goes on forever if you don’t stop her.” I let go of Nicole’s mouth. She stuck her tongue out at me.

“This trip is going to be great,” I cried happily. “We’ll see ice and snow for real! We’re going hunting for an Abominable Snowman! Awesome!”

An hour earlier we’d been bored out of our minds. Now suddenly everything had changed.

Dad smiled. “I’ve got to go back to the darkroom for a while. Don’t forget—we’re going out to dinner tonight.” He wandered back across the lawn and into the house.

As soon as Dad was gone, Kara started laughing. “An Abominable Snowman! What a joke!”

Typical Kara—she was too chicken to say a word while Dad was around.

Kyle made fun of me, jumping up and down and squealing, “Alaska! Alaska! I’ll get to see snow!”

“You both will probably turn blue and freeze,” Kara sneered.

“We’ll be fine,” Nicole said. “It’s your turn to freeze!” She grabbed Kara’s Super Soaker and sent a spray of water into Kara’s face.

“Stop it!” Kyle shouted. He dove at Nicole. Nicole laughed and ran away, turning around to soak them every few feet.

“Give that back!” Kara yelled.

The Millers chased Nicole. Kyle raised his Super Soaker and let Nicole have it in the back.

Lauren and I ran after them. Nicole raced into our backyard. She turned around and squirted the Millers again.

“You can’t catch me!” she cried, shooting and walking backward.

She was backing right into Dad’s compost heap.

Should I warn her? I thought.

No way.

“Take that!” she shouted, blasting the Millers with water.

Then she slipped and fell backward—into the compost heap.

“Yuck,” Lauren groaned.

Nicole stood up slowly. Greenish-brown slime oozed in her hair and dripped down her back, her arms, and her legs. “Ugh!” she screamed, frantically wiping the glop off her hands. “Uggghhh!”

We all stood and stared. She looked like some kind of Abominable Snowman herself. All covered in glop.

We were still staring when Dad popped his head out the back door. “You kids ready to go to dinner?” he called.

5

“There it is!” Dad shouted over the roar of the small plane’s engine. “Iknek. That’s the airstrip.”

I stared out the window at the tiny brown patch where we’d be landing. For the last half hour I’d seen nothing but miles and miles of snow. Wow. It was so white!

It was cool the way the snow sparkled in the sunlight. It made me think of Christmas carols. I couldn’t get “Winter Wonderland” out of my head—and it was driving me crazy!

I watched for giant footprints as we flew. How big would an Abominable Snowman’s footsteps be? Big enough to see from a low-flying plane?

“I hope there’s a restaurant down there,” Nicole said. “I’m starving.”

Dad patted her shoulder. “We’ll have a big, hot meal before we set out. But after that, it’s camping food.”

“How are we going to build a fire in the snow?” Nicole asked.

“We’ll be staying in a little cabin,” Dad replied. “It’s a long way out in the tundra, but it’s better than sleeping in tents. There should be a stove in the cabin. I hope so, anyway.”

“Can we build an igloo and sleep in that?” I asked. “Or dig out an ice cave?”

“You can’t build an igloo just like that, Jordan,” Nicole snapped. “It’s not like a snow fort or something. Right, Dad?”

Dad took the lens cap off his camera and started taking pictures through the plane window. “Sure,” he said absently. “Uh-huh.”

Nicole turned to the window, too. I mimicked her behind her back. You can’t build an igloo just like that, I mouthed. She acts like she’s my teacher or something. It’s really embarrassing when she does it in front of everybody at school.

“How are we going to find the cabin?” Nicole asked. “Everything looks the same in all this snow.”

Dad turned and snapped a picture of her. “Did you say something, Nicole?”

“I was wondering how we’re going to find the cabin,” Nicole repeated. “Do you know how to use a compass, Dad?”

“A compass? No, but that doesn’t matter. A man named Arthur Maxwell is supposed to meet us at the airport. He’ll be our guide through the tundra.”

“I know Arthur,” the pilot shouted back to us. “He’s an old musher from way back. Knows everything about dogs and sleds. He knows this part of Alaska better than anybody, I guess.”

“Maybe he’s seen the Abominable Snowman,” I suggested.

“How do you know there is such a thing?” Nicole taunted. “We haven’t seen any sign of him yet.”

“Nicole, people have seen him with their own eyes,” I replied. “And if there’s no such thing, what are we doing here?”

“Some people say they’ve seen him,” Nicole said. “Or maybe they think they’ve seen one. I won’t believe it until I get more facts.”

The plane circled the small town. I played with the zipper on my new Arctic jacket. I’d been hungry a few minutes earlier, but now I was too excited to think about food.

There really is an Abominable Snowman down there, I thought. I know there is. I felt a chill, despite a blast of hot air from the plane’s heater.

What if we find him? What will happen then?

What will happen if the Abominable Snowman doesn’t like to be photographed?

The plane flew very low now, getting ready to land. We touched down with a bump and taxied along the runway. The plane lurched as the pilot put on the brakes.

Something big loomed at the end of the runway. Something huge, white, and monstrous.

“Dad, look!” I cried. “I see him! The Abominable Snowman!”

6

The plane squealed to a stop right in front of the big monster.

Dad, Nicole, and the pilot all laughed—at me.

I hate that. But I couldn’t blame them. The big white monster was a polar bear.

A statue of a polar bear.

“The polar bear is the symbol of the town,” the pilot explained.

“Oh,” I murmured. I knew I was blushing. I turned away.

“Jordan knew that,” Dad said. “He was just playing one of his practical jokes.”

“Uh—yeah.” I went along with it. “I knew it was a statue all along.”

“You did not, Jordan,” Nicole said. “You were really scared!”

I punched Nicole in the arm. “I was not! It was a joke.”

Dad put an arm around each of us. “Isn’t it great the way these two kid each other?” he said to the pilot.

“If you say so,” the pilot replied.

We hopped out of the plane. The pilot opened the cargo hold. Nicole and I grabbed our backpacks.

Dad had brought a huge, airtight trunk for film, cameras, food, sleeping bags, and other supplies. The pilot helped him carry it off the airstrip.

The trunk was so big, Dad could fit inside it. It reminded me of a red plastic coffin.

Iknek Airport was like a tiny wooden house, just two rooms. Two pilots in leather jackets sat at a table playing cards.

A tall, brawny man with dark hair, a thick beard, and leathery skin stood up and crossed the room to greet us. His gray parka hung open over a flannel shirt and deerskin pants.

This must be our guide, I realized.

“Mr. Blake?” the man said to Dad. His voice was low and hoarse. “I’m Arthur Maxwell. Need some help there?” He grabbed one end of the trunk from the pilot.

“This is an awfully big trunk you brought,” Arthur added. “Do you really need all this stuff?”

Dad reddened. “I’ve got a lot of cameras, tripods and things…. Well, maybe I overpacked.”

Arthur frowned at me and Nicole. “I’d say so.”

“Call me Garry,” Dad said. “These are my kids, Jordan and Nicole.” He nodded toward us.

Nicole said “Hi,” and I added, “Nice to meet you.” I can be polite when I have to be.

Arthur stared at us. Then he grunted.

“You didn’t mention kids,” he mumbled to Dad after a minute.

“I’m sure I did,” Dad protested.

“I don’t remember it,” Arthur replied, frowning.

Everyone was silent. We pushed through the airport door and started down the muddy road.

“I’m hungry,” I said. “Let’s go into town and get some food.”

“How far is it to town, Arthur?” Dad asked.

“How far?” Arthur echoed. “You’re looking at it.”

I stared around in surprise. There was only one road. It began at the airport and ended in a pile of snow about two blocks away. A few wooden buildings were sprinkled along it.

“This is it?” I cried.

“It’s not Pasadena,” Arthur grumbled. “But we call it home.”

He led us down the muddy road to a diner called Betty’s.

“I guess you’re hungry,” he grumbled. “Might as well eat a hot meal before we set out.”

We settled into a booth by a window. Nicole and I ordered hamburgers, french fries, and Cokes. Dad and Arthur ordered coffee and beef stew.

“I’ve got a sled and four dogs ready to go,” Arthur announced. “The dogs can pull this trunk of yours and the other supplies. We’ll walk beside the sled.”

“That sounds fine,” Dad said.

“Whoa!!” I protested. “We’re walking? How far?”

“Ten miles or so,” Arthur replied.

“Ten miles!” I’d never walked that far before. “Why do we have to walk? Why can’t we take a helicopter or something?”

“Because I want to take photos along the way, Jordan,” Dad explained. “The landscape is fascinating. You never know what we’ll come across.”

Maybe we’ll come across the Abominable Snowman, I thought. That would be cool.

Our food arrived. We all ate in silence. Arthur wouldn’t look me in the eye. He wouldn’t look any of us in the eye. He stared out the window while he ate. Outside on the street, a Jeep drove by.

“Have you ever seen this snow creature we’re looking for?” Dad asked Arthur.

Arthur speared a piece of meat with his fork and popped it into his mouth. He chewed. He chewed some more. Dad, Nicole, and I all watched him, waiting for his answer.

Finally he swallowed. “Never seen it,” he said. “Heard about it, though. Lots of stories.”

I waited to hear one of the stories. But Arthur kept on eating.

I couldn’t stand waiting any longer. “What kind of stories?”

He swabbed at some gravy with his bread. He stuffed it into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.

“A couple of people in town,” he said. “They’ve seen the monster.”

“Where?” Dad asked.

“Out by the big snow ridge,” Arthur said. “Beyond the musher’s cabin. Where we’re staying.”

“What does he look like?” I asked.

“They say he’s big,” Arthur said. “Big and covered with brown fur. You might think he’s a bear. But he’s not. He walks on two feet like a man.”

I shuddered. The Abominable Snowman sounded a lot like a vicious cave monster I saw in a horror movie once.

Arthur shook his head. “Personally, I hope we never find him.”

Dad’s jaw dropped. “But that’s what we’re here for. It’s my job to find him—if he exists.”

“He exists all right,” Arthur declared. “Friend of mine—another musher—he was out in a blizzard one day. Ran smack into the snow monster.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.” Arthur stuffed more bread into his mouth.

“We certainly do want to know,” Dad persisted.

Arthur stroked his beard. “The monster picked up one of the dogs and made off with him. My friend chased after him, trying to get the dog back. Never found him. But he could hear the dog whining. Pitiful howls. Whatever happened to that dog—it sounded pretty bad.”

“He’s probably a carnivore,” Nicole said. “A meat-eater. Most animals around here are. There’s so little vegetation—”

I jabbed Nicole. “I want to hear about the snowman—not your stupid nature facts.”

Arthur flashed Nicole an annoyed glance. I figured he was thinking, What planet is she from? That’s what I’m usually thinking, anyway.

He cleared his throat and continued. “My friend came back to town. He and another guy went out to try and capture the snow monster. Darn foolish, if you ask me.”

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Arthur said. “They never came back.”

“Huh?” I gaped at the big guide. I swallowed hard. “Excuse me? Did you say they never came back?”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “They never came back.”

7

“Maybe they got lost in the tundra,” Dad suggested.

“Doubt it,” Arthur said. “Those two knew what they were doing. The monster killed them. That’s what happened.”

He paused to butter another slice of bread.

“Close your mouth, Jordan,” Nicole said. “I don’t want to look at your chewed-up french fries.”

I guess my mouth had been hanging open. I shut it and swallowed.

Arthur seems like a weird guy, I thought. But he’s not lying to us. He definitely believes in the Abominable Snowman.

Nicole asked him, “Has anyone else seen the snow monster?”

“Yep. A couple of TV people from New York. They heard about what happened to my friend and came to town to investigate. They set out into the tundra. Never came back, either. We found one of them, frozen to death in a block of ice. Who knows what became of the other.

“Then Mrs. Carter—she lives at the end of Main Street—she saw the snow monster a few days later,” Arthur continued in a low voice. “She was looking through her telescope and spied him out in the tundra. He was chewing on bones, she said. Don’t believe me, go ask her yourself.”

Dad made a noise. I glanced at him. He was trying to keep from laughing.

I didn’t see what was so funny. This snow monster sounded pretty scary to me.

Arthur glared at Dad. “You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, Mr. Blake,” he said.

“Call me Garry,” Dad repeated.

“I’ll call you what I please, Mr. Blake,” Arthur said sharply. “What I’m telling you is true. That monster is real—and he’s a killer! You’re taking a big risk, chasing after him. No one has ever caught him. Anyone who goes out after him… doesn’t return.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Dad said. “I’ve heard stories like this before, in other parts of the world. Stories about monsters in the jungle or weird creatures in the ocean. So far the stories have never turned out to be true. I have a feeling the Abominable Snowman will be no different.”

Part of me really wanted to see the snow creature. But part of me hoped Dad was right. I don’t deserve to die, I thought—just because I want to see snow!

“Well,” Dad said, wiping his mouth. “Let’s get going. Everybody ready?”

“I’m ready,” Nicole piped up.

“Me too,” I said. I couldn’t wait to get out in the snow.

Arthur said nothing. Dad paid the lunch check.

We waited for change. “Dad,” I asked, “what if the Abominable Snowman is real? What if we run into him? What will we do?”

He pulled something small and black out of his coat pocket.

“This is a radio transmitter,” he explained. “If we get into any kind of trouble out in the wilderness, I can radio the ranger station in town. They’ll send a helicopter to rescue us.”

“What kind of trouble, Dad?” Nicole asked.

“I’m sure there won’t be any trouble,” Dad assured us. “But it’s good to be prepared for emergencies. Right, Arthur?”

Arthur smacked his lips and cleared his throat. But he didn’t reply. I figured he was angry because Dad didn’t believe his stories about the snow monster.

Dad returned the radio transmitter to his coat pocket. He left a tip for the waitress. Then we spilled outside into the cold Alaskan air, ready to head out for the frozen tundra.

Was an Abominable Snowman waiting for us somewhere out there?

We would soon find out.

8

Smack!

Bulls-eye. I hit Nicole in the middle of her backpack with a snowball.

“Dad!” Nicole cried. “Jordan hit me with a snowball!”

Dad had his camera in front of his face, clicking away, as usual. “Good for you, Nicole,” he said absently. Nicole rolled her eyes.

Then she ripped off my ski cap. She stuffed it with snow and smushed it on top of my head.

Snow trickled down my face. The cold burned my skin.

At first I thought snow was cool. I could mush it up in my hand to make snowballs. Fall down in it without getting hurt. Put it on my tongue and let it melt into water.

But I was beginning to feel the cold. My toes and fingers were getting numb. We had already walked two miles out of town. When I looked back, I couldn’t see it. I could only see snow and sky.

Only eight more miles to the cabin, I thought, wiggling my fingers inside my mittens. Eight more miles! It was going to take forever. And all around us, nothing but snow—miles and miles of it.

Dad and Arthur trudged beside the dogsled. Arthur had brought along four Alaskan huskies—Binko, Rocky, Tin-tin, and Nicole’s favorite, Lars. They pulled Dad’s big trunk and the other supplies in a long, narrow sled.

Nicole and I each carried a backpack filled with emergency food and other supplies. Just in case, Dad said.

In case of what? I wondered. In case we get lost? In case the dogs run away with the sled? In case the Abominable Snowman captures us?

Dad snapped pictures of the dogs, of us, of Arthur, of the snow.

Nicole threw herself backwards into a snowdrift. “Look—an angel!” she cried, waving her arms up and down.

She jumped up and we checked out the snow angel. “Cool,” I admitted. I lay on my back to make one, too. When Nicole came closer to inspect it, I whopped her with a snowball.

“Hey!” she cried. “I’m going to get you for that!”

I leaped up and darted away. The deep snow crunched under my shoes.

Nicole ran after me. We raced ahead of the dogsled.

“Be careful, kids!” Dad called after us. “Stay out of trouble!”

I stumbled in the snow. Nicole pounced on me. I wriggled free and bolted away.

What kind of trouble could we get into? I thought as my feet crunched along. There’s nothing but snow for miles around. We couldn’t even get lost out here!

I turned around and ran backwards, waving at Nicole. “Try and catch me, Miss Factoid!” I teased.

“Name-calling is so immature!” she yelled, chasing after me.

Then she stopped and pointed behind me. “Jordan! Look out!”

“Hey—I’m not falling for that old trick,” I called back. I skipped backwards through the snow. I didn’t want to take my eyes off her, in case she planned to pelt me with snowballs.

“Jordan, I mean it!” she screamed. “Stop!”

9

Thud!

I landed hard on my back in a pile of snow. “Unh!” I grunted, stunned.

I struggled to catch my breath. Then I stared around me.

I had fallen down some kind of deep crevasse. I sat shivering in the pile of snow, surrounded by narrow cliffs of bluish ice and rock.

I stood and looked up. The opening of the crevasse was at least twenty feet above me. Frantically, I clutched at the icy walls. I grabbed onto a jutting rock and fumbled for a foothold, hoping to climb out.

I hoisted myself up a couple of feet. Then my hand slipped and I slid back to the bottom. I tried again. The ice was too slick.

How would I ever get out of here?

Where were Dad and Nicole? I tried to warm my cheeks with my mittens. Why don’t they come to get me? I’m going to freeze down here!

Nicole’s face appeared at the top of the crevasse. I’d never been so happy to see her in my life.

“Jordan? Are you all right?”

“Get me out of here!” I shouted.

“Don’t worry,” Nicole assured me. “Dad’s coming.”

I leaned against the pit wall. The sunlight didn’t reach the bottom. My toes felt ready to break off. They were so cold! I jumped up and down to keep warm.

A few minutes later, I heard Dad’s voice. “Jordan? Are you hurt?”

“No, Dad!” I called up to him. He, Nicole, and Arthur all stared down at me from above.

“Arthur is going to lower a rope down to you,” Dad instructed. “Hold on to it, and we’ll hoist you out of there.”

I stepped aside as Arthur tossed one end of a knotted rope into the crevasse. I clutched the rope with my mittened hands.

Arthur shouted, “Heave!”

Dad and Arthur tugged on the rope. I planted my feet in footholds in the ice, bracing myself against the side of the crevasse. The rope slipped out of my hands. I clutched it tighter.

“Hold on, Jordan!” Dad called.

They pulled again. My arms felt as if they were going to be yanked out of their sockets. “Ow!” I cried. “Careful!”

Slowly they hoisted me to the top of the crevasse. I wasn’t much help—my feet kept slipping on the icy walls. Dad and Arthur each took one of my hands and dragged me out of the pit.

I lay on the snow, trying to catch my breath.

Dad tested my arms and legs for sprains and breaks. “You sure you’re all right?” he asked.

I nodded.

“It was a mistake to haul kids along,” Arthur grumbled. “The snow is not as solid as it looks, you know. If we hadn’t seen you fall, we never would have found you.”

“We’ve got to be more careful,” Dad agreed. “I want you both to stick close to the sled.” He leaned over the side of the crevasse and snapped a picture.

I stood up and brushed the snow from the seat of my pants. “I’ll be careful from now on,” I promised.

“Good,” Dad said.

“We’d better push on,” Arthur said.

We started walking again across the snow. I gave Nicole a shove once in a while, and she shoved me back. But we were quieter now. Neither of us wanted to end up frozen to death at the bottom of a snow hole.

Dad snapped away as we walked. “How much farther to the cabin?” he asked Arthur.

“Another couple of miles,” Arthur replied. He pointed to a steep mountain of snow in the distance. “See that snow rise, about ten miles off? That’s where the monster was last spotted.”

The Abominable Snowman had been seen by that snow rise, I thought. Where was he now?

Could he see us coming? Was he hiding somewhere, watching us?

I kept my eyes on the snow rise as we walked. It seemed to grow bigger as we came closer to it. The snow rise was dotted with pine trees and boulders.

After about an hour, a tiny brown speck appeared a mile or so away.

“That’s the abandoned musher’s cabin where we’ll stop for the night,” Dad explained. He rubbed his gloves together and added, “It sure will be nice to sit by a roaring fire.”

I clapped my mittens together to keep the blood flowing through my hands. “I can’t wait,” I agreed. “It must be minus two thousand degrees out here!”

“Actually, it’s about minus ten,” Nicole stated. “At least, that’s the average temperature for this area at this time of year.”

“Thank you, Weather Girl,” I joked. “And now for sports. Arthur?”

Arthur frowned into his beard. I guess he didn’t get the joke.

He fell behind us a little to check the back of the sled. Dad turned around to snap Arthur’s picture.

“When we get to the musher’s cabin I’ll take a few more scenery photos,” Dad said, as he changed his film. “Maybe I’ll photograph the cabin, too. Then we’ll all turn in. We have a big day tomorrow.”

By the time we reached the cabin it was almost eight o’clock at night.

“Took us too long to get here,” Arthur grumbled. “We left town after lunch. It should’ve taken us about five hours. The kids having accidents and all is slowing us down.”

Dad stood a few feet away from him, shooting a portrait of Arthur while he talked.

“Mr. Blake, did you hear me?” Arthur growled. “Stop taking my picture!”

“What?” Dad said, letting his camera drop to his chest. “Oh, yeah—the kids. Bet they’re hungry.”

I explored the musher’s cabin. It didn’t take long. The tiny wooden shack was empty except for an old wood-burning stove and a couple of broken-down cots.

“Why is the cabin so empty?” Nicole asked.

“Mushers don’t stop here anymore,” Arthur explained. “They’re afraid of the monster.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I glanced at Nicole. She rolled her eyes.

Arthur bedded the dogs in a lean-to outside the cabin. The lean-to was a shed built against the back cabin wall. It was filled with straw for the dogs to sleep on. I spotted a rusty old dogsled propped in a corner.

Then Arthur lit a fire and began to fix some supper.

“Tomorrow we’ll search for this so-called monster,” Dad announced. “Everybody get a good night’s sleep.”

After supper we crawled into our sleeping bags. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the howling wind outside. Listening for the thudding footsteps of an Abominable Snowman.

“Nicole, get off me!” She rolled over in her sleeping bag and jabbed her elbow into my ribs. I knocked her arm away and snuggled deeper inside my own toasty warm sleeping bag.

Nicole opened her eyes. Bright morning sunshine streamed into the cabin.

“I’ll be back in a minute to fix breakfast, kids,” Dad said. He sat in a chair, lacing up his snow boots. “First I’m going out to check on the dogs. Arthur went out to feed them a few minutes ago.”

He bundled up and stepped outside. I rubbed my nose—it was cold. The fire in the stove had gone out during the night. No one had relit it yet.

I forced myself to climb out of my sleeping bag and start pulling on clothes. Nicole began dressing, too.

“Do you think there’s a hot shower in this dump?” I wondered aloud.

Nicole smirked at me. “You know perfectly well there’s no hot shower, Jordan.”

“Oh, wow! This is incredible!” I heard Dad’s shout from outside.

I jammed my feet into my boots and raced out the door. Nicole pushed right behind me.

Dad stood at the side of the musher’s cabin, pointing in shock at the ground.

I gazed down—and saw deep footprints in the snow. Huge footprints. Enormous footprints.

So big that only a monster could have made them.

10

“Unbelievable,” Dad murmured, staring at the snow.

Arthur hurried over from the lean-to. He stopped when he saw the prints.

“No!” he cried. “He was here!”

His ruddy face grew pale. His jaw trembled with terror.

“We’ve got to get away from here—now!” he said to Dad in a low, frightened voice.

Dad tried to calm him down. “Hold on a minute. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“We’re in terrible danger!” Arthur insisted. “The monster is nearby! He’ll rip us all to shreds!”

Nicole knelt in the snow, studying the footprints. “Do you think they’re real?” she asked. “Real Abominable Snowman footprints?”

She thinks they’re real, I thought. She believes.

Dad knelt beside her. “They look pretty real to me.”

Then I saw a light glimmer in his eyes. He lifted his head and squinted at me suspiciously.

I backed away.

“Jordan!” Nicole cried in an accusing voice.

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

Dad shook his head. “Jordan. I should’ve known.”

“What?” Arthur looked confused—and then angry. “You mean the kid made these prints? It’s a joke?”

“I’m afraid so, Arthur,” Dad sighed.

Arthur scowled at me. Beneath his beard, his face reddened to the color of a slab of raw steak.

I cowered. I couldn’t help it. Arthur scared me. He sure didn’t like kids—especially not kids who play jokes.

“I’ve got work to do,” Arthur muttered. He turned and stomped away through the snow.

“Jordan, you crumb,” Nicole said. “When did you do it?”

“I woke up early this morning and sneaked out,” I admitted. “You were all sleeping. I carved the footprints over my own prints, with my mittens. Then I stepped in the prints on my way back, to cover my tracks.

“You believed,” I added, jabbing a finger at Nicole. “For a minute there, you believed in the snow monster.”

“I did not!” Nicole protested.

“Yes, you did. I got you to believe!”

I glanced from Nicole’s peevish face to Dad’s stern one. “Don’t you think it’s funny?” I asked. “It’s just a joke!”

Usually Dad liked my jokes.

Not this time.

“Jordan, we’re not at home in Pasadena now. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. The wilds of Alaska. Things could get very dangerous. You saw that yesterday when you fell down the crevasse.”

I nodded and hung my head.

“I’m serious, Jordan,” Dad warned me. “No more practical jokes. I’m here to work. And I don’t want anything to happen to you, or Nicole, or any of us. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad.”

No one said anything for a minute. Then Dad patted me on the back. “Okay, then. Let’s go inside and get some breakfast.”

Arthur returned to the cabin a few minutes later. He stamped the snow off his boots, glaring at me.

“You think you’re funny,” he muttered. “But wait till you see the snowman. Will you be laughing then?”

I swallowed hard.

The answer to his question was no. Definitely no.

11

After breakfast we hitched the dogs to the sled and set off for the snow rise. Arthur wouldn’t talk to me and would hardly look at me. I guess he was angry about my joke.

Everybody else has forgiven me, I thought. Why won’t he?

Nicole and I walked at the front of the sled with the dogs. Behind me I heard Dad’s camera clicking furiously. I knew that meant he’d found something good to photograph. I turned around.

A large herd of elk moved toward us, toward the snow rise. We stopped to watch them.

“Look at them,” Dad whispered. “Amazing.” He quickly loaded new film into his camera and started snapping away again.

The elk calmly picked their way across the snow, antlers high. They stopped to eat at a stand of bushes. Arthur pulled back the rein on the lead sled dog to keep him from barking.

Suddenly, one elk lifted its head. It seemed to sense something.

The other elk tensed up, too. Then they turned and began to gallop away across the tundra. Their hooves thundered over the snow.

Dad let his camera fall against his chest. “That’s strange,” he said. “I wonder what happened.”

“Something scared them,” Arthur said grimly. “It wasn’t us. And it wasn’t the dogs.”

Dad scanned the horizon. “What was it, then?”

We all waited for Arthur’s answer. But he only said, “We ought to turn around and head back to town right now.”

“We’re not going back,” Dad insisted. “Not after coming all this way.”

Arthur stared at him. “Are you going to take my advice or not?”

“No,” Dad replied. “I’ve got a job to do here. And I’ve hired you to do a job. We’re not going back without a good reason.”

“We’ve got a good reason,” Arthur insisted. “Only you won’t see it that way.”

“Push ahead,” Dad ordered.

Arthur frowned and shouted “Mush!” to the dogs. The sled began to move. We followed it, on toward the snow rise.

Nicole walked a few feet ahead of me. I picked up a pile of snow and patted it into a ball. But then I thought I’d better not throw it. No one seemed to be in the mood for snowball fights.

We marched through the snow for a couple of hours. I slipped off my mittens and wiggled my fingers. Frost kept collecting on my upper lip. I wiped it away.

We reached a stand of pine trees at the base of the snow rise. Suddenly the dogs stopped short. They began to bark.

“Mush!” Arthur shouted.

The dogs refused to go farther.

Nicole ran up to her favorite dog, Lars. “What is it, Lars? What’s the matter?”

Lars howled.

“What’s wrong with them?” Dad asked Arthur.

Arthur’s face paled again. His hands shook. He stared intently into the trees, squinting into the brightness.

“Something’s frightened the dogs,” he said. “Look how their fur stands on end.”

I patted Lars. It was true. His fur stood straight up. The dog growled.

“Not much scares these dogs,” Arthur said. “Whatever it is, it’s scaring them bad.”

The dogs all howled.

Nicole huddled close to Dad.

“There’s something dangerous on that snow rise,” Arthur said. “Something dangerous—and very near.”

12

“I’m warning you, Mr. Blake,” Arthur said. “We’ve got to go back.”

“No way,” Dad protested. “We’re not going back. I mean it.”

The dogs barked and skittered nervously. Arthur shook his head. “I won’t go any farther. The dogs won’t, either.”

Dad shouted, “Mush!” to the dogs. They howled and started backing up.

“Mush!” he cried again. Instead of going forward, the dogs tried to turn around in the snow.

“You’re upsetting them,” Arthur said. “They won’t go any farther—I told you that.

“If we turn around now,” Arthur added, “we can make it back to the cabin before it gets too late.”

“What are we going to do, Dad?” I asked.

Dad frowned. “Maybe Arthur’s right. Something is definitely frightening the dogs. There could be a bear or something nearby.”

“Not a bear, Mr. Blake,” Arthur insisted. “These dogs are spooked. And so am I.”

He marched away across the snow, heading back toward the musher’s cabin.

“Arthur!” Dad called. “Come back here!”

Arthur didn’t turn around. He didn’t say a word. He just kept walking.

He must be really scared, I thought. And that sent a chill of fear down my back.

Still barking excitedly, the dogs pulled the sled around and started following Arthur.

Dad peered into the woods. “I wish I could see what’s out there.”

“Let’s go check it out,” I urged. “Whatever it is, it’ll probably make a great photo.” That usually gets Dad.

He glanced back at Arthur, the dogs, and the sled, rushing toward the cabin. “No—it’s too dangerous. We have no choice. Let’s go, kids.”

We trudged back to the cabin. “Maybe I can persuade Arthur to push on tomorrow,” Dad muttered.

I didn’t say anything. But I had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy to get Arthur to climb that snow rise.

And maybe Arthur was right, I thought. Those dogs really were scared. It was definitely creepy.

Arthur was unhitching the dogs from the sled when we reached the cabin. The dogs had calmed down a lot.

I yanked off my backpack and collapsed on top of my sleeping bag.

“We might as well eat supper,” Dad grumbled. I could tell he was in a terrible mood. “Jordan—why don’t you and Nicole go gather some firewood. But be careful.”

“We will, Dad,” Nicole promised.

I stood up and started out of the cabin.

“Jordan!” Dad scolded. “Put your knapsack back on. I don’t want you going anywhere without it. Understood?”

“We’re just going for firewood,” I protested. “I’m tired of carrying it. We’ll only be gone for a few minutes—and anyway, Nicole is wearing hers.”

“No arguments,” Dad snapped. “If you get lost, that food could keep you alive until we find you. You leave this cabin, you wear that backpack. Is that clear?”

Boy, was he in a bad mood. “It’s clear,” I said, strapping on my pack.

Nicole and I crunched across the snow to the nearest trees. They lined a snow ridge about half a mile away.

We climbed the snow ridge. I made it to the top first.

“Nicole—look!”

On the other side of the snow ridge, I saw a frozen stream. The first water we’d seen since we’d set out.

Nicole and I skittered down the ridge and stared into the icy stream. I tested the ice with my foot.

“Don’t step on it, Jordan!” Nicole cried. “You might fall in.”

I tapped the ice with the tip of my boot. “It’s solid,” I told her.

“Still,” Nicole said. “Don’t take any chances. Dad will kill you if you have another accident.”

“I wonder if there are fish swimming under there,” I said, staring into the ice.

“We should tell Dad about this,” Nicole said. “He might want to photograph it.”

We left the stream to gather dead branches under the trees. We lugged them over the snow ridge and back across the snow to the cabin.

“Thanks, kids,” Dad said when we burst into the cabin. He took the wood from us and started a fire in the stove. “How about pancakes for supper tonight?”

He’s in a better mood now, I thought with relief.

Nicole told Dad about the frozen stream.

“Interesting,” Dad said. “I’ll go take a look at it after supper. I’ve got to find something to photograph besides all this ice and snow.”

The pancakes cheered all of us up—except for Arthur.

He ate a lot, but he didn’t say much. He appeared jittery. He dropped his fork on the floor. Muttering to himself, he picked it up and started eating without wiping it off.

When supper was over, Nicole and I helped Dad clean up.

We were gathering up the supplies when the dogs started to bark.

I saw Arthur freeze.

“What’s that?” I cried. “What’s upset the dogs?”

13

The dogs yelped and barked.

Was someone out there?

An animal? A monster?

“I’ll go check,” Arthur said solemnly. He pulled on his coat and wool cap and hurried out of the cabin.

Dad grabbed his coat. “Stay here,” he instructed Nicole and me. He followed Arthur.

We stared at each other, listening to the yelping dogs. A few seconds later, the barking stopped.

Dad poked his head back into the cabin. “Nothing out there. We don’t know what got them upset. But Arthur is calming them down.”

Dad grabbed his camera. “You two get some sleep, okay? I’m going to check out that stream. I won’t be gone long.”

He draped the camera over his fur coat collar. The cabin door slammed behind him.

We heard Dad’s footsteps crunching over the snow. Then silence. Nicole and I climbed into our sleeping bags.

I rolled onto my side, trying to get comfortable. It was after eight o’clock, but still light outside. The sun filtered through the window of the cabin.

The light reminded me of when I was little. Mom used to try to make me take a nap in the afternoon. I never could sleep in the daytime.

I closed my eyes. I opened them. I wasn’t sleepy.

I turned my head and glanced at Nicole. She lay on her back, her eyes wide open.

“I can’t sleep,” I announced.

“Me either,” she replied.

I squirmed in my sleeping bag.

“Where’s Arthur?” Nicole asked. “I wonder what’s taking him so long?”

“I guess he’s hanging out with the dogs,” I said. “I think he likes them better than he likes us.”

“That’s for sure,” Nicole agreed.

We tossed and turned some more. The sky stayed bright. The light poured in through the cabin window.

“I give up,” I groaned. “Let’s go outside and build a snowman or something.”

“Dad said to stay put.”

“We won’t go anywhere. We’ll stay by the cabin,” I assured her.

I crawled out of my sleeping bag and started getting dressed. Nicole sat up.

“We shouldn’t,” she warned.

“Come on. What could happen?”

She stood up and pulled on her sweater. “If I don’t do something, I’ll go stir-crazy,” she admitted.

We bundled up. I pulled open the cabin door.

“Jordan—wait!” Nicole cried. “You forgot your backpack.”

“We’re just going out the door,” I complained.

“Come on. Dad said we have to. He’ll be furious if he finds us outside. And he’ll be even more furious if you’re not wearing your pack.”

“Oh, all right,” I grumbled. I hoisted the pack over my shoulders. “Like something’s really going to happen to us.”

We stepped out into the cold. I kicked at the snow.

Nicole grabbed my coat sleeve. “Listen!” she whispered.

We heard the crunch of footsteps behind the cabin. “It’s Arthur,” I told her.

We crept around to the back. It was Arthur.

He crouched beside the dogsled, hitching up one of the dogs. Two others were already tied to the sled.

“Arthur!” I cried. “What’s up?”

Startled, he turned to us. He didn’t reply. Instead, he jumped on the back of the sled.

“Mush!” he commanded the dogs at the top of his lungs.

The dogs leaned forward, tugging hard. The sled began to slide away.

“Arthur! Where are you going?” I screamed. “Come back!”

The sled picked up speed.

“Arthur! Arthur!” Nicole and I ran after him, shouting his name.

But the sled raced farther and farther away from us.

Arthur never turned back.

14

Nicole and I chased after the sled, watching it grow tinier and tinier.

“Arthur! Come back!”

“He’s got our food!” I cried.

We couldn’t let him get away. We ran as fast as we could, our boots falling deep into the snow.

The sled climbed over a tall ridge of snow.

“Stop! Stop!” Nicole screamed. “Please!”

“We can’t keep up with the dogs,” I gasped.

“We have to try,” Nicole cried frantically. “We can’t let Arthur leave us here!”

The sled disappeared over the top of the ridge. We clawed our way up. The snow slid under our feet.

By the time we reached the top, Arthur and the dogs were far ahead of us. We watched in horror as they quickly disappeared across the tundra.

Exhausted, I collapsed in the snow. “They’re getting away,” I choked out.

“Jordan, get up!” Nicole pleaded.

“We can’t catch him,” I moaned.

Then Nicole said in a small voice, “Where are we?”

I stood up and gazed around. Snow, snow, snow. All around us, nothing but snow. No landmarks. No sign of the cabin.

Clouds had covered the sun. The wind picked up. Snow began to fall.

I had no idea where we were.

“Which way is the cabin?” I asked in a shrill voice. “Which way did we come?”

We scanned the horizon through the falling snow. I didn’t see the cabin anywhere.

Nicole tugged on my arm. “The cabin is that way. Let’s go!”

“No!” The snow came down harder and faster, stinging my eyes. I shouted into the wind. “The cabin’s the other way! That’s not the way we came.”

“Look!” Nicole yelled, pointing down. “Our tracks! We’ll just follow them home.”

We started down the ridge, following the ruts we’d made in the snow. The wind howled, growing stronger.

We followed our own footprints for a short while. It was so hard to see in the falling snow. All white and gray. The whole world. White and gray.

Nicole peered at me through the thick curtain of snow. “I can hardly see you!” she shouted.

We crouched low, searching for our footprints.

“They’re gone!” I cried. The snow had already covered them up.

Nicole clutched my arm. “Jordan, I’m getting scared.”

I was getting scared, too. But I didn’t tell Nicole.

“We’ll find the cabin,” I assured her. “Don’t worry. I bet Dad’s looking for us right now.”

I wished I believed it myself. The wind pelted us with hard, icy snow. I squinted into the wind. Nothing but white. White on white. White on gray.

“Don’t let go of me!” I shouted to Nicole.

“What?”

“I said, don’t let go of me! We could easily lose each other in the storm!”

She tightened her grip on my arm to show she understood.

“I’m so cold,” she shouted. “Let’s run!”

We tried to run through the snow, stumbling against the wind. “Dad!” we called out. “Dad!”

I had no idea where we were going—but I knew we had to go somewhere.

“Look!” Nicole cried, pointing through the thick snow. “I think I see something!”

I stared as hard as I could, but I didn’t see anything.

Nicole pulled me along. “Come on!” she shouted.

We ran blindly. Suddenly, the ground gave way under our feet.

Still holding onto Nicole, I felt myself being sucked down under the snow.

15

Down we fell. Down into the freezing white.

The snow rushed up, swirled around us.

And buried us.

Another crevasse, I thought. Another deep pit in the snow.

Much deeper than the first.

We both cried out as we landed. Tangled up in each other.

“Get off!” Nicole shrieked. “Where are we? Get off!”

Feeling dazed, I struggled to my feet. Then I grabbed both of her hands and tugged her up.

“Oh no,” Nicole groaned.

We both stared up to the top. I could barely make out the gray of the sky, high above our heads.

And all around us, high walls of snow. Powdery snow that blew down on us. I peered up to the top of the pit. Chunks of snow broke off the icy walls. They made soft thuds as they landed beside us on the snowy pit floor.

“We’re trapped down here!” Nicole wailed. “Dad will never find us. Never!”

I grabbed the shoulders of her coat. A chunk of snow fell off the pit wall and landed on top of my boots. “Try to stay calm,” I told her. But my voice trembled as I said it.

“Calm? How can I stay calm?” she demanded shrilly.

“Dad will find us,” I said. I wasn’t sure I believed it. I swallowed hard, trying to fight down my panic.

“Daaaaaad!” Nicole screamed. She cupped her hands around her mouth, raised her head toward the sky, and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Daaaaaaad! Daaaaaaaaad!”

I clapped a mitten over her mouth.

Too late.

I heard a low rumbling.

The rumbling became a roar as the snow walls began to crack and crumble.

Crumble down. Down on us.

Trembling in horror, I knew what was happening.

Nicole had started an avalanche.

16

As sheets of snow tumbled down on us, I grabbed Nicole.

I pushed her against the pit wall. Then I flattened myself against the wall, too.

The snow roared down.

I pressed myself tight against the wall—and to my shock, the wall gave way!

“Ooooh!” I let out a startled cry. Nicole and I tumbled through the side of the pit.

We stumbled forward into total darkness.

I heard a crash behind us. My heart pounding, I turned in time to see the pit fill up. Snow piled over the opening in the wall.

Nicole and I were sealed in. Shut in this dark hole.

Our way out was gone. The pit was gone.

We crouched in the dark tunnel-like opening, trembling, gasping in fright.

“Where are we?” Nicole choked out. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” I grabbed the wall. We seemed to be in a narrow passageway. The walls around us were made of rock instead of snow.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I could see a dim light at the end of the passageway.

“Let’s see what’s down there,” I urged Nicole.

We crawled on our hands and knees through the passage toward the light. The passage ended. We stood up.

We found ourselves in a big cave. The top of the cave towered high above our heads. Water trickled slowly down one of the walls. A dim glow came from somewhere near the back.

“The light must be coming from outside,” Nicole said. “That means there’s a way out of here.”

We crept slowly through the cave. The only sound I could hear was the drip, drip, drip of melting icicles.

Soon we’ll be out of here, I thought. “Jordan,” she whispered. “Look!”

On the floor of the cave I could make out a footprint. A gigantic footprint. Bigger than the fake one I’d made in the snow that morning.

Five of my shoes could fit inside that footprint.

I took a few steps—and saw another footprint.

Nicole grabbed my arm.

“Do you think it’s…?” She stopped.

I knew what she was thinking.

We traced the giant footprints across the cave floor. They led us straight to a shadowy corner in the back—and stopped.

I glanced up.

Nicole gasped.

We both saw it at the same time.

The creature.

The Abominable Snowman!

He loomed over us.

He stood upright like a human, covered in brown fur. Black eyes stared out of an ugly face, half-human, half-gorilla.

He wasn’t that tall—about a head taller than me—but he seemed huge. His body was thick and powerful, with gigantic feet and fur-covered hands—as big as baseball gloves.

“We’re t-trapped!” Nicole stammered.

She was right.

The entrance behind us had been blocked by the avalanche. There was no way we could slip past this giant creature.

No way.

The Abominable Snowman glared down at us. Then it started to move.

17

My teeth began to chatter.

I squeezed my eyes shut and trembled, waiting for the monster to grab us.

A second passed. Then another.

Nothing happened.

I opened my eyes. The snowman hadn’t moved.

Nicole took a step forward. “He’s frozen!” she cried.

I blinked in the dim light. “Huh?” It was true. The snowman stood frozen in a huge block of clear ice.

I touched the ice. The monster stood inside it like a statue.

“If he’s frozen in ice,” I wondered, “then what made those giant footprints?”

Nicole bent down to study the prints. She shuddered again at their huge size.

“They lead right to the block of ice,” she declared. “The snowman must have made them somehow.”

“Maybe he walked back here and accidently froze,” I suggested. I touched the back wall of the cave, where icy water dripped from above.

“Or maybe he goes into the ice to rest,” I added. “Like Dracula going to sleep in his coffin at dawn.”

I backed away. It was too frightening, being this close to him. But the monster stayed perfectly still under the thick ice.

Nicole leaned close to the ice. “Look at his hands!” she cried. “Or paws, or whatever.”

Like the rest of his body, his hands were covered with brown fur. He had thick fingers, like a man’s. Jutting out of them were long, sharp claws.

A chill ran down my spine at the sight of those claws. What did he use them for? Ripping wild animals to pieces? Tearing up people who got in his way?

He had powerful legs, with shorter claws on his toes. I studied his face. Fur covered his whole head, except for a circle of hairless skin around his eyes, nose, and mouth. The skin was a pinkish red. His lips were thick and white and set in a mean-looking grimace.

“He’s definitely a mammal,” Nicole declared. “The fur is a dead giveaway.”

I rolled my eyes. “This is no time for biology lessons, Nicole. Wait until Dad sees this. He’ll go crazy! If he can get a picture of this, he’ll be famous!”

“Yeah,” Nicole sighed. “If we can find Dad. If we ever get out of here.”

“There’s got to be a way out,” I said. I moved to a side wall and pressed it with my hands, searching for a hole, a chink in the rock, anything.

After a few minutes I found a tiny crack. “Nicole!” I cried. “I found something!”

She raced to my side. I pointed out the crack in the cave wall. She frowned with disappointment.

“That’s just a crack,” she said.

“You don’t know everything,” I protested. “Maybe there’s a secret door here. A hidden passage. Or something.”

She sighed. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

We pressed on the crack. We stuck our fingers into it. We kicked it. I even tried karate-chopping it.

Nothing.

“I hate to break this to you, Jordan,” she said. “But I was right. As always. All you found was a crack in the wall.”

“Well, keep looking,” I snarled. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

I kept searching. I ran my hands along the wall, my back to the monster.

Suddenly I heard a noise. A loud crack!

“Nicole!” I cried. “Did you find something?”

I whirled around. I realized Nicole hadn’t made that sound. She stared at the monster in horror.

“What?” I asked her. “What’s wrong?”

I heard another crack!

“The ice is cracking!” Nicole screamed. “The monster—he’s breaking out!”

18

Crack!

The block of ice splintered apart. Nicole and I pressed ourselves against a wall, watching in horror.

The Abominable Snowman burst from the ice. Chunks of ice smashed on the floor and shattered like glass. The snowman shook himself, growling like a wolf.

“Run!” I screamed.

Nicole and I took off. But there was nowhere to go. We scrambled to the other side of the cave—as far away from the monster as we could get.

“The passageway!” I cried. I ducked down and started to crawl through the passage.

Nicole grabbed me.

“Wait! It’s blocked! The avalanche—remember?”

Yes. Of course. The way out of the cave was blocked by tons of snow.

Across the cave, the monster uttered a ferocious roar that shook the walls.

Nicole and I cowered in a corner of the cave. I felt her trembling next to me.

“Maybe he didn’t see us,” I whispered.

“Then why is he roaring?” Nicole whispered back.

The monster twitched his gorilla nose in the air, sniffing.

Oh, no! I thought. Can he smell us from across the cave?

He turned his huge, furry head one way and then the other.

He’s searching for us, I realized. He smells us.

“Unh!” he grunted. He stared into a corner of the cave—our corner of the cave.

“Unh!” he grunted again.

“Oh, no!” Nicole moaned. “He sees us!”

The big creature staggered toward us, grunting with each heavy step.

I pressed myself against the cave wall, wishing the cave would swallow us up.

Anything would be better than having him swallow us!

The monster kept coming. His footsteps shook the floor of the cave. Boom, boom, boom.

We huddled on the floor. We tried to make ourselves as small as we could.

He stopped inches in front of us and roared again. A deafening roar.

“His teeth!” Nicole cried.

I saw them, too. Two rows of huge, razor-sharp teeth.

The monster growled.

And reached for us. His sharp claws flashed.

He swiped at me. I tried to duck away.

The monster snarled in frustration. He reached out again….

He clamped a powerful paw on Nicole’s head.

“Help!” Nicole screamed. “He’s crushing me!”

19

“Let go of her!” I shrieked.

But I knew I was helpless.

The Abominable Snowman growled and turned Nicole around roughly.

Then he reached behind her and grabbed her backpack. He ripped it off her shoulder with a sharp, hard tug.

“Hey!” I cried in horror.

With one claw he sliced open the canvas backpack. He reached inside. And pulled something out.

A bag. A bag of trail mix.

Nicole and I stared in amazement as he poured the trail mix into his mouth.

“Weird,” I choked out. “He likes trail mix.”

The monster crumpled up the bag and shifted through Nicole’s pack, searching for more.

“That’s all there is,” Nicole whispered to me.

With an angry growl, the monster tossed Nicole’s pack away.

“Now what?” Nicole whispered.

I reached into my own backpack, and with a trembling hand I yanked out my bag of trail mix. I heaved it at the monster.

The bag hit the floor and slid to the monster’s feet. He bent down. Grabbed it. Tore it open. And hungrily gulped down the trail mix.

When he finished, I shoved my pack toward him.

He grunted. Then he dumped out my stuff.

No more trail mix.

Uh-oh.

The monster stretched and roared. Then he reached down. With two gigantic arms, he grabbed Nicole and me.

He lifted us up.

He raised us toward his face.

Toward his mouth.

Preparing to eat us.

20

I struggled, but he was too strong. I pounded my fists on his chest. I kicked as hard as I could. He didn’t seem to feel it.

He clutched Nicole and me like a couple of dolls.

“Please don’t eat us!” I begged. “Please!”

The monster grunted. He draped us both over the crook of one arm. Then he staggered back across the cave, gripping us tightly.

I kicked him in the side. No reaction. Nothing.

“Let go!” I shrieked. “Let us down!”

“Where’s he taking us?” Nicole cried, bouncing as the creature tromped across the cave.

Maybe he wants to roast us, I thought grimly. Maybe he doesn’t like his kids raw.

He lugged us to the back of the cave. With one powerful swipe of the paw, he knocked a boulder aside. A narrow passage appeared behind it.

Nicole moaned. “Why didn’t we see that before? Maybe we could have escaped!”

“Too late now,” I groaned.

The snowman pulled us through the passage. We came out into a smaller cave, flooded with light. I glanced up.

Above us I could see the gray sky.

A way out!

Balancing us in one arm, the monster scaled the wall of the cave. With big, lurching steps, he climbed out of the hole.

Cold air blasted me in the face. But the monster’s body pulsed with heat.

The blizzard had stopped. Fresh snow covered the tundra.

The monster stumbled through the snow, grunting as he walked.

His gigantic feet sank deep into the snow. But with each huge step he covered a lot of ground.

Where was he taking us? Where?

Maybe he has another cave, I thought with a shudder. A cave with more monsters in it. His friends. They’ll all feast on us!

I tried again to break out of the snowman’s grip. I kicked and squirmed as hard as I could.

The monster growled. He dug his claws into my side.

“Ow!” I yelped. But I stopped squirming. If I moved, his claws dug deeper.

Poor Dad, I thought sadly. He’ll never know what happened to us.

Unless he finds our bones buried in the snow.

Suddenly, I heard barking. A dog!

The Abominable Snowman stopped. He growled and sniffed the air. Then he gently dropped Nicole and me in the snow.

We landed unsteadily on our feet.

Nicole stared at me in surprise.

We started to run, stumbling through the deep snow. I glanced back.

“Is he chasing us?” Nicole asked.

I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t see him now. I only saw white.

“Keep running!” I shouted.

Then I saw something familiar in the distance. A brown speck.

I bumped Nicole. “The cabin!”

We ran even faster. If we could just get to the cabin…

From the cabin we heard furious barking—the dog Arthur had left behind.

“Dad! Dad!” we shrieked. We burst through the door. “We found him! We found the Abominable Snowman!”

“Dad?”

The cabin stood empty. Empty and bare.

Dad was gone.

21

My eyes darted around the empty cabin.

“Dad? Dad?”

My heart skipped a beat. My throat went dry.

Where did he go?

Was he out searching for Nicole and me? Did he get lost in the snow?

“We—we’re all alone,” I murmured.

Nicole and I ran to the window. A thin layer of snow frosted the pane. We peered out into the bright sunlight.

No sign of Dad.

“At least the snowman didn’t follow us,” I said.

“Jordan, why did he drop us?” Nicole asked softly.

“I think the barking dog scared him,” I replied.

If that dog hadn’t barked, what would the monster have done to us?

As the question pushed into my mind, I heard the dog start to bark again. Nicole and I both gasped.

“The snowman—!” I cried. “He’s back! Hide!”

We glanced around, frantically searching for a good hiding place. The cabin was so bare—it wouldn’t take the monster long to find us.

“Behind the stove!” Nicole urged.

We dashed to the small, square stove and crouched behind it.

Outside the cabin we heard the slow, heavy footsteps of the monster.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Footsteps over the snow.

Nicole grabbed my hand. We froze, waiting. Listening.

Crunch, crunch.

Please don’t come into the cabin, I prayed. Please don’t capture us again.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The door burst open. A blast of cold air blew into the room.

“Jordan? Nicole?”

Dad!

We jumped out from behind the stove. There stood Dad, with his camera around his neck.

We both ran to him and hugged him. “Dad! I’m so glad it’s you!”

“Hi!” he replied. “What’s going on, guys? I expected you to be asleep.” He glanced around the cabin. “Hey—where’s Arthur?”

“He took off!” I cried breathlessly. “He took the sled. He took all the food and three of the dogs.”

“We chased after him,” Nicole added. “But he got away.”

Dad’s face filled with surprise, then horror. “I’d better radio for help. We won’t last long without food.”

“Dad—listen.” I blocked his way to the radio. “Nicole and I—found the Abominable Snowman!”

He sidestepped around me. “This is no time for jokes, Jordan. If we don’t get help, we could starve to death out here!”

“He’s not joking, Dad,” Nicole insisted, tugging Dad’s arm. “We really found the snowman. He lives in a cave under the snow.”

Dad stopped and studied Nicole. He always believes her. But this time he wasn’t sure.

“It’s true!” I cried. “Come on—we’ll show you!”

Nicole and I tugged him out the door.

“Jordan, if this is one of your tricks, you are going to be in major trouble,” he warned. “We’re in a serious situation here and—”

“Dad, he’s not kidding!” Nicole cried impatiently. “Come on!”

We led him out into the snow to the spot where the snowman had dropped us. We pointed out his huge footprints.

“Why should I believe this?” Dad said. “You faked the snowman’s footprints this morning, Jordan. These just look a little bigger.”

“Dad, I swear—I didn’t make these prints!”

“We’ll show you the cave, Dad,” Nicole promised. “Follow the footprints. You’ll see. It’s unbelievable!”

I knew Dad went along with us only because Nicole insisted. He trusted her. She never played jokes on him.

Leaning into the wind, we traced the giant prints across the snow. Dad couldn’t resist snapping pictures of them—just in case.

The footsteps led us back to the cave. They stopped at an opening in the ground.

“The cave is down that hole,” I told Dad, pointing.

I think Dad believed us now. “Let’s go. Check it out,” he said.

“Huh?” I cried. “Back down there? To the monster?”

Dad was already sliding down to the cave opening. He reached up to help Nicole climb down.

I hesitated. “Dad—wait. You don’t understand. There’s a monster down there!”

“Come on, Jordan,” Dad urged. “I want to see this for myself.”

I had no choice. Dad was going in there no matter what I said. And I didn’t want to wait outside alone. I scrambled down to the opening of the cave.

The three of us felt our way along the narrow passage until we reached the mouth of the big cave.

Keeping close together, Dad and Nicole walked in. But I stopped at the entrance and stared into the cave.

“Jordan! Come on!” Dad whispered.

There’s a monster in there, I thought with a shudder. A huge monster with long claws and sharp teeth.

We managed to escape from him once. Why are we going back? What’s going to happen to us in there?

I had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.

22

Dad grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the cave. I heard the drip of icy water against the back wall. I blinked in the darkness.

Where was he? Where was the Abominable Snowman?

I heard Dad’s camera clicking away. I tried to stay close to Dad. I cried out when I spotted the snowman. I expected him to roar and lumber after us.

But he stood stiffly, staring straight ahead.

Refrozen again. Inside a huge block of ice.

Nicole stepped closer to the block of ice. “How does he do that?”

“This is amazing!” Dad cried, snapping picture after picture. “Incredible!”

I stared up at the monster’s face. He glared out at us from inside the ice. His black eyes glittered, his mouth set in a toothy snarl.

“This is the most amazing discovery in history!”

Dad exclaimed. “Do you realize how famous we are going to be?”

He stopped shooting for a second and peered up at the brown-furred monster.

“Why stop here?” he murmured. “Why go home with nothing but photos? Why not take the snowman himself back to California? Do you know what a sensation that will create?”

“But—how?” Nicole asked.

“He’s alive, you know, Dad,” I warned. “I mean, he can crack out of that ice. And when he does, it’s really scary. I don’t think you could control him.”

Dad knocked gently on the ice, testing it. “We won’t let him out of the ice,” he said. “At least not until we’ve got him under control.”

Dad walked all the way around the block of ice, rubbing his chin. “If we cut the ice a bit, it might fit into the supply trunk,” he said. “Then we could carry the snowman back to California in the block of ice, locked in the trunk. It’s airtight, so the ice won’t melt.”

He stepped up close to the ice and snapped a few more shots of the snowman’s snarling face. “Let’s go get the trunk, kids.”

“Dad—wait.” I didn’t like this idea. “You don’t understand. The snowman could rush us! He let us go once. But why take another chance?”

“Look at his teeth, Dad,” Nicole pleaded. “He’s so strong, he picked us both up at once!”

“It’s worth the risk,” Dad insisted. “Neither of you is hurt, right?”

Nicole and I nodded. “Yes, but—”

“Let’s go.” Dad had made his mind up. He wasn’t going to listen to our warnings.

I’d never seen him so excited. As we hurried from the cave, he called to the snowman, “Don’t go away—we’ll be right back!”

We rushed over the snow to the cabin. Dad pulled the supply trunk outside. It was about six feet long and three feet wide.

“The snowman will fit,” he said. “But with him inside the trunk, it will be very heavy.”

“We need the dogsled to pull it,” Nicole said.

“But Arthur took the sled,” I reminded them. “So I guess the deal is off. We’ll just have to go home without an Abominable Snowman. Too bad!”

“Maybe there’s another sled around somewhere,” Dad suggested. “This is an old musher’s cabin, after all.”

I remembered the old sled I’d seen in the dog shed. Nicole had seen it, too. She led Dad to it.

“Fantastic!” Dad cried. “Now let’s go get that snowman before he escapes.”

We hitched Lars, our only dog, to the old sled and towed the supply trunk to the cave.

Then we crept silently into the cave, pulling the trunk behind us. “Careful, Dad,” I warned. “He might have broken out of the ice by now.”

But the Abominable Snowman stood where we’d left him, frozen in his block of ice.

Dad began to cut the ice down to size with a hacksaw.

I paced nervously. “Hurry!” I whispered. “He could burst out any minute!”

“This isn’t easy,” Dad snapped. “I’m working as fast as I can.” He hacked away.

Each second felt like an hour to me. I watched the snowman carefully for any signs of movement.

“Dad, do you have to saw so loudly?” I complained. “The noise could wake him up!”

“Relax, Jordan,” Dad said. But his voice was tight and shrill, too.

Then I heard a crack.

“Look out!” I cried. “He’s breaking out!”

Dad straightened up. “I cracked the ice a bit, Jordan.”

I studied the monster. He hadn’t moved.

“Okay, kids,” Dad said. “We’re ready.” Dad had cut the ice into a six-foot-long rectangle. “Help me slide this into the trunk.”

I opened the lid of the trunk. Nicole and I helped Dad tip the ice over and gently drop it into the trunk. It just barely fit.

We slid the trunk along the ground to the opening of the cave. Dad tied a rope around it and climbed out of the hole. “I’ll tie the rope to the sled,” Dad called from above. “That way Lars can help me hoist it out.”

“Hey,” I whispered to Nicole, “let’s sneak some snowballs into the trunk—just for fun. We can throw them at Kyle and Kara when we get home. Snow from the cave of the Abominable Snowman—they’ll never top that!”

“No—please. Don’t open the trunk,” Nicole begged. “We just barely got the snowman inside.”

“We can squeeze a few snowballs in,” I insisted. I quickly made a bunch of snowballs, packing them tight. Then I cracked open the trunk and slipped them inside, next to the block of ice.

I checked the monster one last time for signs of life. The ice was solid. We were safe.

“They won’t melt in there,” I said sealing the lid of the trunk shut. We locked it with the bolt and tightened the rope around it. I felt pretty sure the snowman wouldn’t be able to break out of there; even if he did crack through the ice.

“Ready?” Dad shouted from up above. “One, two, three—heave!”

Dad and Lars tugged on the rope until the chest lifted off the ground. Nicole and I squatted beneath it to help push it up.

“Again!” Dad yelled. “Heave!”

We pushed as hard as we could. “It’s so heavy!” Nicole complained.

“Come on, kids!” Dad called. “Push!”

We gave the trunk a shove. Dad and Lars tugged it over the lip of the cave opening.

Dad collapsed in the snow. “Whew,” he muttered, wiping his brow. “Well, the hardest part is over.”

He helped Nicole and me scramble out.

We all rested a few minutes. Then we dragged the trunk onto the sled. Dad secured it with the rope. Lars pulled the sled back to the cabin.

Once inside, Dad hugged us both. “What a day! What a great day!”

He turned to me. “See, Jordan? Nothing terrible happened.”

“We’re lucky,” I said.

“I’m so sleepy,” Nicole complained, sinking onto her sleeping bag.

I glanced out the window. The sun sat high in the sky, as usual. But I knew it had to be very late.

Dad glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. You two should get some sleep.” He frowned. “I’d hate to wake up here in the morning with no food, though. I’m going to radio for help. You guys can sleep when we get back to town.”

“Can we stay in a hotel?” I asked Dad. “In a bed?”

“If we can find one,” he promised. He opened his pack, searching for the radio.

He shuffled stuff around in his pack. Then he pulled things out, one by one. A compass. An extra camera. Cans of film. A pair of socks, balled up.

I didn’t like the look on his face. He turned the pack over and dumped everything on the floor. He sifted through it, again, getting frantic.

“Dad? What’s the matter?”

When he turned to me, he had a terrified expression on his face. “The radio,” he murmured. “It’s gone.”

23

“No!” Nicole and I both shrieked.

“I don’t believe it!” Dad cried, pounding his fist against his empty pack. “Arthur must have taken the radio so we wouldn’t report him.”

I stomped around the room, frightened and furious. Our dogs, our sled, our food—Arthur had taken them all.

And now the radio.

Did Arthur leave us here to freeze? To starve?

“Calm down, Jordan,” Dad said.

“But, Dad—” Nicole interrupted.

Dad shushed her. “Just a second, Nicole. I’ve got to think of a way out of this.” Dad searched the cabin. “Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic,” he instructed himself.

“But Dad—” Nicole said, tugging at his sleeve.

“Nicole!” I snapped. “We’re in huge trouble. We could die out here!”

“Dad!” she insisted. “Listen to me! You wrapped up the radio last night so it wouldn’t freeze. It’s in your sleeping bag!”

Dad’s mouth dropped open. “You’re right!” he cried. He hurried to his sleeping bag and reached inside. He dug into his sleeping bag—and pulled out the radio, wrapped in a wool scarf.

He switched on the radio and fiddled with the dials. “Iknek, Iknek. Come in, Iknek.”

Dad asked the Iknek airport to send us a helicopter. He tried to describe where we were.

Nicole and I smiled sleepily at each other.

“We’re going home!” she said happily. “Home to sunny, hot Pasadena.”

“I’m going to kiss a palm tree!” I declared. “I never want to see snow again.”

I had no idea that our snowy adventure was just beginning!

24

“Ahhhh,” I sighed. “Feel that sun? Nice and hot.”

“The radio said it’s a hundred degrees today,” Nicole reported.

“I love it!” I beamed. “Love it!”

I slapped more tanning lotion on my chest.

Our Alaska trip all seemed unreal, now that we were home in Pasadena. The cold, the snow, the wind blowing over the rolling white tundra. The snarling, brown-furred Abominable Snowman. It all seemed like a dream.

But I knew it was no dream.

Dad had hidden the trunk with the Abominable Snowman inside the darkroom in the backyard. Every time I passed it, I remembered the trip… remembered the creature lying frozen in there—and shivered.

In our swimsuits, Nicole and I caught some rays in the backyard. Good old sunny Pasadena. Where it never, never snowed.

Thank goodness.

Lauren came over to hear about our trip. I wanted to tell her the whole story. But Dad told us to keep quiet about it—at least until the snowman was safely settled somewhere.

“I don’t believe you two!” Lauren snorted. “A week ago you wouldn’t shut up about snow. Now you’re letting the sun burn you to a crisp!”

“Well, we did the cold thing and now we’re doing the hot thing,” I told her. “Anyway, I’ve seen enough snow to last me the rest of my life.”

“Tell me about the trip,” Lauren insisted. “Tell me everything!”

“It’s a big secret,” Nicole told her. She and I exchanged glances.

“Secret? What kind of secret?” Lauren demanded.

Before we could reply, Dad emerged from the darkroom. He squinted in the sunlight. He wore a down jacket, a ski cap, and gloves. He had turned the air-conditioning way up in the darkroom and covered the trunk with ice packs, to keep the snowman cold.

“I’m going into the city now,” he announced, removing his coat. Dad had a meeting with some scientists and wildlife experts in Los Angeles.

He wanted to turn the Abominable Snowman over to the right people. He wanted to be sure the snowman would be treated well.

“Are you kids going to be all right while I’m gone?” he asked.

“Of course,” Nicole replied. “We survived the Alaskan tundra. I think we can live through one afternoon in our own backyard.”

“My mom is home,” Lauren said. “She’ll be around if we need anything.”

“Good.” Dad nodded. “Okay, I’m off. But remember—Jordan and Nicole, are you listening? Don’t touch the supply trunk. Stay away from it—understood?”

“Gotcha, Dad,” I promised.

“All right. I’ll bring a pizza home for dinner.”

“Good luck, Dad!” Nicole called. I watched him jump into the car and drive off.

“So what’s the big secret?” Lauren asked as soon as Dad was gone. “What’s in the supply trunk?”

Nicole and I glanced at each other.

“Come on. Spill,” Lauren urged. “I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.”

I couldn’t resist. I had to tell someone. “We found him. We found him and we brought him back.”

“Found who?”

“The snowman!” Nicole exclaimed. “The Abominable Snowman!”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “For sure. And did you find the Tooth Fairy up there, too?”

“Yes, we did,” I joked.

“He’s lying in the darkroom right now,” Nicole told Lauren.

Lauren’s face twisted in confusion. “Who—the Tooth Fairy?”

“No. The Abominable Snowman. A real one,” I said. “Trapped in a block of ice.”

Along with four or five snowballs, I thought to myself.

Snowballs I could throw at Lauren. For a nice little surprise.

“Prove it,” Lauren challenged us. “You’re making it all up. You think you’re really funny.”

Nicole and I exchanged glances. I knew what she was thinking. Dad had just told us to stay away from the trunk.

“You two are as bad as the Miller twins,” Lauren complained.

That did it. “Come on,” I said. “We’ll show you.”

“We’d better not, Jordan,” Nicole argued.

“We won’t hurt anything,” I promised. “We’ll just pull open the lid a tiny bit so Lauren can see him. Then we’ll slam it shut. No harm done.”

I climbed off my lounge chair and started across the lawn to the darkroom. Nicole and Lauren followed me.

I knew they would.

I opened the darkroom door and switched on the light. A blast of cold air swept over me, making my bare chest tingle.

Nicole hesitated in the doorway. “Jordan, maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on, Nicole,” Lauren chided. “There’s no Abominable Snowman. You two are ridiculous!”

“We’re not ridiculous!” Nicole protested.

“We might as well show her, Nicole,” I said.

Nicole didn’t reply. She stepped into the darkroom and shut the door.

In my bathing suit, I was shivering from the cold. It was almost like being back in Alaska.

I knelt beside the huge trunk. I unhooked the latches.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted the heavy lid.

Peered inside.

And let out a chilling, bloodcurdling scream of horror.

25

Nicole and Lauren shrieked and leaped back.

Nicole backed into the wall with a crash.

Lauren ducked under the developing table.

I couldn’t keep a straight face. I started to laugh. “Gotcha!” I cried gleefully. I was so pleased with myself.

I had scared them to death. They were both stiffer than the Abominable Snowman. He lay frozen and still inside his block of ice.

“Jordan—you creep!” Nicole declared angrily. She punched me in the back.

Lauren punched me too. Then she peered into the open trunk.

And let out another scream. “He’s real! You—you weren’t kidding!” I could see that she was breathing hard.

“It’s okay, Lauren,” I assured her. “He can’t hurt you. He’s frozen.”

She stepped closer and stared down at him.

“He’s huge!” she cried in amazement. “His—his eyes are open. They’re so mean-looking!”

“Close the lid, Jordan,” Nicole insisted. “Quick. We’ve seen enough.”

“Now do you believe us?” I asked Lauren.

She nodded. “It’s… awesome!” She shook her head, stunned at the amazing sight.

Before I shut the lid, I sneaked two snowballs out of the bottom of the trunk. Snickering, I passed one to Nicole.

“What’s so funny?” Lauren asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” I said. I sealed the lid shut and latched the trunk. That’ll hold him, I thought. We’re safe. Dad will never know we sneaked a peek at the monster.

We left the darkroom, closing the door carefully behind us.

“That creature is just so awesome!” Lauren exclaimed. “What is your dad going to do with him?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Nicole replied. “Dad’s trying to figure that out.”

She held her hands behind her back, hiding the snowball from Lauren. Suddenly she shouted, “Hey, Lauren! Think fast!”

She threw the snowball at Lauren. It missed.

Splat! It hit a tree.

“Nice shot, ace!” I cried sarcastically.

But then I gaped at the tree in shock.

The snowball—it didn’t crumble to the ground.

It started to grow!

Thick white snow spread quickly up the tree trunk—and over the branches. Within seconds, the entire tree was covered with snow!

“Wow!” Lauren gasped. “Nicole—how did you do that?”

Nicole and I stared open-mouthed at the snow-covered tree.

I was so stunned, the snowball fell out of my hand.

I jumped back as it hit the ground—and spread!

“Oh, wow!” I shrieked. I watched snow spread over the lawn like a white blanket.

It spread under our bare feet. Over the driveway. Out to the street.

“Ooooh! It’s cold!” Nicole wailed, hopping from foot to foot.

“This is too weird!” I cried. “It’s a hundred degrees out—and the snow isn’t melting! It’s spreading—and growing deeper!”

I turned to see Lauren hopping and dancing, whirling around wildly. “Snow! Snow!” she sang. “It’s wonderful! Snow in Pasadena!”

“Jordan—” Nicole said quietly. “This isn’t right. We should have left this snow in the cave. It isn’t normal snow.”

Of course she was right. Any cave where an Abominable Snowman lives has got to be a weird place. But how could we have guessed—?

“Let’s build a snowman!” Lauren cried gleefully.

“No!” Nicole warned. “Don’t touch it. Don’t do anything, Lauren. Not until we’ve figured this out.”

I don’t think Lauren heard my sister. She was too excited. She kicked a spray of snow at an evergreen bush. The bush froze over with snow.

“What are we going to do?” I asked Nicole. “What’s going to happen when Dad comes home? He’ll kill us!”

Nicole shrugged. “Beats me.”

“But—but—you’re supposed to be the brain!” I sputtered.

“This is so cool!” Lauren squealed. “Snow in Pasadena!” She picked up a chunk of snow and started balling it up between her hands.

“Snowball fight!” she shouted.

“Stop it, Lauren!” I cried. “We’re in big trouble here. Don’t you understand—?”

Lauren fired the snowball at Nicole.

Instantly, thick white snow spread all over Nicole’s body. Covering her. Covering her until she looked like a snowman!

“Nicole!” I cried, running over the snowy ground to her. “Nicole—are you okay?”

I grabbed her arm. Stiff as an icicle. She was frozen solid!

“Nicole?” I stared into her snow-covered eyes. “Can you hear me, Nicole? Can you breathe in there? Nicole? Nicole?”

26

“Oh, no!” Lauren shrieked. “What have I done?”

My sister was a statue. A frozen, snow-covered statue.

“Nicole, I’m so sorry,” Lauren cried. “Can you hear me? I’m so sorry!”

“Let’s take her inside,” I suggested frantically. “If we get her in the warm house, maybe we can warm her up.”

Lauren grabbed one of Nicole’s arms. I grabbed the other. We carefully dragged her stiff body to the house. Her bare toes, hard as ice, left a long trail in the snow.

“She’s so freezing!” Lauren cried. “How can we melt the snow?”

“Let’s put her next to the oven,” I said. “Maybe if we turn it up full blast, the snow will melt.”

We stood her in front of the oven. For good measure, I turned on all the burners on top of the stove.

“That ought to do it,” I said. A bead of sweat trickled down my face. From the heat—or from worry?

Lauren and I watched and waited.

Watched and waited.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

The snow didn’t melt.

“It’s not working,” Lauren groaned. “Nothing’s happening.”

I tapped Nicole’s arm. Solid ice.

I tried to stay calm. But I felt as if a hundred butterflies were tap dancing in my stomach. “All right, it’s not working. We’ll have to try something else. Something else…”

Tears rolled down Lauren’s cheeks. “Like what?” Lauren demanded in a trembling voice.

“Well…” I racked my brain for the hottest place I could think of. “The furnace! We’ll hold her in front of the furnace.”

We dragged Nicole into the furnace shed behind the garage. The snow seemed to weigh a ton. It took all our strength to drag her.

I turned the furnace on full blast. Lauren stood Nicole in front of the open furnace door.

A blast of hot air sent Lauren and me staggering back. “If this doesn’t work, nothing will,” Lauren sobbed.

The heat roared out of the furnace. I saw reflections of the red flames on Nicole’s icy face.

My heart pounding, I watched to see the ice start to drip and the snow slide off her.

But the ice didn’t melt. My sister remained a human snow cone.

“Jordan—what are we going to do?” Lauren wailed.

I shook my head, thinking hard. “The furnace isn’t working. What else is hot?” I was too scared to think clearly.

“Don’t worry, Nicole,” Lauren told my frozen sister. “We’ll get you out of this—somehow.”

I suddenly remembered how warm the Abominable Snowman had felt when he carried us across the Alaskan tundra. There we were, ten degrees below zero, surrounded by deep snow, and heat had poured off the creature’s body.

“Come on, Lauren,” I ordered. “We’re taking her to the darkroom.”

Struggling and straining, we dragged Nicole back outside and across the backyard to the darkroom.

“Stay here,” I told Lauren. “I’ll be right back.”

I raced into the kitchen. I pulled open all the cupboards and drawers, desperately searching for one thing—trail mix.

Please, please let there be trail mix somewhere in this house! I prayed.

“Yes!” I found a plastic bag of trail mix behind an old box of spaghetti. I grabbed it and flew back to the darkroom.

Lauren stared at the bag in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Trail mix.”

“Trail mix? Jordan, can’t you wait to eat later?”

“It’s not for me—it’s for him.” I motioned at the trunk.

“What?”

I unlatched the trunk and pulled it open. The Abominable Snowman lay inside as before, frozen in the block of ice.

I grabbed a handful of trail mix and waved it above the snowman’s face. “Wake up!” I begged. “Please wake up! Look—I brought you some trail mix!”

“Jordan—have you totally lost it?” Lauren screeched. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I can’t think of any other way to save Nicole!” I cried.

My hand trembled as I frantically waved the trail mix over the snowman. “Come on! You know you love trail mix. Wake up! Please wake up! Come out and help us.”

I leaned over, staring hard at the monster’s eyes. Watching for him to blink. Watching for any signs of life.

But the eyes didn’t move. The creature stared lifelessly up through the block of ice.

I refused to give up.

“Yum, yum!” I shouted, my voice high and wild.

“Trail mix! Boy, is that good!” I popped a few raisins into my mouth and chewed. “Mmm-mm! Delicious trail mix. So good! So tasty! Come on—wake up and try some!”

“He’s not moving!” Lauren sobbed. “Give up, Jordan. It isn’t going to work.”

27

I jumped when I heard a soft sound. A faint crick.

I stared down at the block of ice.

Did the monster move?

No. Silence now. The Abominable Snowman’s black eyes glittered up at me, lifeless and blank.

Was it my imagination?

Lauren is right, I thought sadly. My plan isn’t working.

Nothing is working.

I gently touched my sister’s stiff, frozen arm. Maybe when Dad gets home, I hoped. Maybe he’ll think of some way to save her.

“What are we going to dooooo?” Lauren sobbed. She was no help at all.

Crack.

I heard it again—louder this time.

And then: Crrraaaaaccckkkk!

A long crack ripped across the ice.

The Abominable Snowman groaned.

Lauren leaped back with a wild scream. “It’s alive!”

The ice broke up. The furry snowman slowly pulled himself up, moaning.

Lauren cried out in fear. She pressed herself against the darkroom wall. “What’s he going to do?”

“Shhh!”

The monster shook shards of broken ice from his shoulders. He lifted himself out of the trunk. He uttered a low growl.

“Jordan, look out!” Lauren cried.

The monster lurched toward me. My heart jumped. I wanted to back away—or run away. But I couldn’t. I had to stay and help Nicole.

“Unh!” the snowman grunted. He swiped a giant paw at me.

Lauren let out another shrill scream.

I leaped back. What would the monster do?

“Unh!” the monster cried again. He took another swipe.

“Let’s get out of here!” Lauren shouted. “He’s going to hurt you!”

I wanted to run. But Nicole…

The monster swiped at me again—and snatched the bag of trail mix out of my hands.

I suddenly realized that was all he wanted. He had been grabbing for the trail mix.

He poured the trail mix into his mouth, gulping it down, swallowing it noisily. Then he tossed the bag away.

Lauren pressed her back against the corner of the darkroom. “Make him go back into the trunk!” she cried.

“Are you crazy? How can I do that?”

The snowman growled and staggered across the floor.

His heavy footsteps shook the floor. He stopped in front of Nicole.

He reached his powerful arms around her snow-covered body—and squeezed.

“Stop him!” Lauren screamed. “He’s crushing her!”

28

I couldn’t move. I stared in horror.

The big creature hugged Nicole hard—so hard that he lifted her off the ground.

“Stop!” I finally choked out. “You’re hurting her!”

Without thinking of the danger, I dove forward. I grabbed his furry arms with both hands—and struggled to pull him off my sister.

With an angry grunt, he brushed me away.

I stumbled back—and fell into Lauren.

I turned to see the monster squeezing Nicole.

Lauren pointed down at the floor. “Jordan—look!”

Gazing down, I saw a small puddle under Nicole’s feet. Water dripped off her and onto the floor. As it hit the floor, it evaporated. Vanished from sight.

Did I see Nicole’s toes wiggle?

Yes!

I stepped closer. Caught a glimpse of her face.

A dot of pink appeared on her cheeks.

Yes!

Chunks of snow dropped off her body. They thudded to the floor, melted, and disappeared.

I turned to Lauren. “It’s working!” I cried happily. “He’s defrosting her!”

A trembling smile crossed Lauren’s worried face.

A few seconds later, the snowman let Nicole go. The ice and snow had all melted and disappeared. The snowman gave a satisfied grunt and stepped back.

Nicole moved her arms stiffly. She rubbed her face, as if she were waking up.

“Nicole!” I cried, grabbing her by the shoulders. Warm. Her shoulders were warm. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, dazed. “What happened?”

Lauren ran up to Nicole and threw her arms around her. “You were frozen!” she said. “Frozen like a snowman! But thank goodness—you’re all right!”

I turned to see the snowman watching us.

“Thank you,” I called to him.

I don’t know if he understood me. He grunted.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lauren urged. “I’m freezing!”

“Maybe the sun will warm you up,” I told her.

We opened the darkroom door and stepped outside. The sun still beamed down. The air felt sweltering hot. But the whole yard was covered in snow.

“Oh, yeah,” Lauren murmured. “I forgot about that.”

“Hey—!” I cried out when I saw the Abominable Snowman leap out of the darkroom. “He’s escaping!” I shrieked.

“Dad will kill us!” Nicole cried.

All three of us started shouting at the creature.

He ignored our cries and thudded heavily across the snow. His black eyes narrowed on the snow-covered tree. He stepped up to the tree. Threw his arms around it. And hugged it tightly, just like when he had hugged Nicole.

I watched as the snow began to melt. The blanket of white slipped down, down, shrinking away—until the tree stood green and golden again under the sunlight.

“Wow!” I uttered, hands pressed against my face.

But the big, furry creature had more surprises in store.

With a loud grunt, he dropped to the snowy ground. As we stared in surprise, he began to roll in the snow.

The snow appeared to stick to his fur. As he rolled, the snow vanished beneath him.

Before long, the big creature was rolling on green grass. The last of the snow had vanished.

He jumped to his feet. His eyes went wide, and he uttered a pained cry.

“What’s the matter with him?” Lauren demanded.

The Abominable Snowman gazed around, stunned, at the green grass, the palm trees. Then he raised his eyes to the blazing sun.

He clutched his fur-covered head and let out a scream of terror.

He seemed confused for a moment. Frightened. Then he let out a deep grunt—and took off down the street. His big paws thudded heavily over the pavement.

I ran after him. “Wait! Come back!”

He tore through someone’s yard and kept running.

I gave up. No way I could catch him.

Nicole and Lauren caught up to me. “Where’s he going?” Nicole demanded.

“How should I know?” I snapped, struggling to catch my breath.

“I think he’s looking for someplace cold,” Lauren said.

Nicole agreed. “You’re probably right. He must be so hot. Pasadena is no place for an Abominable Snowman.”

“He’ll probably find a cave in the mountains,” I said. “It’s a lot colder up there. I only hope he finds a way to get trail mix.”

We trudged back to our yard. Green again. And hot. I knew that Nicole and I had one word in our minds—D-A-D.

He had instructed us not to touch the trunk. We had ignored his warning.

Now the snowman was gone. Dad’s big discovery. Dad’s big chance for fame.

Gone. Gone forever.

It was all our fault.

“At least Dad has his photos,” I said softly. “The photos will amaze everyone all by themselves.”

“I guess so,” Nicole replied, biting her bottom lip tensely.

We walked back to the darkroom to close up the supply trunk. I glanced inside the trunk. Two magic snowballs were left.

“Those things are dangerous. We’d better get rid of them,” Nicole warned.

“I’m not touching them.” Lauren backed away.

“You’re right,” I told my sister. “We should hide them somewhere. They’re too dangerous to keep around.”

Nicole ran into the house and returned with a heavy-duty garbage bag. “Quick—stuff them in here.”

I carefully scooped up each snowball and dropped it in the trash bag. Then I twisted the bag closed and knotted it tightly.

“Now what?” Lauren asked.

“We should blast them into outer space,” Nicole said. “If anyone gets hold of them and starts spreading snow around, we’ll be in big trouble. We need the Abominable Snowman to get rid of the snow—and he’s gone.”

“Pasadena could turn into a ski resort!” I joked. “We could ice skate on Kyle and Kara’s swimming pool.”

I shivered. I didn’t want to think about Kyle and Kara. And I didn’t want to think about snow. “We should bury the snowballs,” I told them. “But where?”

“Not in my yard!” Lauren protested.

I didn’t want to bury them in our yard, either. What would happen to them down there? Would they spread snow underground? Would snow spring up through the grass?

We left the darkroom and scanned the area for good burial spots.

“What about the empty lot?” Nicole suggested.

Across the street, right next to Kyle and Kara Miller’s house, stood a vacant lot. There was nothing in it but piles of sand and a few empty bottles.

“Perfect,” I declared. “No one will ever find the snowballs there.”

Nicole hurried to the garage and grabbed a shovel. We crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one saw us.

“The coast is clear,” I said.

I grabbed the shovel and dug a deep hole in the sand. It took longer than I thought. Sand kept falling back into the hole.

Finally, the hole was deep enough.

Nicole dropped the trash bag into the hole. “Good-bye, snowballs,” she said. “Good-bye, Alaska.”

I covered the hole with sand. Lauren smoothed it out so you couldn’t tell the sand had been dug up.

“Whew,” I groaned, wiping the sweat from my face. “I’m glad that’s over. Let’s go inside and cool off.”

I put away the shovel. Then Nicole, Lauren, and I got ourselves some cold apple juice and collapsed in front of the TV.

A short while later, we heard Dad’s car pull into the driveway.

“Uh-oh,” Lauren gasped. “I think I’d better go home now. See you guys later.” She hurried out the back door. “Good luck!” she called. The door slammed behind her.

I gave Nicole a nervous glance. “How angry will Dad be? He finds an amazing, rare creature, brings it home—we let it loose, and it runs away. That’s not so bad—is it?”

Nicole shuddered. “Maybe if we tell him the whole story, he’ll be so glad we’re not hurt that he won’t be angry.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Maybe.”

The front door swung open. “Hey, kids!” Dad called. “I’m home! How’s our snowman doing?”

29

We ate supper early that evening. Things were pretty quiet around the dinner table.

“I’m glad you kids are safe and sound,” Dad said for the fifth time. “That’s what counts.”

“Yeah,” Nicole said, chewing her pizza.

“Uh-huh,” I added quietly. I usually had three slices. Tonight I could barely manage one. And I left the crust on the plate.

Poor Dad. He was trying so hard not to get upset about losing the Abominable Snowman. But Nicole and I knew how bad he felt.

Dad dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza on his plate. “I’ll tell the Museum of Natural History that they’ll have to make do with the photographs.”

“Photographs are better than nothing,” I said.

“Better than nothing? Are you crazy?” Nicole cried. “Those pictures are going to amaze the whole world!”

Dad perked up. “That’s true. I mentioned them to some TV producers. They went wild.”

He stood and carried his plate to the sink. “I think I’ll go out to the darkroom and develop that film right now. These pictures are going to cheer me up. I mean, they’re historic. Historic!”

I was glad to see Dad snap out of his disappointment. Nicole and I followed him, eager to see the photos.

We sat quietly under the red light while Dad developed the negatives. At last he pulled the first set of contact sheets out of the chemical baths.

Nicole and I leaned close to see the pictures.

“Huh?” Dad uttered an astonished cry.

Snow. Nothing but snow. Ten pictures of snow.

“That’s strange,” Dad choked out. “I don’t remember taking those shots.”

Nicole flashed me an evil stare. I knew what she was thinking.

I held my hands up innocently. “I’m not playing any tricks. I swear!”

“You’d better not be, Jordan,” Dad warned sternly. “I’m in no mood for kidding around.”

Dad turned back to the chemical trays and developed another set of photos. As he pulled them up, dripping wet, we all squinted at them.

More snow. Nothing but snow.

“This can’t be happening!” Dad screamed. “The Abominable Snowman—he should be standing right there!” He pointed.

His hands shook as he grabbed the rest of the negatives and held them up to the red light. “The tundra shots came out fine,” he declared. “The dogs, the sled, the elk herd—all there. All perfect. All of them. But the shots in the monster’s cave—”

His voice trailed off. He shook his head sadly. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. How could this be? Not a single shot of the creature. Not one.”

I sighed. I felt so bad for Dad. I felt so bad for all three of us.

No Abominable Snowman. No photos of the Abominable Snowman.

It was almost as if he never existed. As if the whole thing never happened.

Nicole and I left Dad in the darkroom to finish his work.

We trudged around the house to the front. Nicole groaned and grabbed my arm. “Oh, no! Look!”

Across the street in the vacant lot, I saw the Miller twins kneeling down, digging in the sand.

“They’re digging up the snowballs!” I gasped.

“Those creeps!” Nicole growled. “They must have been spying on us while we buried them.”

“We’ve got to stop them!” I cried.

We hurried across the street, running full speed.

I saw Kyle rip open the garbage bag—and pull out one of the snowballs.

He swung back his arm and aimed at Kara.

“No—Kyle! Stop!” I screamed. “Don’t throw it! Stop! Don’t throw it, Kyle!”

THWOCK.

Stay Out of the Basement

2014-03-12T02:24:00.000-07:00

GOOSEBUMPS R.L. Stine: Stay Out of the Basement

"Hey, Dad -- catch!" Casey tossed the Frisbee across the smooth, green lawn. Casey's dad made a face, squinting into the sun. The Frisbee hit the ground and skipped a few times before landing under the hedge at the back of the house. "Not today. I'm busy," Dr. Brewer said, and abruptly turned and loped into the house. The screen door slammed behind him. Casey brushed his straight blond hair back off his forehead. "What's his problem?" he called to Margaret, his sister, who had watched the whole scene from the side of the redwood garage. "You know," Margaret said quietly. She wiped her hands on the legs of her jeans and held them both up, inviting a toss. "I'll play Frisbee with you for a little while," she said. "Okay," Casey said without enthusiasm. He walked slowly over to retrieve the Frisbee from under the hedge. Margaret moved closer. She felt sorry for Casey. He and their dad were really close, always playing ball or Frisbee or Nintendo together. But Dr. Brewer didn't seem to have time for that anymore. Jumping up to catch the Frisbee, Margaret realized she felt sorry for herself, too. Dad hadn't been the same to her, either. In fact, he spent so much time down in the basement, he barely said a word to her. He doesn't even call me Princess anymore, Margaret thought. It was a nickname she hated. But at least it was a nickname, a sign of closeness. She tossed the red Frisbee back. A bad toss. Casey chased after it, but it sailed away from him. Margaret looked up to the golden hills beyond their backyard. California, she thought. It's so weird out here. Here it is, the middle of winter, and there isn't a cloud in the sky, and Casey and I are out in jeans and T-shirts as if it were the middle of summer. She made a diving latch for a wild toss, rolling over on the manicured lawn and raising the Frisbee above her head triumphantly. "Show off," Casey muttered, unimpressed. "You're the hot dog in the family," Margaret called. "Well, you're a dork." "Hey, Casey -- you want me to play with you or not?" He shrugged. Everyone was so edgy these days, Margaret realized. It was easy to figure out why. She made a high toss. The Frisbee sailed over Casey's head. "You chase it!" he cried angrily, putting his hands on his hips. "No, you!" she cried. "You!" "Casey -- you're eleven years old. Don't act like a two-year-old," she snapped. "Well, you act like a one-year-old," was his reply as he grudgingly went after the Frisbee. It was all Dad's fault, Margaret realized. Things had been so tense ever since he started working at home. Down in the basement with his plants and weird machines. He hardly ever came up for air. And when he did, he wouldn't even catch a Frisbee. Or spend two minutes with either of them. Mom had noticed it, too, Margaret thought, running full-out and making another grandstand catch just before colliding with the side of the garage. Having Dad home has made Mom really tense, too. She pretends everything is fine. But I can tell she's worried about him. "Lucky catch, Fatso!" Casey called. Margaret hated the name Fatso even more than she hated Princess. People in her family jokingly called her Fatso because she was so thin, like her father. She also was tall like him, but she had her mother's straight brown hair, brown eyes, and dark coloring. "Don't call me that." She heaved the red disc at him. He caught it at his knees and flipped it back to her. They tossed it back and forth without saying much for another ten or fifteen minutes. "I'm getting hot," Margaret said, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun with her hand. "Let's go in." Casey tossed the Frisbee against the garage wall. It dropped onto the grass. He came trotting over to her. "Dad always plays longer," he said peevishly. "And he throws better. You throw like a girl." "Give me a break," Margaret groaned, giving him a playful shove as she jogged to the back door. "You throw like a chimpanzee." "How come Dad got fired?" he asked. She blinked. And stopped running. The question had caught her by surprise. "Huh?" His pale, freckled face turned serious. "You know. I mean, why?" he asked, obviously uncomfortable. She and Casey had never discussed this in the four weeks since Dad had been home. Which was unusual since they were pretty close, being only a year apart. "I mean, we came all the way out here so he could work at PolyTech, right?" Casey asked. "Yeah. Well . . . he got fired," Margaret said, half-whispering in case her dad might be able to hear. "But why? Did he blow up the lab or something?" Casey grinned. The idea of his dad blowing up a huge campus science lab appealed to him. "No, he didn't blow anything up," Margaret said, tugging at a strand of dark hair. "Botanists work with plants, you know. They don't get much of a chance to blow things up." They both laughed. Casey followed her into the narrow strip of shade cast by the low ranch-style house. "I'm not sure exactly what happened," Margaret continued, still half-whispering. "But I overheard Dad on the phone. I think he was talking to Mr. Martinez. His department head. Remember? The quiet little man who came to dinner that night the barbecue grill caught fire?" Casey nodded. "Martinez fired Dad?" "Probably," Margaret whispered. "From what I overheard, it had something to do with the plants Dad was growing, some experiments that had gone wrong or something." "But Dad's real smart," Casey insisted, as if Margaret were arguing with him. "If his experiments went wrong, he'd know how to fix them." Margaret shrugged. "That's all I know," she said. "Come on, Casey. Let's go inside. I'm dying of thirst!" She stuck her tongue out and moaned, demonstrating her dire need of liquid. "You're gross," Casey said. He pulled open the screen door, then dodged in front of her so he could get inside first. "Who's gross?" Mrs. Brewer asked from the sink. She turned to greet the two of them. "Don't answer that." Mom looks very tired today, Margaret thought, noticing the crisscross of fine lines at the corners of her mother's eyes and the first strands of gray in her mother's shoulder-length brown hair. "I hate this job," Mrs. Brewer said, turning back to the sink. "What are you doing?" Casey asked, pulling open the refrigerator and removing a box of juice. "I'm deveining shrimp." 'Yuck!" Margaret exclaimed. "Thanks for the support," Mrs. Brewer said dryly. The phone rang. Wiping her shrimpy hands with a dish towel, she hurried across the room to pick up the phone. Margaret got a box of juice from the fridge, popped the straw into the top, and followed Casey into the front hallway. The basement door, usually shut tight when Dr. Brewer was working down there, was slightly ajar. Casey started to close it, then stopped. "Let's go down and see what Dad is doing," he suggested. Margaret sucked the last drops of juice through the straw and squeezed the empty box flat in her hand. "Okay." She knew they probably shouldn't disturb their father, but her curiosity got the better of her. He had been working down there for four weeks now. All kinds of interesting equipment, lights, and plants had been delivered. Most days he spent at least eight or nine hours down there, doing whatever it was he was doing. And he hadn't shown it to them once. "Yeah. Let's go," Margaret said. It was their house, too, after all. Besides, maybe their dad was just waiting for them to show some interest. Maybe he was hurt that they hadn't bothered to come downstairs in all this time. She pulled the door open the rest of the way, and they stepped onto the narrow stairway. "Hey, Dad -- " Casey called excitedly. "Dad -- can we see?" They were halfway down when their father appeared at the foot of the stairs. He glared up at them angrily, his skin strangely green under the fluorescent light fixture. He was holding his right hand, drops of red blood falling onto his white lab coat. "Stay out of the basement!" he bellowed, in a voice they'd never heard before. Both kids shrank back, surprised to hear their father scream like that. He was usually so mild and soft-spoken. "Stay out of the basement," he repeated, holding his bleeding hand. "Don't ever come down here -- I'm warning you." 2 "Okay. All packed," Mrs. Brewer said, dropping her suitcases with a thud in the front hallway. She poked her head into the living room where the TV was blaring. "Do you think you could stop the movie for one minute to say good-bye to your mother?" Casey pushed a button on the remote control, and the screen went blank. He and Margaret obediently walked to the hallway to give their mother hugs. Margaret's friend, Diane Manning, who lived just around the corner, followed them into the hallway. "How long are you going to be gone, Mrs. Brewer?" she asked, her eyes on the two bulging suitcases. "I don't know," Mrs. Brewer replied fretfully. "My sister went into the hospital in Tucson this morning. I guess I'll have to stay until she's able to go home." "Well, I'll be glad to baby-sit for Casey and Margaret while you're away," Diane joked. "Give me a break," Margaret said, rolling her eyes. "I'm older than you are, Diane." "And I'm smarter than both of you," Casey added with typical modesty. "I'm not worried about you kids," Mrs. Brewer said, glancing nervously at her watch. "I'm worried about your father." "Don't worry," Margaret told her seriously. "We'll take good care of him." "Just make sure that he eats something once in a while," Mrs. Brewer said. "He's so obsessed with his work, he doesn't remember to eat unless you tell him." It's going to be really lonely around here without Mom, Margaret thought. Dad hardly ever comes up from the basement. It had been two weeks since he yelled at Casey and her to stay out of the basement. They had been tiptoeing around ever since, afraid to get him angry again. But in the past two weeks, he had barely spoken to them, except for the occasional "good morning" and "good night." "Don't worry about anything, Mom," she said, forcing a smile. "Just take good care of Aunt Eleanor." "I'll call as soon as I get to Tucson," Mrs. Brewer said, nervously lowering her eyes to her watch again. She took three long strides to the basement door, then shouted down, "Michael -- time to take me to the airport!" After a long wait, Dr. Brewer called up a reply. Then Mrs. Brewer turned back to the kids. Think he'll even notice I'm gone?" she asked in a loud whisper. She meant it to be a light remark, but her eyes revealed some sadness. A few seconds later, they heard footsteps on the basement stairs, and their dad appeared. He putted off his stained lab coat, revealing tan slacks and a bright yellow T-shirt, and tossed the lab coat onto the banister. Even though it was two weeks later, his right hand, the hand that had been bleeding, was still heavily bandaged. "Ready?" he asked his wife. Mrs. Brewer sighed. "I guess." She gave Margaret and Casey a helpless look, then moved quickly to give them each one last hug. "Let's go, then," Dr. Brewer said impatiently. He picked up the two bags and groaned. "Wow. How long are you planning to stay? A year?" Then he headed out the front door with them, not waiting for an answer. "Bye, Mrs. Brewer," Diane said, waving. "Have a good trip." "How can she have a good trip?" Casey asked sharply. "Her sister's in the hospital." "You know what I mean," Diane replied, tossing back her long red hair and rolling her eyes. They watched the station wagon roll down the driveway, then returned to the living room. Casey picked up the remote control and started the movie. Diane sprawled on the couch and picked up the bag of potato chips she'd been eating. "Who picked this movie?" Diane asked, crinkling the foil bag noisily. "I did," Casey said. "It's neat." He had pulled a couch cushion down to the living room carpet and was lying on it. Margaret was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the base of an armchair, still thinking about her mother and her aunt Eleanor. "It's neat if you like to see a lot of people blown up and their guts flying all over," she said, making a face for Diane's benefit. "Yeah. It's neat," Casey said, not taking his eyes off the glowing TV screen. "I've got so much homework. I don't know why I'm sitting here," Diane said, reaching her hand into the potato chip bag. "Me, too," Margaret sighed. "I guess I'll do it after dinner. Do you have the math assignment? I think I left my math book at school." "Sshhh!" Casey hissed, kicking a sneakered foot in Margaret's direction. "This is a good part." "You've seen this tape before?" Diane shrieked. "Twice," Casey admitted. He ducked, and the sofa pillow Diane threw sailed over his head. "It's a pretty afternoon," Margaret said, stretching her arms above her head. "Maybe we should go outside. You know. Ride bikes or something." "You think you're still back in Michigan? It's always a pretty afternoon here," Diane said, chewing loudly. "I don't even notice it anymore." "Maybe we should do the math assignment together," Margaret suggested hopefully. Diane was much better in math than she was. Diane shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe." She crinkled up the bag and set it on the floor. "Your dad looked kind of nervous, you know?" "Huh? What do you mean?" "Just nervous," Diane said. "How's he doing?" "Sshhh," Casey insisted, picking up the potato chip bag and tossing it at Diane. "You know. Being laid off and all." "I guess he's okay," Margaret said wistfully. "I don't know, really. He spends all his time down in the basement with his experiments." "Experiments? Hey -- let's go take a look." Tossing her hair back behind her shoulders, Diane jumped up from the chrome and white leather couch. Diane was a science freak. Math and science. The two subjects Margaret hated. She should have been in the Brewer family, Margaret thought with a trace of bitterness. Maybe Dad would pay some attention to her since she's into the same things he is. "Come on -- " Diane urged, bending over to pull Margaret up from the floor. "He's a botanist, right? What's he doing down there?" "It's complicated," Margaret said, shouting over the explosions and gunfire on the TV. "He tried to explain it to me once. But -- " Margaret allowed Diane to pull her to her feet. "Shut up!" Casey yelled, staring at the movie, the colors from the TV screen reflecting over his clothes. "Is he building a Frankenstein monster or something?" Diane demanded. "Or some kind of RoboCop? Wouldn't that be cool?" "Shut up!" Casey repeated shrilly as Arnold Schwarzenegger bounded across the screen. "He's got all these machines and plants down there," Margaret said uncomfortably. "But he doesn't want us to go down there." "Huh? It's like top secret?" Diane's emerald green eyes lit up with excitement. "Come on. We'll just take a peek." "No, I don't think so," Margaret told her. She couldn't forget the angry look on her father's face two weeks before when she and Casey had tried to pay a visit. Or the way he had screamed at them never to come down to the basement. "Come on. I dare you," Diane challenged. "Are you chicken?" "I'm not afraid," Margaret insisted shrilly. Diane was always daring her to do things she didn't want to do. Why is it so important for Diane to think she's so much braver than everyone else? Margaret wondered. "Chicken," Diane repeated. Tossing her mane of red hair behind her shoulder, she strode quickly toward the basement door. "Diane -- stop!" Margaret cried, following after her. "Hey, wait!" Casey cried, clicking off the movie. "Are we going downstairs? Wait for me!" He climbed quickly to his feet and enthusiastically hurried to join them at the basement door. "We can't -- " Margaret started, but Diane clamped a hand over her mouth. "We'll take a quick peek," Diane insisted. "We'll just look. We won't touch anything. And then we'll come right back upstairs." "Okay. I'll go first," Casey said, grabbing for the doorknob. "Why do you want to do this?" Margaret asked her friend. "Why are you so eager to go down there?" Diane shrugged. "It beats doing our math," she replied, grinning. Margaret sighed, defeated. "Okay, let's go. But remember -- just looking, no touching." Casey pulled open the door and led the way onto the stairway. Stepping onto the landing, they were immediately engulfed in hot, steamy air. They could hear the buzz and hum of electronic machinery. And off to the right, they could see the glare of the bright white lights from Dr. Brewer's workroom. This is kind of fun, Margaret thought as the three of them made their way down the linoleum-covered stairway. It's an adventure. There's no harm in taking a peek. So why was her heart pounding? Why did she have this sudden tingle of fear? 3 "Yuck! It's so hot in here!" As they stepped away from the stairs, the air became unbearably hot and thick. Margaret gasped. The sudden change in temperature was suffocating. "It's so moist," Diane said. "Good for your hair and skin." "We studied the rain forest in school," Casey said. "Maybe Dad's building a rain forest." "Maybe," Margaret said uncertainly. Why did she feel so strange? Was it just because they were invading their father's domain? Doing something he had told them not to do? She held back, gazing in both directions. The basement was divided into two large, rectangular rooms. To the left, an unfinished rec room stood in darkness. She could barely make out the outlines of the Ping-Pong table in the center of the room. The workroom to the right was brightly lit, so bright they had to blink and wait for their eyes to adjust. Beams of white light poured down from large halogen lamps on tracks in the ceiling. "Wow! Look!" Casey cried, his eyes wide as he stepped excitedly toward the light. Reaching up toward the lights were shiny, tall plants, dozens of them, thick-stalked and broad-leafed, planted close together in an enormous, low trough of dark soil. "It's like a jungle!" Margaret exclaimed, following Casey into the white glare. The plants, in fact, resembled jungle plants -- leafy vines and tall, treelike plants with long, slender tendrils, fragile-looking ferns, plants with gnarled, cream-colored roots poking up like bony knees from the soil. "It's like a swamp or something," Diane said. "Did your father really grow these things in just five or six weeks?" "Yeah. I'm pretty sure," Margaret replied, staring at the enormous red tomatoes on a slender, yellow stalk. "Ooh. Feel this one," Diane said. Margaret glanced over to find her friend rubbing her hand over a large, flat leaf the shape of a teardrop. "Diane -- we shouldn't touch -- " "I know, I know," Diane said, not letting go of the leaf. "But just rub your hand on it." Margaret reluctantly obeyed. "It doesn't feel like a leaf," she said as Diane moved over to examine a large fern. "It's so smooth. Like glass." The three of them stood under the bright, white lights, examining the plants for several minutes, touching the thick stalks, running their hands over the smooth, warm leaves, surprised by the enormous size of the fruits some of the plants had produced. "It's too hot down here," Casey complained. He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and dropped it onto the floor. "What a bod!" Diane teased him. He stuck out his tongue at her. Then his pale blue eyes grew wide and he seemed to freeze in surprise. "Hey!" "Casey -- what's the matter?" Margaret asked, hurrying over to him. "This one -- " He pointed to a tall, treelike plant. "It's breathing!" Diane laughed. But Margaret heard it, too. She grabbed Casey's bare shoulder and listened. Yes. She could hear breathing sounds, and they seemed to be coming from the tall, leafy tree. "What's your problem?" Diane asked, seeing the amazed expressions on Casey's and Margaret's faces. "Casey's right," Margaret said softly, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound. "You can hear it breathing." Diane rolled her eyes. "Maybe it has a cold. Maybe its vine is stuffed up." She laughed at her own joke, but her two companions didn't join in. "I don't hear it." She moved closer. All three of them listened. Silence. "It -- stopped," Margaret said. "Stop it, you two," Diane scolded. "You're not going to scare me." "No. Really," Margaret protested. "Hey -- look at this!" Casey had already moved on to something else. He was standing in front of a tall glass case that stood on the other side of the plants. It looked a little like a phone booth, with a shelf inside about shoulder-high, and dozens of wires attached to the back and sides. Margaret's eyes followed the wires to a similar glass booth a few feet away. Some kind of electrical generator stood between the two booths and appeared to be connected to both of them. "What could that be?" Diane asked, hurrying over to Casey. "Don't touch it," Margaret warned, giving the breathing plant one final glance, then joining the others. But Casey reached out to the glass door on the front of the booth. "I just want to see if this opens," he said. He grabbed the glass -- and his eyes went wide with shock. His entire body began to shake and vibrate. His head jerked wildly from side to side. His eyes rolled up in his head. "Oh, help!" he managed to cry, his body vibrating and shaking harder and faster. "Help me! I -- can't stop!" 4 "Help me!" Casey's whole body shook as if an electrical current were charging through him. His head jerked on his shoulders, and his eyes looked wild and dazed. "Please!" Margaret and Diane stared in open-mouthed horror. Margaret was the first to move. She lunged at Casey, and reached out to try to pull him away from the glass. "Margaret -- don't!" Diane screamed. "Don't touch him!" "But we have to do something!" Margaret cried. It took both girls a while to realize that Casey had stopped shaking. And was laughing. "Casey?" Margaret asked, staring at him, her terrified expression fading to astonishment. He was leaning against the glass, his body still now, his mouth wrapped in a broad, mischievous grin. "Gotcha!" he declared. And then began to laugh even harder, pointing at them and repeating the phrase through his triumphant laughter. "Gotcha! Gotcha!" "That wasn't funny!" Margaret screamed. "You were faking it?! I don't believe it!" Diane cried, her face as pale as the white lights above them, her lower lip trembling. Both girls leapt onto Casey and pushed him to the floor. Margaret sat on top of him while Diane held his shoulders down. "Gotcha! Gotcha!" he continued, stopping only when Margaret tickled his stomach so hard he couldn't talk. "You rat!" Diane cried. "You little rat!" The free-for-all was brought to a sudden halt by a low moan from across the room. All three kids raised their heads and stared in the direction of the sound. The large basement was silent now except for their heavy breathing. "What was that?" Diane whispered. They listened. Another low moan, a mournful sound, muffled, like air through a saxophone. The tendrils of a treelike plant suddenly drooped, like snakes lowering themselves to the ground. Another low, sad moan. "It's -- the plants!" Casey said, his expression frightened now. He pushed his sister off him and climbed to his feet, brushing back his disheveled blond hair as he stood up. "Plants don't cry and moan," Diane said, her eyes on the vast trough of plants that filled the room. "These do," Margaret said. Tendrils moved, like human arms shifting their position. They could hear breathing again, slow, steady breathing. Then a sigh, like air escaping. "Let's get out of here," Casey said, edging toward the stairs. "It's definitely creepy down here," Diane said, following him, her eyes remaining on the shifting, moaning plants. "I'm sure Dad could explain it," Margaret said. Her words were calm, but her voice trembled, and she was backing out of the room, following Diane and Casey. "Your dad is weird," Diane said, reaching the doorway. "No, he isn't," Casey quickly insisted. "He's doing important work here." A tall treelike plant sighed and appeared to bend toward them, raising its tendrils as if beckoning to them, calling them back. "Let's just get out of here!" Margaret exclaimed. All three of them were out of breath by the time they ran up the stairs. Casey closed the door tightly, making sure it clicked shut. "Weird," Diane repeated, playing nervously with a strand of her long red hair. "Definitely weird." It was her word of the day. But Margaret had to admit it was appropriate. "Well, Dad warned us not to go down there," Margaret said, struggling to catch her breath. "I guess he knew it would look scary to us, and we wouldn't understand." "I'm getting out of here," Diane said, only half-kidding. She stepped out of the screen door and turned back toward them. "Want to go over the math later?" "Yeah. Sure," Margaret said, still thinking about the moaning, shifting plants. Some of them had seemed to be reaching out to them, crying out to them. But of course that was impossible. "Later," Diane said, and headed at a trot down the drive. Just as she disappeared, their father's dark blue station wagon turned the corner and started up the drive. "Back from the airport," Margaret said. She turned from the door back to Casey a few yards behind her in the hallway. "Is the basement door closed?" "Yeah," Casey replied, looking again to make sure. "No way Dad will know we -- " He stopped. His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. His face went pale. "My T-shirt!" Casey exclaimed, slapping his bare chest. "I left it in the basement!" 5 "I've got to get it," Casey said. "Otherwise Dad'll know -- " "It's too late," Margaret interrupted, her eyes on the driveway. "He's already pulled up the drive." "It'll only take a second," Casey insisted, his hand on the basement doorknob. "I'll run down and run right up." "No!" Margaret stood tensely in the center of the narrow hallway, halfway between the front door and the basement door, her eyes toward the front. "He's parked. He's getting out of the car." "But he'll know! He'll know!" Casey cried, his voice high and whiny. "So?" "Remember how mad he got last time?" Casey asked. "Of course I remember," Margaret replied. "But he's not going to kill us, Casey, just because we took a peek at his plants. He's -- " Margaret stopped. She moved closer to the screen door. "Hey, wait." "What's going on?" Casey asked. "Hurry!" Margaret turned and gestured with both hands. "Go! Get downstairs -- fast! Mr. Henry from next door. He stopped Dad. They're talking about something in the drive." With a loud cry, Casey flung open the basement door and disappeared. Margaret heard him clumping rapidly down the stairs. Then she heard his footsteps fade as he hurried into their father's workroom. Hurry, Casey, she thought, standing guard at the front door, watching her father shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand as he talked with Mr. Henry. Hurry. You know Dad never talks for long with the neighbors. Mr. Henry seemed to be doing all the talking. Probably asking Dad some kind of favor, Margaret thought. Mr. Henry wasn't handy at all, not like Dr. Brewer. And so he was always asking Margaret's dad to come over and help repair or install things. Her father was nodding now, a tight smile on his face. Harry, Casey. Get back up here. Where are you? Still shielding his eyes, Dr. Brewer gave Mr. Henry a quick wave. Then both men spun around and began walking quickly toward their houses. Hurry, Casey. Casey -- he's coming! Hurry! Margaret urged silently. It doesn't take this long to pick your T-shirt up from the floor and run up the stairs. It shouldn't take this long. Her dad was on the front walk now. He spotted her in the doorway and waved. Margaret returned the wave and looked back through the hallway to the basement door. "Casey -- where are you?" she called aloud. No reply. No sound from the basement. No sound at all. Dr. Brewer had paused outside to inspect the rosebushes at the head of the front walk. "Casey?" Margaret called. Still no reply. "Casey -- hurry!" Silence. Her father was crouching down, doing something to the soil beneath the rosebushes. With a feeling of dread weighing down her entire body, Margaret realized she had no choice. She had to go downstairs and see what was keeping Casey. 6 Casey ran down the steps, leaning on the metal banister so that he could jump down two steps at a time. He landed hard on the cement basement floor and darted into the bright white light of the plant room. Stopping at the entranceway, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the brighter-than-day light. He took a deep breath, inhaling the steamy air, and held it. It was so hot down here, so sticky. His back began to itch. The back of his neck tingled. The jungle of plants stood as if at attention under the bright white lights. He saw his T-shirt, lying crumpled on the floor a few feet from a tall, leafy tree. The tree seemed to lean toward the T-shirt, its long tendrils hanging down, loosely coiled on the soil around its trunk. Casey took a timid step into the room. Why am I so afraid? he wondered. It's just a room filled with strange plants. Why do I have the feeling that they're watching me? Waiting for me? He scolded himself for being so afraid and took a few more steps toward the crumpled T-shirt on the floor. Hey -- wait. The breathing. There it was again. Steady breathing. Not too loud. Not too soft, either. Who could be breathing? What could be breathing? Was the big tree breathing? Casey stared at the shirt on the floor. So near. What was keeping him from grabbing it and running back upstairs? What was holding him back? He took a step forward. Then another. Was the breathing growing louder? He jumped, startled by a sudden, low moan from the big supply closet against the wall. It sounded so human, as if someone were in there, moaning in pain. "Casey -- where are you?" Margaret's voice sounded so far away, even though she was just at the head of the stairs. "Okay so far," he called back to her. But his voice came out in a whisper. She probably couldn't hear him. He took another step. Another. The shirt was about three yards away. A quick dash. A quick dive, and he'd have it. Another low moan from the supply closet. A plant seemed to sigh. A tall fern suddenly dipped low, shifting its leaves. "Casey?" He could hear his sister from upstairs, sounding very worried. "Casey -- hurry!" I'm trying, he thought. I'm trying to hurry. What was holding him back? Another low moan, this time from the other side of the room. He took two more steps, then crouched low, his arms straight out in front of him. The shirt was almost within reach. He heard a groaning sound, then more breathing. He raised his eyes to the tall tree. The long, ropy tendrils had tensed. Stiffened. Or had he imagined it? No. They had been drooping loosely. Now they were taut. Ready. Ready to grab him? "Casey -- hurry!" Margaret called, sounding even farther away. He didn't answer. He was concentrating on the shirt. Just a few feet away. Just a few feet. Just a foot. The plant groaned again. "Casey? Casey?" The leaves quivered all the way up the trunk. Just a foot away. Almost in reach. "Casey? Are you okay? Answer me!" He grabbed the shirt. Two snakelike tendrils swung out at him. "Huh?" he cried out, paralyzed with fear. "What's happening?" The tendrils wrapped themselves around his waist. "Let go!" he cried, holding the T-shirt tightly in one hand, grabbing at the tendrils with the other. The tendrils hung on, and gently tightened around him. Margaret? Casey tried calling, but no sound came out of his mouth. Margaret? He jerked violently, then pulled straight ahead. The tendrils held on. They didn't squeeze him. They weren't trying to strangle him. Or pull him back. But they didn't let go. They felt warm and wet against his bare skin. Like animal arms. Not like a plant. Help! He again tried to shout. He pulled once more, leaning forward, using all his strength. No good. He ducked low, hit the floor, tried to roll away. The tendrils hung on. The plant uttered a loud sigh. "Let go!" Casey cried, finally finding his voice. And then suddenly Margaret was standing beside him. He hadn't heard her come down the stairs. He hadn't seen her enter the room. "Casey!" she cried. "What's -- " Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide. "It -- won't let go!" he told her. "No!" she screamed. And grabbed one of the tendrils with both hands. And tugged with all her strength. The tendril resisted for only a moment, then went slack. Casey uttered a joyful cry and spun away from the remaining tendril. Margaret dropped the tendril and grabbed Casey's hand and began running toward the stairs. "Oh!" They both stopped short at the bottom of the stairway. Standing at the top was their father, glaring down at them, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, his face rigid with anger. 7 "Dad -- the plants!" Margaret cried. He stared down at them, his eyes cold and angry, unblinking. He was silent. "It grabbed Casey!" Margaret told him. "I just went down to get my shirt," Casey said, his voice trembling. They stared up at him expectantly, waiting for him to move, to unball his fists, to relax his hard expression, to speak. But he glared down at them for the longest time. Finally, he said, "You're okay?" "Yeah," they said in unison, both of them nodding. Margaret realized she was still holding Casey's hand. She let go of it and reached for the banister. "I'm very disappointed in you both," Dr. Brewer said in a low, flat voice, cool but not angry. "Sorry," Margaret said. "We knew we shouldn't -- " "We didn't touch anything. Really!" Casey exclaimed. "Very disappointed," their father repeated. "Sorry, Dad." Dr. Brewer motioned for them to come upstairs, then he stepped into the hallway. "I thought he was going to yell at us," Casey whispered to Margaret as he followed her up the steps. "That's not Dad's style," Margaret whispered back. "He sure yelled at us the last time we started into the basement," Casey replied. They followed their father into the kitchen. He motioned for them to sit down at the white Formica table, then dropped into a chair across from them. His eyes went from one to the other, as if studying them, as if seeing them for the first time. His expression was totally flat, almost robotlike, revealing no emotion at all. "Dad, what's with those plants?" Casey asked. "What do you mean?" Dr. Brewer asked. "They're -- so weird," Casey said. "I'll explain them to you some day," he said flatly, still staring at the two of them. "It looks very interesting," Margaret said, struggling to say the right thing. Was their dad trying to make them feel uncomfortable? she wondered. If so, he was doing a good job of it. This wasn't like him. Not at all. He was always a very direct person, Margaret thought. If he was angry, he said he was angry. If he was upset, he'd tell them he was upset. So why was he acting so strange, so silent, so . . . cold? "I asked you not to go in the basement," he said quietly, crossing his legs and leaning back so that the kitchen chair tilted back on two legs. "I thought I made it clear." Margaret and Casey glanced at each other. Finally, Margaret said, "We won't do it again." "But can't you take us down there and tell us what you're doing?" Casey asked. He still hadn't put the T-shirt on. He was holding it in a ball between his hands on the kitchen table. "Yeah. We'd really like to understand it," Margaret added enthusiastically. "Some day," their father said. He returned the chair to all four legs and then stood up. "We'll do it soon, okay?" He raised his arms above his head and stretched. "I've got to get back to work." He disappeared into the front hallway. Casey raised his eyes to Margaret and shrugged. Their father reappeared carrying the lab coat he had tossed over the front banister. "Mom got off okay?" Margaret asked. He nodded. "I guess." He pulled on the lab coat over his head. "I hope Aunt Eleanor is okay," Margaret said. Dr. Brewer's reply was muffled as he adjusted the lab coat and straightened the collar. "Later," he said. He disappeared into the hallway. They heard him shut the basement door behind him. "I guess he's not going to ground us or anything for going down there," Margaret said, leaning against the table and resting her chin in her hands. "I guess," Casey said. "He sure is acting . . . weird." "Maybe he's upset because Mom is gone," Margaret said. She sat up and gave Casey a push. "Come on. Get up. I've got work to do." "I can't believe that plant grabbed me," Casey said thoughtfully, not budging. "You don't have to push," Casey griped, but he climbed to his feet and stepped out of Margaret's way. "I'm going to have bad dreams tonight," he said glumly. "Just don't think about the basement," Margaret advised. That's really lame advice, she told herself. But what else could she say? She went up to her room, thinking about how she missed her mother already. Then the scene in the basement with Casey trying to pull himself free of the enormous, twining plant tendrils played once again through her mind. With a shudder, she grabbed her textbook and threw herself onto her stomach on the bed, prepared to read. But the words on the page blurred as the moaning, breathing plants kept creeping back into her thoughts. At least we're not being punished for going down there, she thought. At least Dad didn't yell and frighten us this time. And at least Dad has promised to take us downstairs with him soon and explain to us what he's working on down there. That thought made Margaret feel a lot better. She felt better until the next morning when she awoke early and went downstairs to make some breakfast. To her surprise, her father was already at work, the basement door was shut tight, and a lock had been installed on the door. The next Saturday afternoon, Margaret was up in her room, lying on top of the bed, talking to her mom on the phone. "I'm really sorry about Aunt Eleanor," she said, twisting the white phone cord around her wrist. "The surgery didn't go as well as expected," her mother said, sounding very tired. "The doctors say she may have to have more surgery. But they have to build up her strength first." "I guess this means you won't be coming home real soon," Margaret said sadly. Mrs. Brewer laughed. "Don't tell me you actually miss me!" "Well . . . yes," Margaret admitted. She raised her eyes to the bedroom window. Two sparrows had landed outside on the window ledge and were chattering excitedly, distracting Margaret, making it hard to hear her mother over the crackling line from Tucson. "How's your father doing?" Mrs. Brewer asked. "I spoke to him last night, but he only grunted." "He doesn't even grunt to us!" Margaret complained. She held her hand over her ear to drown out the chattering birds. "He hardly says a word." "He's working really hard," Mrs. Brewer replied. In the background, Margaret could hear some kind of loudspeaker announcement. Her mother was calling from a pay phone at the hospital. "He never comes out of the basement," Margaret complained, a little more bitterly than she had intended. "Your father's experiments are very important to him," her mother said. "More important than we are?" Margaret cried. She hated the whiny tone in her voice. She wished she hadn't started complaining about her dad over the phone. Her mother had enough to worry about at the hospital. Margaret knew she shouldn't make her feel even worse. "Your dad has a lot to prove," Mrs. Brewer said. "To himself, and to others. I think he's working so hard because he wants to prove to Mr. Martinez and the others at the university that they were wrong to fire him. He wants to show them that they made a big mistake." "But we used to see him more before he was home all the time!" Margaret complained. She could hear her mother sigh impatiently. "Margaret, I'm trying to explain to you. You're old enough to understand." "I'm sorry," Margaret said quickly. She decided to change the subject. "He's wearing a baseball cap all of a sudden." "Who? Casey?" "No, Mom," Margaret replied. "Dad. He's wearing a Dodgers cap. He never takes it off." "Really?" Mrs. Brewer sounded very surprised. Margaret laughed. "We told him he looks really dorky in it, but he refuses to take it off." Mrs. Brewer laughed, too. "Uh-oh. I'm being called," she said. "Got to run. Take care, dear. III try to call back later." A click, and she was gone. Margaret stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows from trees in the front yard move back and forth. The sparrows had flown away, leaving silence behind. Poor Mom, Margaret thought. She's so worried about her sister, and I had to go and complain about Dad. Why did I do that? She sat up, listening to the silence. Casey was over at a friend's. Her dad was no doubt working in the basement, the door carefully locked behind him. Maybe I'll give Diane a call, Margaret thought. She reached for the phone, then realized she was hungry. Lunch first, she decided. Then Diane. She brushed her dark hair quickly, shaking her head at the mirror over her dressing table, then hurried downstairs. To her surprise, her dad was in the kitchen. He was huddled over the sink, his back to her. She started to call out to him, but stopped. What was he doing? Curious, she pressed against the wall, gazing at him through the doorway to the kitchen. Dr. Brewer appeared to be eating something. With one hand, he was holding a bag on the counter beside the sink. As Margaret watched in surprise, he dipped his hand into the bag, pulled out a big handful of something, and shoved it into his mouth. Margaret watched him chew hungrily, noisily, then pull out another handful from the bag and eat it greedily. What on earth is he eating? she wondered. He never eats with Casey and me. He always says he isn't hungry. But he sure is hungry now! He acts as if he's starving! She watched from the doorway as Dr. Brewer continued to grab handful after handful from the bag, gulping down his solitary meal. After a while, he crinkled up the bag and tossed it into the trash can under the sink. Then he wiped his hands off on the sides of his white lab coat. Margaret quickly backed away from the door, tiptoed through the hall and ducked into the living room. She held her breath as her father came into the hall, clearing his throat loudly. The basement door closed behind him. She heard him carefully lock it. When she was sure that he had gone downstairs, Margaret walked eagerly into the kitchen. She had to know what her father had been eating so greedily, so hungrily. She pulled open the sink cabinet, reached into the trash, and pulled out the crinkled-up bag. Then she gasped aloud as her eyes ran over the label. Her father, she saw, had been devouring plant food. 8 Margaret swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as cotton. She suddenly realized she was squeezing the side of the counter so tightly, her hand ached. Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she stared down at the half-empty plant food bag, which she had dropped onto the floor. She felt sick. She couldn't get the disgusting picture out of her mind. How could her dad eat mud? He didn't just eat it, she realized. He shoveled it into his mouth and gulped it down. As if he liked it. As if he needed it. Eating the plant food had to be part of his experiments, Margaret told herself. But what kind of experiments? What was he trying to prove with those strange plants he was growing? The stuff inside the bag smelled sour, like fertilizer. Margaret took a deep breath and held it. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Staring at the bag, she couldn't help but imagine what the disgusting muck inside must taste like. Ohh. She nearly gagged. How could her own father shove this horrid stuff into his mouth? Still holding her breath, she grabbed the nearly empty bag, wadded it up, and tossed it back into the trash. She started to turn away from the counter when a hand grabbed her shoulder. Margaret uttered a silent cry and spun around. "Casey!" "I'm home," he said, grinning at her. "What's for lunch?" Later, after making him a peanut butter sandwich, she told Casey what she had seen. Casey laughed. "It isn't funny," she said crossly. "Our own dad was eating dirt." Casey laughed again. For some reason, it struck him funny. Margaret punched him hard on the shoulder, so hard that he dropped his sandwich. "Sorry," she said quickly, "but I don't see what you're laughing at. It's sick! There's something wrong with Dad. Something really wrong." "Maybe he just had a craving for plant food," Casey cracked, still not taking her seriously. "You know. Like you get a craving for those honey-roasted peanuts." "That's different," Margaret snapped. "Eating dirt is disgusting. Why won't you admit it?" But before Casey could reply, Margaret continued, letting all of her unhappiness out at once. "Don't you see? Dad has changed. A lot. Even since Mom has been gone. He spends even more time in the basement -- " "That's because Mom isn't around," Casey interrupted. "And he's so quiet all the time and so cold to us," Margaret continued, ignoring him. "He hardly says a word to us. He used to kid around all the time and ask us about our homework. He never says a human word. He never calls me Princess or Fatso the way he used to. He never -- " "You hate those names, Fatso," Casey said, giggling with a mouthful of peanut butter. "I know," Margaret said impatiently. "That's just an example." "So what are you trying to say?" Casey asked. "That Dad is out of his tree? That he's gone totally bananas?" "I -- I don't know," Margaret answered in frustration. "Watching him gulp down that disgusting plant food, I -- I had this horrible thought that he's turning into a plant!" Casey jumped up, causing his chair to scrape back across the floor. He began staggering around the kitchen, zombielike, his eyes closed, his arms stretched out stiffly in front of him. "I am The Incredible Plant Man!" he declared, trying to make his voice sound bold and deep. "Not funny," Margaret insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to be amused. "Plant Man versus Weed Woman!" Casey declared, staggering toward Margaret. "Not funny," she repeated. He bumped into the counter, banging his knee. "Ow!" "Serves you right," Margaret said. "Plant Man kills!" he cried, and rushed at her. He ran right into her, using his head as a battering ram against her shoulder. "Casey -- will you stop it!" she screamed. "Give me a break!" "Okay, okay." He backed off. "If you'll do me one favor." "What favor?" Margaret asked, rolling her eyes. "Make me another sandwich." Monday afternoon after school, Margaret, Casey, and Diane were tossing a Frisbee back and forth in Diane's backyard. It was a warm, breezy day, the sky dotted with small, puffy white clouds. Diane tossed the disc high. It sailed over Casey's head into the row of fragrant lemon trees that stretched from behind the clapboard garage. Casey went running after it and tripped over an in-ground sprinkler that poked up just an inch above the lawn. Both girls laughed. Casey, on the run, flung the Frisbee toward Margaret. She reached for it, but the breeze sent it sailing from her hand. "What's it like to have a mad scientist for a dad?" Diane asked suddenly. "What?" Margaret wasn't sure she heard right. "Don't just stand there. Throw it!" Casey urged from beside the garage. Margaret tossed the Frisbee high in the air in her brother's general direction. He liked to run and make diving catches. "Just because he's doing strange experiments doesn't mean he's a mad scientist," Margaret said sharply. "Strange is right," Diane said, her expression turning serious. "I had a nightmare last night about those gross plants in your basement. They were crying and reaching for me." "Sorry," Margaret said sincerely. "I've had nightmares, too." "Look out!" Casey cried. He tossed a low one that Diane caught around her ankles. Mad scientist, Margaret thought. Mad scientist. Mad scientist. The words kept repeating in her mind. Mad scientists were only in the movies -- right? "My dad was talking about your dad the other night," Diane said, flipping the disc to Casey. "You didn't tell him about -- going down in the basement? Did you?" Margaret asked anxiously. "No," Diane replied, shaking her head. "Hey, are these lemons ripe?" Casey asked, pointing at one of the low trees. "Why don't you suck one to find out?" Margaret snapped, annoyed that he kept interrupting. "Why don't you!" he predictably shot back. "My dad said that your dad was fired from PolyTech because his experiments got out of control, and he wouldn't stop them," Diane confided. She ran along the smooth, closely cropped grass, chasing down the Frisbee. "What do you mean?" Margaret asked. "The university told him he had to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he refused. He said he couldn't stop. At least that's what my dad heard from a guy who came into the salesroom." Margaret hadn't heard this story. It made her feel bad, but she thought it was probably true. "Something really bad happened in your dad's lab," Diane continued. "Someone got really hurt or killed or something." "That's not true," Margaret insisted. "We would've heard if that happened." "Yeah. Probably," Diane admitted. "But my dad said your dad was fired because he refused to stop his experiments." "Well, that doesn't make him a mad scientist," Margaret said defensively. She suddenly felt she had to stick up for her father. She wasn't sure why. "I'm just telling you what I heard," Diane said, brusquely tossing back her red hair. "You don't have to bite my head off." They played for a few more minutes. Diane changed the subject and talked about some kids they knew who were eleven but were going steady. Then they talked about school for a while. "Time to go," Margaret called to Casey. He picked the Frisbee up from the lawn and came running "over. "Call you later," Margaret told Diane, giving her a little wave. Then she and Casey began to jog home, cutting through familiar backyards. "We need a lemon tree," Casey said as they slowed to a walk. "They're cool." "Oh, yeah," Margaret replied sarcastically. "That's just what we need at our house. Another plant!" As they stepped through the hedges into their backyard, they were both surprised to see their dad. He was standing at the rose trellis examining clusters of pink roses. "Hey, Dad!" Casey called. "Catch!" He tossed the Frisbee to his father. Dr. Brewer turned around a little too slowly. The Frisbee glanced off his head, knocking the Dodgers cap off. His mouth opened wide in surprise. He raised his hands to cover his head. But it was too late. Margaret and Casey both shrieked in surprise as they saw his head. At first, Margaret thought her father's hair had turned green. But then she clearly saw that it wasn't hair on his scalp. His hair was gone. It had all fallen out. In place of hair, Dr. Brewer had bright green leaves sprouting from his head. 9 "Kids -- it's okay!" Dr. Brewer called. He bent down quickly, picked up the baseball cap, and replaced it on his head. A crow flew low overhead, cawing loudly. Margaret raised her eyes to follow the bird, but the sight of the hideous leaves sprouting from her father's head wouldn't go away. Her whole head began to itch as she imagined what it must feel like to have leaves uncurling from your scalp. "It's okay. Really," Dr. Brewer repeated, hurrying over to them. "But, Dad -- your head," Casey stammered. He suddenly looked very pale. Margaret felt sick. She kept swallowing hard, trying to ride out the waves of nausea. "Come here, you two," their father said softly, putting an arm around each of their shoulders. "Let's sit down in the shade over there and have a talk. I spoke to your mom on the phone this morning. She told me you're upset about my work." "Your head -- it's all green!" Casey repeated. "I know," Dr. Brewer said, smiling. "That's why I put on the cap. I didn't want you two to worry." He led them to the shade of the tall hedges that ran along the garage, and they sat down on the grass. "I guess you two think your dad has gotten pretty weird, huh?" He stared into Margaret's eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked away. Cawing frantically, the crow flew over again, heading in the other direction. "Margaret, you haven't said a word," her father said, squeezing her hand tenderly between his. "What's wrong? What do you want to say to me?" Margaret sighed and still avoided her father's glance. "Come on. Tell us. Why do you have leaves growing out of your head?" she asked bluntly. "It's a side effect," he told her, continuing to hold her hand. "It's only temporary. It'll go away soon and my hair will grow back." "But how did it happen?" Casey asked, staring at his father's Dodgers cap. A few green leaves poked out from under the brim. "Maybe you two would feel better if I explained what I'm trying to do down in the basement," Dr. Brewer said, shifting his weight and leaning back on his hands. "I've been so wrapped up in my experiments, I haven't had much time to talk to you." "You haven't had any time," Margaret corrected him. "I'm sorry," he said, lowering his eyes. "I really am. But this work I'm doing is so exciting and so difficult." "Did you discover a new kind of plant?" Casey asked, crossing his legs beneath him. "No, I'm trying to build a new kind of plant," Dr. Brewer explained. "Huh?" Casey exclaimed. "Have you ever talked about DNA in school?" their father asked. They shook their heads. "Well, it's pretty complicated," he continued. Dr. Brewer thought for a moment. "Let me try and put it in simple terms," he said, fiddling with the bandage around his hand. "Let's say we took a person who had a very high IQ. You know. Real brain power." "Like me," Casey interrupted. "Casey, shut up," Margaret said edgily. "A real brain. Like Casey," Dr. Brewer said agreeably. "And let's say we were able to isolate the molecule or gene or tiny part of a gene that enabled the person to have such high intelligence. And then let's say we were able to transmit it into other brains. And then this brain power could be passed along from generation to generation. And lots of people would have a high IQ. Do you understand?" He looked first at Casey, then at Margaret. "Yeah. Kind of," Margaret said. "You take a good quality from one person and put it into other people. And then they have the good quality, too, and they pass it on to their children, and on and on." "Very good," Dr. Brewer said, smiling for the first time in weeks. "That's what a lot of botanists do with plants. They try to take the fruit-bearing building block from one plant and put it into another. Create a new plant that will bear five times as much fruit, or five times as much grain, or vegetables." "And that's what you're doing?" Casey asked. "Not exactly," their father said, lowering his voice. "I'm doing something a little more unusual. I really don't want to go into detail now. But I'll tell you that what I'm trying to do is build a kind of plant that has never existed and could never exist. I'm trying to build a plant that's part animal." Casey and Margaret stared at their father in surprise. Margaret was the first to speak. "You mean you're taking cells from an animal and putting them into a plant?" He nodded. "I really don't want to say more. You two understand why this must be kept secret." He turned his eyes on Margaret, then Casey, studying their reactions. "How do you do it?" Margaret asked, thinking hard about everything he had just told them. "How do you get these cells from the animals to the plant?" "I'm trying to do it by breaking them down electronically," he answered. "I have two glass booths connected by a powerful electron generator. You may have seen them when you were snooping around down there." He made a sour face. "Yeah. They look like phone booths," Casey said. "One booth is a sender, and one is a receiver," he explained. "I'm trying to send the right DMA, the right building blocks, from one booth to the other. It's very delicate work." "And have you done it?" Margaret asked. "I've come very close," Dr. Brewer said, a pleased smile crossing his face. The smile lasted only a few seconds. Then, his expression thoughtful, he abruptly climbed to his feet. "Got to get back to work," he said quietly. "See you two later." He started walking across the lawn, taking long strides. "But, Dad," Margaret called after him. She and Casey climbed to their feet, too. "Your head. The leaves. You didn't explain it," she said as she and her brother hurried to catch up to him. Dr. Brewer shrugged. "Nothing to explain," he said curtly. "Just a side effect." He adjusted his Dodgers cap. "Don't worry about it. It's only temporary. Just a side effect." Then he hurried into the house. Casey seemed really pleased by their dad's explanation of what was going on in the basement. "Dad's doing really important work," he said, with unusual seriousness. But, as Margaret made her way into the house, she found herself troubled by what her dad had said. And even more troubled by what he hadn't said. Margaret closed the door to her room and lay down on the bed to think about things. Her father hadn't really explained the leaves growing on his head. "Just a side effect" didn't explain much at all. A side effect from what? What actually caused it? What made his hair fall out? When will his hair grow back? It was obvious that he hadn't wanted to discuss it with them. He had certainly hurried back to his basement after telling them it was just a side effect. A side effect. It made Margaret feel sick every time she thought about it. What must it feel like? Green leaves pushing up from your pores, uncurling against your head. Yuck. Thinking about it made her itch all over. She knew she'd have hideous dreams tonight. She grabbed her pillow and hugged it over her stomach, wrapping her arms tightly around it. There were lots of other questions Casey and I should have asked, she decided. Like, why were the plants moaning down there? Why did some of them sound like they were breathing? Why did that plant grab Casey? What animal was Dad using? Lots of questions. Not to mention the one Margaret wanted to ask most of all: Why were you gulping down that disgusting plant food? But she couldn't ask that one. She couldn't let her dad know she'd been spying on him. She and Casey hadn't really asked any of the questions they'd wanted answered. They were just so pleased that their father had decided to sit down and talk with them, even for a few minutes. His explanation was really interesting, as far as it went, Margaret decided. And it was good to know that he was close to doing something truly amazing, something that would make him really famous. But what about the rest of it? A frightening thought entered her mind: Could he have been lying to them? No, she quickly decided. No. Dad wouldn't lie to us. There are just some questions he hasn't answered yet. She was still thinking about all of these questions late that night -- after dinner, after talking to Diane on the phone for an hour, after homework, after watching a little TV, after going to bed. And she was still puzzling over them. When she heard her father's soft footsteps coming up the carpeted stairs, she sat up in bed. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains across the room. She listened to her father's footsteps pass her room, heard him go into the bathroom, heard the water begin to run into the sink. I've got to ask him, she decided. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was two-thirty in the morning. But she realized she was wide awake. I've got to ask him about the plant food. Otherwise, it will drive me crazy. I'll think about it and think about it and think about it. Every time I see him, I'll picture him standing over the sink, shoving handful after handful into his mouth. There's got to be a simple explanation, she told herself, climbing out of bed. There's got to be a logical explanation. And I have to know it. She padded softly down the hall, a sliver of light escaping through the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. Water still ran into the sink. She heard him cough, then heard him adjust the water. I have to know the answer, she thought. I'll just ask him point-blank. She stepped into the narrow triangle of light and peered into the bathroom. He was standing at the sink, leaning over it, his chest bare, his shirt tossed behind him on the floor. He had put the baseball cap on the closed toilet lid, and the leaves covering his head shone brightly under the bathroom light. Margaret held her breath. The leaves were so geeen, so thick. He didn't notice her. He was concentrating on the bandage on his hand. Using a small scissors, he cut the bandage, then pulled it off. The hand was still bleeding, Margaret saw. Or was it? What was that dripping from the cut on her father's hand? Still holding her breath, she watched him wash it off carefully under the hot water. Then he examined it, his eyes narrowed in concentration. After washing, the cut continued to bleed. Margaret stared hard, trying to better focus her eyes. It couldn't be blood -- could it? It couldn't be blood dripping into the sink. It was bright green! She gasped and started to run back to her room. The floor creaked under her footsteps. "Who's there?" Dr. Brewer cried. "Margaret? Casey?" He poked his head into the hallway as Margaret disappeared back into her room. He saw me, she realized, leaping into bed. He saw me -- and now he's coming after me. 10 Margaret pulled the covers up to her chin. She realized she was trembling, her whole body shaking and chilled. She held her breath and listened. She could still hear water splashing into the bathroom sink. But no footsteps. He isn't coming after me, she told herself, letting out a long, silent sigh. How could I have thought that? How could I have been so terrified -- of my own father? Terrified. It was the first time the word had crossed her mind. But sitting there in bed, trembling so violently, holding onto the covers so hard, listening for his approaching footsteps, Margaret realized that she was terrified. Of her own father. If only Mom were home, she thought. Without thinking, she reached for the phone. She had the idea in her head to call her mother, wake her up, tell her to come home as fast as she could. Tell her something terrible was happening to Dad. That he was changing. That he was acting so weird. . . . She glanced at the clock. Two-forty-three. No. She couldn't do that. Her poor mother was having such a terrible time in Tucson trying to care for her sister. Margaret couldn't frighten her like that. Besides, what could she say? How could she explain to her mother how she had become terrified of her own father? Mrs. Brewer would just tell her to calm down. That her father still loved her. That he would never harm her. That he was just caught up in his work. Caught up. . . . He had leaves growing out of his head, he was eating dirt, and his blood was green. Caught up. . . . She heard the water in the sink shut off. She heard the bathroom light being clicked off. Then she heard her father pad slowly to his room at the end of the hall. Margaret relaxed a little, slid down in the bed, loosened her grip on the blankets. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She tried counting sheep. That never worked. She tried counting to one thousand. At 375, she sat up. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was as dry as cotton. She decided to go downstairs and get a drink of cold water from the refrigerator. I'm going to be a wreck tomorrow, she thought, making her way silently through the hall and down the stairs. It is tomorrow. What am I going to do? I've got to get to sleep. The kitchen floor creaked beneath her bare feet. The refrigerator motor clicked on noisily, startling her. Be cool, she told herself. You've got to be cool. She had opened the refrigerator and was reaching for the water bottle when a hand grabbed her shoulder. "Aii!" She cried out and dropped the open bottle onto the floor. Ice-cold water puddled around her feet. She leapt back, but her feet were soaked. "Casey -- you scared me!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing up?" "What are you doing up?" he replied, half asleep, his blond hair matted against his forehead. "I couldn't sleep. Help me mop up this water." "I didn't spill it," he said, backing away. "You mop it up." "You made me spill it!" Margaret declared shrilly. She grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter and handed him a wad of them. "Come on. Hurry." They both got down on their knees and, by the light from the refrigerator, began mopping up the cold water. "I just keep thinking about things," Casey said, tossing a soaking wad of paper towel onto the counter, "That's why I can't sleep." "Me, too," Margaret said, frowning. She started to say something else, but a sound from the hallway stopped her. It was a plaintive cry, a moan filled with sadness. Margaret gasped and stopped dabbing at the water. "What was, that?" Casey's eyes filled with fear. They heard it again, such a sad sound, like a plea, a mournful plea. "It -- it's coming from the basement," Margaret said. "Do you think it's a plant?" Casey asked very quietly. "Do you think it's one of Dad's plants?" Margaret didn't answer. She crouched on her knees, not moving, just listening. Another moan, softer this time but just as mournful. "I don't think Dad told us the truth," she told Casey, staring into his eyes. He looked pale and frightened in the dim refrigerator light. "I don't think a tomato plant would make a sound like that." Margaret climbed to her feet, collected the wet clumps of paper towel, and deposited them in the trash can under the sink. Then she closed the refrigerator door, covering the room in darkness. Her hand on Casey's shoulder, she guided him out of the kitchen and through the hall. They stopped at the basement door, and listened. Silence now. Casey tried the door. It was locked. Another low moan, sounding very nearby now. "It's so human," Casey whispered. Margaret shuddered. What was going on down in the basement? What was really going on? She led the way up the stairs and waited at her doorway until Casey was safely in his room. He gave her a wave, yawning silently, and closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, Margaret was back in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin despite the warmth of the night. Her mouth was still achingly dry, she realized. She had never managed to get a drink. Somehow she drifted into a restless sleep. Her alarm went off at seven-thirty. She sat up and thought about school. Then she remembered there was no school for the next two days because of some kind of teachers' conference. She turned off the dock radio, slumped back onto her pillow, and tried to go back to sleep. But she was awake now, thoughts of the night before pouring back into her mind, flooding her with the fear she had felt just a few hours earlier. She stood up and stretched, and decided to go talk to her father, to confront him first thing, to ask all the questions she wanted to ask. If I don't, he'll disappear down to the basement, and I'll sit around thinking these frightening thoughts all day, she told herself. I don't want to be terrified of my own father. I don't. She pulled a light cotton robe over her pajamas, found her slippers in the cluttered closet, and stepped out into the hallway. It was hot and stuffy in the hall, almost suffocating. Pale, morning light filtered down from the skylight overhead. She stopped in front of Casey's room, wondering if she should wake him so that he could ask their father questions, too. No, she decided. The poor guy was up half the night. I'll let him sleep. Taking a deep breath, she walked the rest of the hall and stopped at her parents' bedroom. The door was open. "Dad?" No reply. "Dad? Are you up?" She stepped into the room. "Dad?" He didn't seem to be there. The air in here was heavy and smelled strangely sour. The curtains were drawn. The bedclothes were rumpled and tossed down at the foot of the bed. Margaret took a few more steps toward the bed. "Dad?" No. She had missed him. He was probably already locked in his basement workroom, she realized unhappily. He must have gotten up very early and -- What was that in the bed? Margaret clicked on a dresser lamp and stepped up beside the bed. "Oh, no!" she cried, raising her hands to her face in horror. The bedsheet was covered with a thick layer of dirt. Clumps of dirt. Margaret stared down at it, not breathing, not moving. The dirt was black and appeared to be moist. And the dirt was moving. Moving? It can't be, Margaret thought. That's impossible. She leaned down to take a closer look at the layer of dirt. No. The dirt wasn't moving. The dirt was filled with dozens of moving insects. And long, brown earthworms. All crawling through the wet, black clumps that lined her father's bed. 11 Casey didn't come downstairs until ten-thirty. Before his arrival, Margaret had made herself breakfast, managed to pull on jeans and a T-shirt, had talked to Diane on the phone for half an hour, and had spent the rest of the time pacing back and forth in the living room, trying to decide what to do. Desperate to talk to her dad, she had banged a few times on the basement door, timidly at first and then loudly. But he either couldn't hear her or chose not to. He didn't respond. When Casey finally emerged, she poured him a tall glass of orange juice and led him out to the backyard to talk. It was a hazy day, the sky mostly yellow, the air already stifling hot even though the sun was still hovering low over the hills. Walking toward the block of green shade cast by the hedges, she told her brother about their dad's green blood and about the insect-filled dirt in his bed. Casey stood open-mouthed, holding the glass of orange juke in front of him, untouched. He stared at Margaret, and didn't say anything for a very long time. Finally, he set the orange juice down on the lawn and said, "What should we do?" in a voice just above a whisper. Margaret shrugged. "I wish Mom would call." "Would you tell her everything?" Casey asked, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his baggy shorts. "I guess," Margaret said. "I don't know if she'd believe it, but -- " "It's so scary," Casey said. "I mean, he's our dad. We've known him our whole lives. I mean -- " "I know," Margaret said. "But he's not the same. He's -- " "Maybe he can explain it all," Casey said thoughtfully. "Maybe there's a good reason for everything. You know. Like the leaves on his head." "We asked him about that," Margaret reminded her brother. "He just said it was a side effect. Not much of an explanation." Casey nodded, but didn't reply. "I told some of it to Diane," Margaret admitted. Casey looked up at her in surprise. "Well, I had to tell somebody," she snapped edgily. "Diane thought I should call the police." "Huh?" Casey shook his head. "Dad hasn't done anything wrong -- has he? What would the police do?" "I know," Margaret replied. "That's what I told Diane. But she said there's got to be some kind of law against being a mad scientist." "Dad isn't a mad scientist," Casey said angrily. "That's stupid. He's just -- He's just -- " Just what? Margaret thought. What is he? A few hours later, they were still in the backyard, trying to figure out what to do, when the kitchen door opened and their father called them to come in. Margaret looked at Casey in surprise. "I don't believe it. He came upstairs." "Maybe we can talk to him," Casey said. They both raced into the kitchen. Dr. Brewer, his Dodgers cap in place, flashed them a smile as he set two soup bowls down on the table. "Hi," he said brightly. "Lunchtime." "Huh? You made lunch?" Casey exclaimed, unable to conceal his astonishment. "Dad, we've got to talk," Margaret said seriously. "Afraid I don't have much time," he said, avoiding her stare. "Sit down. Try this new dish. I want to see if you like it." Margaret and Casey obediently took their places at the table. "What is this stuff?" Casey cried. The two bowls were filled with a green, pulpy substance. "It looks like green mashed potatoes," Casey said, making a face. "It's something different," Dr. Brewer said mysteriously, standing over them at the head of the table. "Go ahead. Taste it. I'll bet you'll be surprised." "Dad -- you've never made lunch for us before," Margaret said, trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice. "I just wanted you to try this," he said, his smile fading. "You're my guinea pigs." "We have some things we want to ask you," Margaret said, lifting her spoon, but not eating the green mess. "Your mother called this morning," their father said. "When?" Margaret asked eagerly. "Just a short while ago. I guess you were outside and didn't hear the phone ring." "What did she say?" Casey asked, staring down at the bowl in front of him. "Aunt Eleanor's doing better. She's been moved out of intensive care. Your mom may be able to come home soon." "Great!" Margaret and Casey cried in unison. "Eat," Dr. Brewer instructed, pointing to the bowls. "Uh . . . aren't you going to have some?" Casey asked, rolling his spoon around in his fingers. "No," their father replied quickly. "I already ate." He leaned with both hands against the tabletop. Margaret saw that his cut hand was freshly bandaged. "Dad, last night -- " she started. But he cut her off. "Eat, will you? Try it." "But what is it?" Casey demanded, whining. "It doesn't smell too good." "I think you'll like the taste," Dr. Brewer insisted impatiently. "It should taste very sweet." He stared at them, urging them to eat the green stuff. Staring into the bowl at the mysterious substance, Margaret was suddenly frozen with fear. He's too eager for us to eat this, she thought, glancing up at her brother. He's too desperate. He's never made lunch before. Why did he make this? And why won't he tell us what it is? What's going on here? she wondered. And Casey's expression revealed that he was wondering the same thing. Is Dad trying to do something to us? Is this green stuff going to change us, or hurt us . . . or make us grow leaves, too? What crazy thoughts, Margaret realized. But she also realized that she was terrified of whatever this stuff was he was trying to feed them. "What's the matter with you two?" their father cried impatiently. He raised his hand in an eating gesture. "Pick up your spoons. Come on. What are you waiting for?" Margaret and Casey raised their spoons and dropped them into the soft, green substance. But they didn't raise the spoons to their mouths. They couldn't. "Eat! Eat!" Dr. Brewer screamed, pounding the table with his good hand. "What are you waiting for? Eat your lunch. Go ahead. Eat it!" He's giving us no choice, Margaret thought. Her hand was trembling as she reluctantly raised the spoon to her mouth. 12 "Go ahead. You'll like it," Dr. Brewer insisted, leaning over the table. Casey watched as Margaret raised the spoon to her lips. The doorbell rang. "Who could that be?" Dr. Brewer asked, very annoyed at the interruption. "I'll be right back, kids." He lumbered out to the front hall. "Saved by the bell," Margaret said, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a sickening plop. "This stuff is disgusting," Casey whispered. "It's some kind of plant food or something. Yuck!" "Quick -- " Margaret said, jumping up and grabbing the two bowls. "Help me." They rushed to the sink, pulled out the wastebasket, and scooped the contents of both bowls into the garbage. Then they carried both bowls back to the table and set them down beside the spoons. "Let's go see who's at the door," Casey said. They crept into the hall in time to see a man carrying a black briefcase step into the front entranceway and greet their father with a short handshake. The man had a tanned bald head and was wearing large, blue-lensed sunglasses. He had a brown mustache and was wearing a navy blue suit with a red-and-white striped tie. "Mr. Martinez!" their father exclaimed. "What a . . . surprise." "That's Dad's old boss from PolyTech," Margaret whispered to Casey. "I know," Casey replied peevishly. "I said weeks ago I'd come check up on how your work is coming along," Martinez said, sniffing the air for some reason. "Wellington gave me a lift. My car is in the garage -- for a change." "Well, I'm not really ready," Dr. Brewer stammered, looking very uncomfortable even from Margaret's vantage point behind him. "I wasn't expecting anyone. I mean . . . I don't think this is a good time." "No problem. I'll just have a quick look," Martinez said, putting a hand on Dr. Brewer's shoulder as if to calm him. "I've always been so interested in your work. You know that. And you know that it wasn't my idea to let you go. The board forced me. They gave me no choice. But I'm not giving up on you. I promise you that. Come on. Let's see what kind of progress you're making." "Well . . ." Dr. Brewer couldn't hide his displeasure at Mr. Martinez's surprise appearance. He scowled and tried to block the path to the basement steps. At least, it seemed that way to Margaret, who watched silently beside her brother. Mr. Martinez stepped past Dr. Brewer and pulled open the basement door. "Hi, guys." Mr. Martinez gave the two kids a wave, hoisting his briefcase as if it weighed two tons. Their father looked surprised to see them there. "Did you kids finish your lunch?" "Yeah, it was pretty good," Casey lied. The answer seemed to please Dr. Brewer. Adjusting the brim of his Dodgers cap, he followed Mr. Martinez into the basement, carefully closing and locking the door behind him. "Maybe he'll give Dad his job back," Casey said, walking back into the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator to look for something for lunch. "Don't be stupid," Margaret said, reaching over him to pull out a container of egg salad. "If Dad really is growing plants that are part animal, he'll be famous. He won't need a job." "Yeah, I guess," Casey said thoughtfully. "Is that all there is? Just egg salad?" "I'll make you a sandwich," Margaret offered. "I'm not really hungry," Casey replied. "That green stuff made me sick. Why do you think he wanted us to eat it?" "I don't know," Margaret said. She put a hand on Casey's slender shoulder. "I'm really scared, Casey. I wish Mom were home." "Me, too," he said quietly. Margaret put the egg salad back into the refrigerator. She closed the door, then leaned her hot forehead against it. "Casey -- " "What?" "Do you think Dad is telling us the truth?" "About what?" "About anything?" "I don't know," Casey said, shaking his head. Then his expression suddenly changed. "There's one way to find out," he said, his eyes lighting up. "Huh? What do you mean?" Margaret pushed herself away from the refrigerator. "The first chance we get, the first time Dad is away," Casey whispered, "let's go back down in the basement and see for ourselves what Dad is doing." 13 They got their chance the next afternoon when their father emerged from the basement, red metal toolchest in hand. "I promised Mr. Henry next door I'd help him install a new sink in his bathroom," he explained, adjusting his Dodgers cap with his free hand. "When are you coming back?" Casey asked, glancing at Margaret. Not very subtle, Casey, Margaret thought, rolling her eyes. "It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours," Dr. Brewer said. He disappeared out the kitchen door. They watched him cut through the hedges in the backyard and head to Mr. Henry's back door. "It's now or never," Margaret said, glancing doubtfully at Casey. "Think we can do this?" She tried the door. Locked, as usual. "No problem," Casey said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Go get a paper clip. I'll show you what my Mend Kevin taught me last week." Margaret obediently found a paper clip on her desk and brought it to him. Casey straightened the clip out, then poked it into the lock. In a few seconds, he hummed a triumphant fanfare and pulled the door open. "Now you're an expert lock picker, huh? Your friend Kevin is a good guy to know," Margaret said, shaking her head. Casey grinned and motioned for Margaret to go first. "Okay. Let's not think about it. Let's just do it," Margaret said, summoning her courage and stepping onto the landing. A few seconds later, they were in the basement. Knowing a little of what to expect down here didn't make it any less frightening. They were hit immediately by a blast of steamy, hot air. The air, Margaret realized, was so wet, so thick, that droplets immediately clung to her skin. Squinting against the sudden bright light, they stopped in the doorway to the plant room. The plants seemed taller, thicker, more plentiful than the first time they had ventured down here. Long, sinewy tendrils drooped from thick yellow stalks. Broad green and yellow leaves bobbed and trembled, shimmering under the white light. Leaves slapped against each other, making a soft, wet sound. A fat tomato plopped to the ground. Everything seemed to shimmer. The plants all seemed to quiver expectantly. They weren't standing still. They seemed to be reaching up, reaching out, quaking with energy as they grew. Long brown tendrils snaked along the dirt, wrapping themselves around other plants, around each other. A bushy fern had grown to the ceiling, curved, and started its way back down again. "Wow!" Casey cried, impressed with this trembling, glistening jungle. "Are all these plants really brand-new?" "I guess so," Margaret said softly. "They look prehistoric!" They heard breathing sounds, loud sighing, a low moan coming from the direction of the supply closet against the wall. A tendril suddenly swung out from a long stalk. Margaret pulled Casey back. "Look out. Don't get too close," she warned. "I know," he said sharply, moving away from her. "Don't grab me like that. You scared me." The tendril slid harmlessly to the dirt. "Sorry," she said, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "It's just . . . well, you remember last time." "I'll be careful," he said. Margaret shuddered. She heard breathing. Steady, quiet breathing. These plants are definitely not normal, she thought. She took a step back, letting her eyes roam over the amazing jungle of slithering, sighing plants. She was still staring at them when she heard Casey's terrified scream. "Help! It's got me! It's got me!" 14 Margaret uttered a shriek of terror and spun away from the plants to find her brother. "Help!" Casey cried. Gripped with fear; Margaret took a few steps toward Casey, then saw the small, gray creature scampering across the floor. She started to laugh. "Casey, it's a squirrel!" "What?" His voice was several octaves higher than normal. "It -- it grabbed my ankle and -- " "Look," Margaret said, pointing. "It's a squirrel. Look how scared it is. It must have run right into you." "Oh." Casey sighed. The color began to return to his ash-gray face. "I thought it was a . . . plant." "Right. A furry gray plant," Margaret said, shaking her head. Her heart was still thudding in her chest. "You sure gave me a scare, Casey." The squirrel stopped several yards away, turned, stood up on its hind legs, and stared back at them, quivering all over. "How did a squirrel get down here?" Casey demanded, his voice still shaky. Margaret shrugged. "Squirrels are always getting in," she said. "And remember that chipmunk we couldn't get rid of?" Then she glanced over to the small ground-level window at the top of the opposite wall. "That window -- it's open," she told Casey. "The squirrel must have climbed in over there." "Shoo!" Casey yelled at the squirrel. He started to chase it. The squirrel's tail shot right up in the air, and then it took off, running through the tangled plants. "Get out! Get out!" Casey screamed. The terrified squirrel, with Casey in close pursuit, circled the plants twice. Then it headed to the far wall, leapt onto a carton, then onto a higher carton, then bounded out the open window. Casey stopped running and stared up at the window. "Good work," Margaret said. "Now, let's get out of here. We don't know what anything is. We have no idea what to look for. So we can't tell if Dad is telling the truth or not." She started toward the stairs, but stopped when she heard the bumping sound. "Casey -- did you hear that?" She searched for her brother, but he was hidden by the thick leaves of the plants. "Casey?" "Yeah. I heard it," he answered, still out of her view. "It's coming from the supply closet." The loud thumping made Margaret shudder. It sounded to her exactly like someone banging on the closet wall. "Casey, let's check it out," she said. No reply. The banging got louder. "Casey?" Why wasn't he answering her? "Casey -- where are you? You're frightening me," Margaret called, moving closer to the shimmering plants. Another tomato plopped to the ground, so near her foot, it made her jump. Despite the intense heat, she suddenly felt cold all over. "Casey?" "Margaret -- come here. I've found something," he finally said. He sounded uncertain, worried. She hurried around the plants and saw him standing in front of the worktable beside the supply closet. The banging from the closet had stopped. "Casey, what's the matter? You scared me," Margaret scolded. She stopped and leaned against the wooden worktable. "Look," her brother said, holding up a dark, folded-up bundle. "I found this. On the floor. Shoved under this worktable." "Huh? What is it?" Margaret asked. Casey unfolded it. It was a suit jacket. A blue suit jacket. A red-striped necktie was folded inside it. "It's Mr. Martinez's," Casey said, squeezing the collar of the wrinkled jacket between his hands. "It's his jacket and tie." Margaret's mouth dropped open into a wide O of surprise. "You mean he left it here?" "If he left it, why was it bundled up and shoved back under the table?" Casey asked. Margaret stared at the jacket. She ran her hand over the silky striped tie. "Did you see Mr. Martinez leave the house yesterday afternoon?" Casey asked. "No," Margaret answered. "But he must have left. I mean, his car was gone." "He didn't drive, remember? He told Dad he got a lift." Margaret raised her eyes from the wrinkled jacket to her brother's worried face. "Casey -- what are you saying? That Mr. Martinez didn't leave? That he was eaten by a plant or something? That's ridiculous!" "Then why were his coat and tie hidden like that?" Casey demanded. Margaret didn't have a chance to respond. They both gasped as they heard loud footsteps on the stairs. Someone was hurrying down to the basement. "Hide!" Margaret whispered. "Where?" Casey asked, his eyes wide with panic. 15 Margaret leapt up onto the carton, then pulled herself through the small, open window. A tight squeeze, but she struggled out onto the grass. Then she turned around to help Casey. That squirrel turned out to be a friend, she thought, tugging her brother's arms as he scrambled out of the basement. It showed us the only escape route. The afternoon air felt quite cool compared to the steamy basement. Breathing hard, they both squatted down to peer into the window. "Who is it?" Casey whispered. Margaret didn't have to answer. They both saw their father step into the white light, his eyes searching the plant room. "Why did Dad come back?" Casey asked. "Sshhh!" Margaret held a finger to her lips. Then she climbed to her feet and pulled Casey toward the back door. "Come on. Hurry." The back door was unlocked. They stepped into the kitchen just as their father emerged from the basement, a concerned expression on his face. "Hey -- there you are!" he exclaimed. "Hi, Dad," Margaret said, trying to sound casual. "Why'd you come back?" "Had to get more tools," he answered, studying their faces. He eyed them suspiciously. "Where were you two?" "Out in the backyard," Margaret said quickly. "We came in when we heard the back door slam." Dr. Brewer scowled and shook his head. "You never used to lie to me before," he said. "I know you went down into the basement again. You left the door wide open." "We just wanted to look," Casey said quickly, glancing at Margaret, his expression fearful. "We found Mr. Martinez's jacket and tie," Margaret said. "What happened to him, Dad?" "Huh?" The question seemed to catch Dr. Brewer by surprise. "Why did he leave his jacket and tie down there?" Margaret asked. "I'm raising two snoops," her father griped. "Martinez got hot, okay? I have to keep the basement at a very high, tropical temperature with lots of humidity. Martinez became uncomfortable. He removed his jacket and tie and put them down on the worktable. Then he forgot them when he left." Dr. Brewer chuckled. "I think he was in a state of shock from everything I showed him down there. It's no wonder he forgot his things. But I called Martinez this morning. I'm going to drive over and return his stuff when I finish at Mr. Henry's." Margaret saw a smile break out on Casey's face. She felt relieved, too. It was good to know that Mr. Martinez was okay. How awful to suspect my own father of doing something terrible to someone, she thought. But she couldn't help herself. The fear returned every time she saw him. "I'd better get going," Dr. Brewer said. Carrying the tools he had picked up, he started toward the back door. But he stopped at the end of the hall and turned around. "Don't go back in the basement, okay? It really could be dangerous. You could be very sorry." Margaret listened to the screen door slam behind him. Was that a warning -- or a threat? she wondered. 16 Margaret spent Saturday morning hiking up in the golden hills with Diane. The sun burned through the morning smog, and the skies turned blue. A strong breeze kept them from getting too hot. The narrow road was lined with red and yellow wildflowers, and Margaret felt as if she were traveling somewhere far, far away. They had lunch at Diane's house -- tomato soup and avocado salad -- then wandered back to Margaret's house, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of a beautiful afternoon. Dr. Brewer was just backing the station wagon down the drive as Margaret and Diane rode up on their bikes. He rolled down the window, a broad smile on his face. "Good news!" he shouted. "Your mom is on her way home. I'm going to the airport to get her!" "Oh, that's great!" Margaret exclaimed, so happy she could almost cry. Margaret and Diane waved and pedaled up the driveway. I'm so happy, Margaret thought. It'll be so good to have her back. Someone I can talk to. Someone who can explain . . . about Dad. They looked through some old copies of Sassy and People in Margaret's room, listening to some tapes that Margaret had recently bought. At a little past three, Diane suddenly remembered that she had a make-up piano lesson that she was late for. She rushed out of the house in a panic, jumped on her bike, yelled, "Say hi to your mom for me!" and disappeared down the drive. Margaret stood behind the house looking out at the rolling hills, wondering what to do next to make the time pass before her mother got home. The strong, swirling breeze felt cool against her face. She decided to get a book and go sit down with it under the shady sassafras tree in the middle of the yard. She turned and pulled open the kitchen door, and Casey came running up. "Where are our kites?" he asked, out of breath. "Kites? I don't know. Why?" Margaret asked. "Hey -- " She grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. "Mom's coming home. She should be here in an hour or so." "Great!" he cried. "Just enough time to fly some kites. It's so windy. Come on. Want to fly 'em with me?" "Sure," Margaret said. It would help pass the time. She thought hard, trying to remember where they put the kites. "Are they in the garage?" "No," Casey told her. "I know. They're in the basement. On those shelves. The string, too." He pushed past her into the house. "I'll jimmy the lock and go down and get them." "Hey, Casey -- be careful down there," she called after him. He disappeared into the hallway. Margaret had second thoughts. She didn't want Casey down there by himself in the plant room. "Wait up," she called. "I'll come with you." They made their way down the stairs quickly, into the hot, steamy air, into the bright lights. The plants seemed to bend toward' them, to reach out to them as they walked by. Margaret tried to ignore them. Walking right behind Casey, she kept her eyes on the tall metal shelves straight ahead. The shelves were deep and filled with old, unwanted toys, games, and sports equipment, a plastic tent, some old sleeping bags. Casey got there first and started rummaging around on the lower shelves. "I know they're here somewhere," he said. "Yeah. I remember storing them here," Margaret said, running her eyes over the top shelves. Casey, down on his knees, started pulling boxes off the bottom shelf. Suddenly, he stopped. "Whoa -- Margaret." "Huh?" She took a step back. "What is it?" "Look at this," Casey said softly. He pulled something out from behind the shelves, then stood up with it bundled in his hands. Margaret saw that he was holding a pair of black shoes. And a pair of blue trousers. Blue suit trousers? His face suddenly pale, his features drawn, Casey let the shoes drop to the floor. He unfurled the trousers and held them up in front of him. "Hey -- look in the back pocket," Margaret said, pointing. Casey reached into the back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. "I don't believe this," Margaret said. Casey's hands trembled as he opened the wallet and searched inside. He pulled out a green American Express card and read the name on it. "It belongs to Mr. Martinez," he said, swallowing hard. He raised his eyes to Margaret's. "This is Mr. Martinez's stuff." 17 "Dad lied," Casey said, staring in horror at the wallet in his hands. "Mr. Martinez might leave without his jacket. But he wouldn't leave without his pants and shoes." "But -- what happened to him?" Margaret asked, feeling sick. Casey slammed the wallet shut. He shook his head sadly, but didn't reply. In the center of the room, a plant seemed to groan, the sound startling the two kids. "Dad lied," Casey repeated, staring down at the pants and shoes on the floor. "Dad lied to us." "What are we going to do?" Margaret cried, panic and desperation in her voice. "We've got to tell someone what's happening here. But who?" The plant groaned again. Tendrils snaked along the dirt. Leaves clapped against each other softly, wetly. And then the banging began again in the supply closet next to the shelves. Margaret stared at Casey. "That thumping. What is it?" They both listened to the insistent banging sounds. A low moan issued from the closet, followed by a higher-pitched one, both mournful, both very human-sounding. "I think someone's in there!" Margaret exclaimed. "Maybe it's Mr. Martinez," Casey suggested, still gripping the wallet tightly in his hand. Thud thud thud. "Do you think we should open the closet?" Casey asked timidly. A plant groaned as if answering. "Yes. I think we should," Margaret replied, suddenly cold all over. "If it's Mr. Martinez in there, we've got to let him out." Casey set the wallet down on the shelf. Then they moved quickly to the supply closet. Across from them, the plants seemed to shift and move as the two kids did. They heard breathing sounds, another groan, scurrying noises. Leaves bristled on their stalks. Tendrils drooped and slid. "Hey -- look!" Casey cried. "I see," Margaret said. The closet door wasn't just locked. A two-by-four had been nailed over it. Thud thud. Thud thud thud. "There's someone in there -- I know it!" Margaret cried. "I'll get the hammer," Casey said. Keeping close to the wall and as far away from the plants as he could, he edged his way toward the worktable. A few seconds later, he returned with a claw hammer. Thud thud. Working together, they pried the two-by-four off the door. It clattered noisily to the floor. The banging from inside the supply closet grew louder, more insistent. "Now what do we do about the lock?" Margaret asked, staring at it. Casey scratched his head. They both had perspiration dripping down their faces. The steamy, hot air made it hard to catch their breaths. "I don't know how to unlock it," Casey said, stumped. "What if we tried to pry the door off the way we pulled off the two-by-four?" Margaret asked. Thud thud thud. Casey shrugged. "I don't know. Let's try." Working the claw of the hammer into the narrow crack, they tried prying the door on the side of the lock. When it wouldn't budge, they moved to the hinged side of the door and tried there. "It's not moving," Casey said, mopping his forehead with his arm. "Keep trying," Margaret said. "Here. Let's both push it." Digging the claw in just above the lower hinge, they both pushed the handle of the hammer with all their strength. "It -- it moved a little," Margaret said, breathing hard. They kept at it. The wet wood began to crack. They both pushed against the hammer, wedging the claw into the crack. Finally, with a loud ripping sound, they managed to pull the door off. "Huh?" Casey dropped the hammer. They both squinted into the dark closet. And screamed in horror when they saw what was inside. 18 "Look!" Margaret cried, her heart thudding. She suddenly felt dizzy. She gripped the side of the closet to steady herself. "I -- don't believe this," Casey said quietly, his voice trembling as he stared into the long, narrow supply closet. They both gaped at the weird plants that filled the closet. Were they plants? Under the dim ceiling bulb, they bent and writhed, groaning, breathing, sighing. Branches shook, leaves shimmered and moved, tall plants leaned forward as if reaching out to Margaret and Casey. "Look at that one!" Casey cried, taking a step back, stumbling into Margaret. "It has an arm!" "Ohh." Margaret followed Casey's stare. Casey was right. The tall, leafy plant appeared to have a green, human arm descending from its stalk. Margaret's eyes darted around the closet. To her horror, she realized that several plants seemed to have human features -- green arms, a yellow hand with three fingers poking from it, two stumpy legs where the stem should be. She and her brother both cried out when they saw the plant with the face. Inside a cluster of broad leaves there appeared to grow a round, green tomato. But the tomato had a human-shaped nose and an open mouth, from which it repeatedly uttered the most mournful sighs and groans. Another plant, a short plant with clusters of broad, oval leaves, had two green, nearly human faces partly hidden by the leaves, both wailing through open mouths. "Let's get out of here!" Casey cried, grabbing Margaret's hand in fear and tugging her away from the closet. "This is -- gross!" The plants moaned and sighed. Green, finger-less hands reached out to Margaret and Casey. A yellow, sick-looking plant near the wall made choking sounds. A tall flowering plant staggered toward them, thin, tendril-like arms outstretched. "Wait!" Margaret cried, pulling her hand out of Casey's. She spotted something on the closet floor behind the moaning, shifting plants. "Casey -- what's that?" she asked, pointing. She struggled to focus her eyes in the dim light of the closet. On the floor behind the plants, near the shelves on the back wall, were two human feet. Margaret stepped cautiously into the closet. The feet, she saw, were attached to legs. "Margaret -- let's go!" Casey pleaded. "No. Look. There's someone back there," Margaret said, staring hard. "Huh?" "A person. Not a plant," Margaret said She took another step. A soft green arm brushed against her side. "Margaret, what are you doing?" Casey asked, his voice high and frightened. "I have to see who it is," Margaret said. She took a deep breath and held it. Then, ignoring the moans, the sighs, the green arms reaching out to her, the hideous green-tomato faces, she plunged through the plants to the back of the closet. "Dad!" she cried. Her father was lying on the floor, his hands and feet tied tightly with plant tendrils, his mouth gagged by a wide strip of elastic tape. "Margaret -- " Casey was beside her. He lowered his eyes to the floor. "Oh, no!" Their father stared up at them, pleading with his eyes. "Mmmmm!" he cried, struggling to talk through the gag. Margaret dived to the floor and started to untie him. "No -- stop!" Casey cried, and pulled her back by the shoulders. "Casey, let go of me. What's wrong with you?" Margaret cried angrily. "It's Dad. He -- " "It can't be Dad!" Casey said, still holding her by the shoulders. "Dad is at the airport -- remember?" Behind them, the plants seemed to be moaning in unison, a terrifying chorus. A tall plant fell over and rolled toward the open closet door. "Mmmmmmm!" their father continued to plead, struggling at the tendrils that imprisoned him. "I've got to untie him," Margaret told her brother. "Let go of me." "No," Casey insisted. "Margaret -- look at his head." Margaret turned her eyes to her father's head. He was bareheaded. No Dodgers cap. He had tufts of green leaves growing where his hair should be. "We've already seen that," Margaret snapped. "It's a side effect, remember?" She reached down to pull at her father's ropes. "No -- don't!" Casey insisted. "Okay, okay," Margaret said. "I'll just pull the tape off his mouth. I won't untie him." She reached down and tugged at the elastic tape until she managed to get it off. "Kids -- I'm so glad to see you," Dr. Brewer said. "Quick! Untie me." "How did you get in here?" Casey demanded, standing above him, hands on his hips, staring down at him suspiciously. "We saw you leave for the airport." "That wasn't me," Dr. Brewer said. "I've been locked in here for days." "Huh?" Casey cried. "But we saw you -- " Margaret started. "It wasn't me. It's a plant," Dr. Brewer said. "It's a plant copy of me." "Dad -- " Casey said. "Please. There's no time to explain," their father said urgently, raising his leaf-covered head to look toward the closet doorway. "Just untie me. Quick!" "The father we've been living with? He's a plant?" Margaret cried, swallowing hard. "Yes. Please -- untie me!" Margaret reached for the tendrils. "No!" Casey insisted. "How do we know you're telling the truth?" "I'll explain everything. I promise," he pleaded. "Hurry. Our lives are at stake. Mr. Martinez is in here, too." Startled, Margaret turned her eyes to the far wall. Sure enough, Mr. Martinez also lay on the floor, bound and gagged. "Let me out -- please!" her father cried. Behind them, plants moaned and cried. Margaret couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm untying him," she told Casey, and bent down to start grappling with the tendrils. Her father sighed gratefully. Casey bent down and reluctantly began working at the tendrils, too. Finally, they had loosened them enough so their father could slip out. He climbed to his feet slowly, stretching his arms, moving his legs, bending his knees. "Man, that feels good," he said, giving Margaret and Casey a grim smile. "Dad -- should we untie Mr. Martinez?" Margaret asked. But, without warning, Dr. Brewer pushed past the two kids and made his way out of the closet. "Dad -- whoa! Where are you going?" Margaret called. "You said you'd explain everything!" Casey insisted. He and his sister ran through the moaning plants, following their father. "I will. I will." Breathing hard, Dr. Brewer strode quickly to the woodpile against the far wall. Margaret and Casey both gasped as he picked up an axe. He spun around to face them, holding the thick axe handle with both hands. His face frozen with determination, he started toward them. "Dad -- what are you doing?" Margaret cried. 19 Swinging the axe onto his shoulder, Dr. Brewer advanced on Margaret and Casey. He groaned from the effort of raising the heavy tool, his face reddening, his eyes wide, excited. "Dad, please!" Margaret cried, gripping Casey's shoulder, backing up toward the jungle of plants in the center of the room. "What are you doing!" she repeated. "He's not our real father!" Casey cried. "I told you we shouldn't untie him!" "He is our real father!' Margaret insisted. I know he is!" She turned her eyes to her father, looking for an answer. But he stared back at them, his face filled with confusion -- and menace, the axe in his hands gleaming under the bright ceiling lights. "Dad -- answer us!" Margaret demanded. "Answer us!" Before Dr. Brewer could reply, they heard loud, rapid footsteps clumping down the basement steps. All four of them turned to the doorway of the plant room -- to see an alarmed-looking Dr. Brewer enter. He grabbed the bill of his Dodgers cap as he strode angrily toward the two kids. "What are you two doing down here?" he cried. "You promised me. Here's your mother. Don't you want to -- ?" Mrs. Brewer appeared at his side. She started to call out a greeting, but stopped, freezing in horror when she saw the confusing scene. "No!" she screamed, seeing the other Dr. Brewer, the capless Dr. Brewer, holding an axe in front of him with both hands. "No!" Her face filled with horror. She turned to the Dr. Brewer that had just brought her home. He glared accusingly at Margaret and Casey. "What have you done? You let him escape?" "He's our dad," Margaret said, in a tiny little voice she barely recognized. "I'm your dad!" the Dr. Brewer at the doorway bellowed. "Not him! He's not your dad. He's not even human! He's a plant!" Margaret and Casey both gasped and drew back in terror. "You're the plant!" the bareheaded Dr. Brewer accused, raising the axe. "He's dangerous!" the other Dr. Brewer exclaimed. "How could you have let him out?" Caught in the middle, Margaret and Casey stared from one father to the other. Who was their real father? 20 "That's not your father!" Dr. Brewer with the Dodgers cap cried again, moving into the room. "He's a copy. A plant copy. One of my experiments that went wrong. I locked him in the supply closet because he's dangerous." "You're the copy!" the other Dr. Brewer accused, and raised the axe again. Margaret and Casey stood motionless, exchanging terrified glances. "Kids -- what have you done?" Mrs. Brewer cried, her hands pressed against her cheeks, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What have we done?" Margaret asked her brother in a low voice. Staring wide-eyed from one man to the other, Casey seemed too frightened to reply. "I -- I don't know what to do," Casey managed to whisper. What can we do? Margaret wondered silently, realizing that her entire body was trembling. "He has to be destroyed!" the axe-wielding Dr. Brewer shouted, staring at his look-alike across the room. Beside them, plants quivered and shook, sighing loudly. Tendrils slithered across the dirt. Leaves shimmered and whispered. "Put down the axe. You're not fooling anyone," the other Dr. Brewer said. "You have to be destroyed!" Dr. Brewer with no cap repeated, his eyes wild, his face scarlet, moving closer, the axe gleaming as if electrified under the white light. Dad would never act like this, Margaret realized. Casey and I were idiots. We let him out of the closet. And now he's going to kill our real dad. And mom. And then . . . us! What can I do? she wondered, trying to think clearly even though her mind was whirring wildly out of control. What can I do? Uttering a desperate cry of protest, Margaret leapt forward and grabbed the axe from the imposter's hands. He gaped in surprise as she steadied her grip on the handle. It was heavier than she'd imagined. "Get back!" she screamed. "Get back -- now!" "Margaret -- wait!" her mother cried, still too frightened to move from the doorway. The capless Dr. Brewer reached for the axe. "Give it back to me! You don't know what you're doing!" he pleaded, and made a wild grab for it. Margaret pulled back and swung the axe. "Stay back. Everyone, stay back." "Thank goodness!" Dr. Brewer with the Dodgers cap exclaimed. "We've got to get him back in the closet. He's very dangerous." He stepped up to Margaret. "Give me the axe." Margaret hesitated. "Give me the axe," he insisted. Margaret turned to her mother. "What should I do?" Mrs. Brewer shrugged helplessly. "I -- I don't know." "Princess -- don't do it," the capless Dr. Brewer said softly, staring into Margaret's eyes. He called me Princess, Margaret realized. The other one never had. Does this mean that the Dad in the closet is my real dad? "Margaret -- give me the axe." The one in the cap made a grab for it. Margaret backed away and swung the axe again. "Get back! Both of you -- stay back!" she warned. "I'm warning you," Dr. Brewer in the cap said. "He's dangerous. Listen to me, Margaret." "Get back!" she repeated, desperately trying to decide what to do. Which one is my real dad? Which one? Which one? Which one? Her eyes darting back and forth from one to the other, she saw that each of them had a bandage around his right hand. And it gave her an idea. "Casey, there's a knife on the wall over there," she said, still holding the axe poised. "Get it for me -- fast!" Casey obediently hurried to the wall. It took him a short while to find the knife among all the tools hanging there. He reached up on tiptoes to pull it down, then hurried back to Margaret with it. Margaret lowered the axe and took the long-bladed knife from him. "Margaret -- give me the axe," the man in the Dodgers cap insisted impatiently. "Margaret, what are you doing?" the man from the supply closet asked, suddenly looking frightened. "I -- I have an idea," Margaret said hesitantly. She took a deep breath. Then she stepped over to the man from the supply closet and pushed the knife blade into his arm. 21 "Ow!" he cried out as the blade cut through the skin. Margaret pulled the knife back, having made a tiny puncture hole. Red blood trickled from the hole. "He's our real dad," she told Casey, sighing with relief. "Here, Dad." She handed him the axe. "Margaret -- you're wrong!" the man in the baseball cap cried in alarm. "He's tricked you! He's tricked you!" The capless Dr. Brewer moved quickly. He picked up the axe, took three steps forward, pulled the axe back, and swung with all his might. The Dr. Brewer in the cap opened his mouth wide and uttered a hushed cry of alarm. The cry was choked off as the axe cut easily through his body, slicing him in two. A thick green liquid oozed from the wound. And as the man fell, his mouth locking open in disbelief and horror, Margaret could see that his body was actually a stem. He had no bones, no human organs. The body thudded to the floor. Green liquid puddled around it. "Princess -- we're okay!" Dr. Brewer cried, flinging the axe aside. "You guessed right!" "It wasn't a guess," Margaret said, sinking into his arms. "I remembered the green blood. I saw it. Late at night. One of you was in the bathroom, bleeding green blood. I knew my real dad would have red blood." "We're okay!" Mrs. Brewer cried, rushing into her husband's arms. "We're okay. We're all okay!" All four of them rushed together in an emotional family hug. "One more thing we have to do," their father said, his arms around the two kids. "Let's get Mr. Martinez out of the closet." By dinnertime, things had almost returned to normal. They had finally managed to welcome their mother home, and tried to explain to her all that had happened in her absence. Mr. Martinez had been rescued from the supply closet, not too much the worse for wear. He and Dr. Brewer had had a long discussion about what had happened and about Dr. Brewer's work. He expressed total bewilderment as to what Dr. Brewer had accomplished, but he knew enough to realize that it was historic. "Perhaps you need the structured environment the lab on campus offers. FU talk to the board members about getting you back on staff," Martinez said. It was his way of inviting their father back to work. After Mr. Martinez was driven home, Dr. Brewer disappeared into the basement for about an hour. He returned grim-faced and exhausted. "I destroyed most of the plants," he explained, sinking into an armchair. "I had to. They were suffering. Later, I'll destroy the rest." "Every single plant?" Mrs. Brewer asked. "Well . . . there are a few normal ones that I can plant out back in the garden," he replied. He shook his head sadly. "Only a few." At dinner, he finally had the strength to explain to Margaret, Casey, and Mrs. Brewer what had happened down in the basement. "I was working on a super plant," he said, "trying to electronically make a new plant using DNA elements from other plants. Then I accidentally cut my hand on a slide. I didn't realize it, but some of my blood got mixed in with the plant molecules I was using. When I turned on the machine, my molecules got mixed in with plant molecules -- and I ended up with something that was part human, part plant." "That's gross!" Casey exclaimed, dropping a forkful of mashed potatoes. "Well, I'm a scientist," Dr. Brewer replied, "so I didn't think it was gross. I thought it was pretty exciting. I mean, here I was, inventing an entirely new kind of creature." "Those plants with faces -- " Margaret started. Her father nodded. "Yes. Those were things I made by inserting human materials into plant materials. I kept putting them in the supply closet. I got carried away. I didn't know how far I could go, how human I could make the plants. I could see that my creations were unhappy, suffering. But I couldn't stop. It was too exciting." He took a long drink of water from his glass. "You didn't tell me any of this," Mrs. Brewer said, shaking her head. "I couldn't," he said. "I couldn't tell anyone. I -- I was too involved. Then one day, I went too far. I created a plant that was an exact copy of me in almost every way. He looked like me. He sounded like me. And he had my brain, my mind." "But he still acted like a plant in some ways," Margaret said. "He ate plant food and -- " "He wasn't perfect," Dr. Brewer said, leaning forward over the dinner table, talking in a low, serious voice. "He had flaws. But he was strong enough and smart enough to overpower me, to lock me in the closet, to take my place -- and to continue my experiments. And when Martinez arrived unexpectedly, he locked Martinez in the closet, too, so that his secret would be safe." "Was the head full of leaves one of the flaws?" Casey asked. Dr. Brewer nodded. "Yes, he was almost a perfect clone of me, almost a perfect human, but not quite." "But, Dad," Margaret said, pointing, "you have leaves on your head, too." He reached up and pulled one off. "I know," he said, making a disgusted face. "That's really gross, huh?" Everyone agreed. "Well, when I cut my hand, some of the plant materials mixed with my blood, got into my system," he explained. "And then I turned on the machine. The machine created a strong chemical reaction -between the plant materials and my blood. Then, my hair fell out overnight. And the leaves immediately started to sprout. Don't worry, guys. The leaves are falling out already. I think my hair will grow back." Margaret and Casey cheered. "I guess things will return to normal around here," Mrs. Brewer said, smiling at her husband. "Better than normal," he said, smiling back. "If Martinez convinces the board to give me my job back, I'll dear out the basement and turn it into the best game room you ever saw!" Margaret and Casey cheered again. "We're all alive and safe," Dr. Brewer said, hugging both kids at once. "Thanks to you two." It was the happiest dinner Margaret could remember. After they had cleaned up, they all went out for ice cream. It was nearly ten o'clock when they returned. Dr. Brewer headed for the basement. "Hey -- where are you going?" his wife called suspiciously. "I'm just going down to deal with the rest of the plants," Dr. Brewer assured her. "I want to make sure that everything is gone, that this horrible chapter in our lives is over." By the end of the week, most of the plants had been destroyed. A giant pile of leaves, roots, and stalks were burned in a bonfire that lasted for hours. A few tiny plants had been transplanted outside. All of the equipment had been dismantled and trucked to the university. On Saturday, all four Brewers went to select a pool table for the new basement rec room. On Sunday, Margaret found herself standing in back by the garden, staring up at the golden hills. It's so peaceful now, she thought happily. So peaceful here. And so beautiful. The smile faded from her face when she heard the whisper at her feet. "Margaret." She looked down to see a small yellow flower nudging her ankle. "Margaret," the flower whispered, "help me. Please -- help me. I'm your father. Really! I'm your real father."

Scare crow walks at midnight

2014-03-12T02:21:00.003-07:00

GOOSEBUMPS R.L.Stine

Scare crow walks at midnight

"Hey, Jodie — wait up!"

I turned and squinted into the bright sunlight. My brother, Mark, was still on the concrete train platform. The train had clattered off. I could see it snaking its way through the low, green meadows in the distance.

I turned to Stanley. Stanley is the hired man on my grandparents' farm. He stood beside me, carrying both suitcases. "Look in the dictionary for the word 'slowpoke,' " I said, "and you'll see Mark's picture."

Stanley smiled at me. "I like the dictionary, Jodie," he said. "Sometimes I read it for hours."

"Hey, Mark — get a move on!" I cried. But he was taking his good time, walking slowly, in a daze as usual.

I tossed my blond hair behind my shoulders and turned back to Stanley. Mark and I hadn't visited the farm for a year. But Stanley still looked the same.

He's so skinny. "Like a noodle," my grandma always says. His denim overalls always look five sizes too big on him.

Stanley is about forty or forty-five, I think. He wears his dark hair in a crewcut, shaved close to his head. His ears are huge. They stick way out and are always bright red. And he has big, round, brown eyes that remind me of puppy eyes.

Stanley isn't very smart. Grandpa Kurt always says that Stanley isn't working with a full one hundred watts.

But Mark and I really like him. He has a quiet sense of humor. And he is kind and gentle and friendly, and always has lots of amazing things to show us whenever we visit the farm.

"You look nice, Jodie," Stanley said, his cheeks turning as red as his ears. "How old are you now?"

"Twelve," I told him. "And Mark is eleven."

He thought about it. "That makes twenty-three," he joked.

We both laughed. You never know what Stanley is going to say!

"I think I stepped in something gross," Mark complained, catching up to us.

I always know what Mark is going to say. My brother only knows three words — cool, weird, and gross. Really. That's his whole vocabulary.

As a joke, I gave him a dictionary for his last birthday. "You're weird," Mark said when I handed it to him. "What a gross gift."

He scraped his white high-tops on the ground as we followed Stanley to the beat-up, red pickup truck. "Carry my backpack for me," Mark said, trying to shove the bulging backpack at me.

"No way," I told him. "Carry it yourself."

The backpack contained his Walkman, about thirty tapes, comic books, his Game Boy, and at least fifty game cartridges. I knew he planned to spend the whole month lying on the hammock on the screened-in back porch of the farmhouse, listening to music and playing video games.

Well . . . no way!

Mom and Dad said it was my job to make sure Mark got outside and enjoyed the farm. We were so cooped up in the city all year. That's why they sent us to visit Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam for a month each summer — to enjoy the great outdoors.

We stopped beside the truck while Stanley searched his overall pockets for the key. "It's going to get pretty hot today," Stanley said, "unless it cools down."

A typical Stanley weather report.

I gazed out at the wide, grassy field beyond the small train station parking lot. Thousands of tiny white puffballs floated up against the clear blue sky.

It was so beautiful!

Naturally, I sneezed.

I love visiting my grandparents' farm. My only problem is, I'm allergic to just about everything on it.

So Mom packs several bottles of my allergy medicine for me — and lots of tissues.

"Gesundheit," Stanley said. He tossed our two suitcases in the back of the pickup. Mark slid his backpack in, too. "Can I ride in back?" he asked.

He loves to lie flat in the back, staring up at the sky, and bumping up and down really hard.

Stanley is a terrible driver. He can't seem to concentrate on steering and driving at the right speed at the same time. So there are always lots of quick turns and heavy bumps.

Mark lifted himself into the back of the pickup and stretched out next to the suitcases. I climbed beside Stanley in the front.

A short while later, we were bouncing along the narrow, twisting road that led to the farm. I stared out the dusty window at the passing meadows and farmhouses. Everything looked so green and alive.

Stanley drove with both hands wrapped tightly around the top of the steering wheel. He sat forward stiffly, leaning over the wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield without blinking.

"Mr. Mortimer doesn't farm his place anymore," he said, lifting one hand from the wheel to point to a big, white farmhouse on top of a sloping, green hill.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because he died," Stanley replied solemnly.

See what I mean? You never know what Stanley is going to say.

We bounced over a deep rut in the road. I was sure Mark was having a great time in back.

The road leads through the small town, so small that it doesn't even have a name. The farmers have always called it Town.

It has a feed store, a combination gas station and grocery store, a white-steepled church, a hardware store, and a mailbox.

There were two trucks parked in front of the feed store. I didn't see anyone as we barreled past.

My grandparents' farm is about two miles from town. I recognized the cornfields as we approached.

"The corn is so high already!" I exclaimed, staring through the bouncing window. "Have you eaten any yet?"

"Just at dinner," Stanley replied.

Suddenly, he slowed the truck and turned his eyes to me. "The scarecrow walks at midnight," he uttered in a low voice.

"Huh?" I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.

"The scarecrow walks at midnight," he repeated, training his big puppy eyes on me. "I read it in the book."

I didn't know what to say, so I laughed. I thought maybe he was making a joke.

Days later, I realized it was no joke.

Watching the farm spread out in front of us filled me with happiness. It's not a big farm or a fancy farm, but I like everything about it.

I like the barn with its sweet smells. I like the low mooing sounds of the cows way off in the far pasture. I like to watch the tall stalks of corn, all swaying together in the wind.

Corny, huh?

I also like the scary ghost stories Grandpa Kurt tells us at night in front of the fireplace.

And I have to include Grandma Miriam's chocolate chip pancakes. They're so good, I sometimes dream about them back home in the city.

I also like the happy expressions on my grandparents' faces when we come rushing up to greet them.

Of course I was the first one out of the truck. Mark was as slow as usual. I went running up to the screen porch in back of their big, old farmhouse. I couldn't wait to see my grandparents.

Grandma Miriam came waddling out, her arms outstretched. The screen door slammed behind her. But then I saw Grandpa Kurt push it open and he hurried out, too.

His limp was worse, I noticed right away. He leaned heavily on a white cane. He'd never needed one before.

I didn't have time to think about it as Mark and I were smothered in hugs. "So good to see you! It's been so long, so long!" Grandma Miriam cried happily.

There were the usual comments about how much taller we were and how grown up we looked.

"Jodie, where'd you get that blond hair? There aren't any blonds in my family," Grandpa Kurt would say, shaking his mane of white hair. "You must get that from your father's side.

"No, I know. I bet you got it from a store," he said, grinning. It was his little joke. He greeted me with it every summer. And his blue eyes would sparkle excitedly.

"You're right. It's a wig," I told him, laughing.

He gave my long blond hair a playful tug.

"Did you get cable yet?" Mark asked, dragging his backpack along the ground.

"Cable TV?" Grandpa Kurt stared hard at Mark. "Not yet. But we still get three channels. How many more do we need?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "No MTV," he groaned.

Stanley made his way past us, carrying our suitcases into the house.

"Let's go in. I'll bet you're starving," Grandma Miriam said. "I made soup and sandwiches. We'll have chicken and corn tonight. The corn is very sweet this year. I know how you two love it."

I watched my grandparents as they led the way to the house. They both looked older to me. They moved more slowly than I remembered. Grandpa Kurt's limp was definitely worse. They both seemed tired.

Grandma Miriam is short and chubby. She has a round face surrounded by curly red hair. Bright red. There's no way to describe the color. I don't know what she uses to dye it that color. I've never seen it on anyone else!

She wears square-shaped eyeglasses that give her a really old-fashioned look. She likes big, roomy housedresses. I don't think I've ever seen her in jeans or pants.

Grandpa Kurt is tall and broad-shouldered. Mom says he was really handsome when he was young. "Like a movie star," she always tells me.

Now he has wavy, white hair, still very thick, that he wets and slicks down flat on his head. He has sparkling blue eyes that always make me smile. And a white stubble over his slender face. Grandpa Kurt doesn't like to shave.

Today he was wearing a long-sleeved, red-and-green-plaid shirt, buttoned to the collar despite the hot day, and baggy jeans, stained at one knee, held up by white suspenders.

Lunch was fun. We sat around the long kitchen table. Sunlight poured in through the big window. I could see the barn in back and the cornfields stretching behind it.

Mark and I told all our news — about school, about my basketball team going to the championships, about our new car, about Dad growing a mustache.

For some reason, Stanley thought that was very funny. He was laughing so hard, he choked on his split-pea soup. And Grandpa Kurt had to reach over and slap him on the back.

It's hard to know what will crack Stanley up. As Mark would say, Stanley is definitely weird.

All through lunch, I kept staring at my grandparents. I couldn't get over how much they had changed in one year. They seemed so much quieter, so much slower.

That's what it means to get older, I told myself.

"Stanley will have to show you his scarecrows," Grandma Miriam said, passing the bowl of potato chips. "Won't you, Stanley?"

Grandpa Kurt cleared his throat loudly. I had the feeling he was telling Grandma Miriam to change the subject or something.

"I made them," Stanley said, grinning proudly. He turned his big eyes on me. "The book — it told me how."

"Are you still taking guitar lessons?" Grandpa Kurt asked Mark.

I could see that, for some reason, Grandpa Kurt didn't want to talk about Stanley's scarecrows.

"Yeah," Mark answered with a mouthful of potato chips. "But I sold my acoustic. I switched to electric."

"You mean you have to plug it in?" Stanley asked. He started to giggle, as if he had just cracked a funny joke.

"What a shame you didn't bring your guitar," Grandma Miriam said to Mark.

"No, it isn't," I teased. "The cows would start giving sour milk!"

"Shut up, Jodie!" Mark snapped. He has no sense of humor.

"They already do give sour milk," Grandpa Kurt muttered, lowering his eyes.

"Bad luck. When cows give sour milk, it means bad luck," Stanley declared, his eyes widening, his expression suddenly fearful.

"It's okay, Stanley," Grandma Miriam assured him quickly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Grandpa Kurt was only teasing."

"If you kids are finished, why not go with Stanley," Grandpa Kurt said. "He'll give you a tour of the farm. You always enjoy that." He sighed. "I'd go along, but my leg — it's been acting up again."

Grandma Miriam started to clear the dishes. Mark and I followed Stanley out the back door. The grass in the back yard had recently been mowed. The air was heavy with its sweet smell.

I saw a hummingbird fluttering over the flower garden beside the house. I pointed it out to Mark, but by the time he turned, it had hummed away.

At the back of the long, green yard stood the old barn. Its white walls were badly stained and peeling. It really needed a paint job. The doors were open, and I could see square bales of straw inside.

Far to the right of the barn, almost to the cornfields, stood the small guest house where Stanley lived with his teenage son, Sticks.

"Stanley — where's Sticks?" I asked. "Why wasn't he at lunch?"

"Went to town," Stanley answered quietly. "Went to town, riding on a pony."

Mark and I exchanged glances. We never can figure Stanley out.

Poking up from the cornfield stood several dark figures, the scarecrows Grandma Miriam had started to talk about. I stared out at them, shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand.

"So many scarecrows!" I exclaimed. "Stanley, last summer there was only one. Why are there so many now?"

He didn't reply. He didn't seem to hear me. He had a black baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead. He was taking long strides, leaning forward with that storklike walk of his, his hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy denim overalls.

"We've seen the farm a hundred times," Mark complained, whispering to me. "Why do we have to take the grand tour again?"

"Mark — cool your jets," I told him. "We always take a tour of the farm. It's a tradition."

Mark grumbled to himself. He really is lazy. He never wants to do anything.

Stanley led the way past the barn into the cornfields. The stalks were way over my head. Their golden tassels gleamed in the bright sunlight.

Stanley reached up and pulled an ear off the stalk. "Let's see if it's ready," he said, grinning at Mark and me.

He held the ear in his left hand and started to shuck it with his right.

After a few seconds, he pulled the husk away, revealing the ear of corn inside.

I stared at it — and let out a horrified cry.

"Ohhhh — it's disgusting!" I shrieked.

"Gross!" I heard Mark groan.

The corn was a disgusting brown color. And it was moving on the cob. Wriggling. Squirming.

Stanley raised the corn to his face to examine it. And I realized it was covered with worms. Hundreds of wriggling, brown worms.

"No!" Stanley cried in horror. He let the ear of corn drop to the ground at his feet. "That's bad luck! The book says so. That's very bad luck!"

I stared down at the ear of corn. The worms were wriggling off the cob, onto the dirt.

"It's okay, Stanley," I told him. "I only screamed because I was surprised. This happens sometimes. Sometimes worms get into the corn. Grandpa told me."

"No. It's bad," Stanley insisted in a trembling voice. His red ears were aflame. His big eyes revealed his fear. "The book — it says so."

"What book?" Mark demanded. He kicked the wormy ear of corn away with the toe of his high-top.

"My book," Stanley replied mysteriously. "My superstition book."

Uh-oh, I thought. Stanley shouldn't have a book about superstitions. He was already the most superstitious person in the world — even without a book!

"You've been reading a book about superstitions?" Mark asked him, watching the brown worms crawl over the soft dirt.

"Yes." Stanley nodded his head enthusiastically. "It's a good book. It tells me everything. And it's all true. All of it!"

He pulled off his cap and scratched his stubby hair. "I've got to check the book. I've got to see what to do about the corn. The bad corn."

He was getting pretty worked up. It was making me feel a little scared. I've known Stanley my whole life. I think he's worked for Grandpa Kurt for more than twenty years.

He's always been strange. But I've never seen him get so upset about something as unimportant as a bad ear of corn.

"Show us the scarecrows," I said, trying to get his mind off the corn.

"Yeah. Let's see them," Mark joined in.

"Okay. The scarecrows." Stanley nodded. Then he turned, still thinking hard, and began leading the way through the tall rows of cornstalks.

The stalks creaked and groaned as we passed by them. It was kind of an eerie sound.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. One of the dark scarecrows rose up in front of us. It wore a tattered black coat, stuffed with straw. Its arms stretched stiffly out at its sides.

The scarecrow was tall, towering over my head. Tall enough to stand over the high cornstalks.

Its head was a faded burlap bag, filled with straw. Evil black eyes and a menacing frown had been painted on thickly in black paint. A battered old-fashioned hat rested on its head.

"You made these?" I asked Stanley. I could see several other scarecrows poking up from the corn. They all stood in the same stiff position. They all had the same menacing frown.

He stared up the scarecrow's face. "I made them," he said in a low voice. "The book showed me how."

"They're pretty scary looking," Mark said, standing close beside me. He grabbed the scarecrow's straw hand and shook it. "What's up?" Mark asked it.

"The scarecrow walks at midnight," Stanley said, repeating the phrase he had used at the train station.

Mark was trying to slap the scarecrow a high-five.

"What does that mean!" I asked Stanley.

"The book told me how," Stanley replied, keeping his eyes on the dark-painted face on the burlap bag. "The book told me how to make them walk."

"Huh? You mean you make the scarecrows walk?" I asked, very confused.

Stanley's dark eyes locked on mine. Once again, he got that very solemn expression on his face. "I know how to do it. The book has all the words."

I stared back at him, totally confused. I didn't know what to say.

"I made them walk, Jodie," Stanley continued in a voice just above a whisper. "I made them walk last week. And now I'm the boss."

"Huh? The boss of the s-scarecrows?" I stammered. "Do you mean — "

I stopped when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the scarecrow's arm move.

The straw crinkled as the arm slid up.

Then I felt rough straw brush against my face — as the dry scarecrow arm moved to my throat.

The prickly straw, poking out of the sleeve of the black coat, scraped against my neck.

I let out a shrill scream.

"It's alive!" I cried in panic, diving to the ground, scrambling away on all fours.

I turned back to see Mark and Stanley calmly watching me.

Hadn't they seen the scarecrow try to choke me?

Then Stanley's son, Sticks, stepped out from behind the scarecrow, a gleeful grin on his face.

"Sticks — ! You creep!" I cried angrily. I knew at once that he had moved the scarecrow's arm.

"You city kids sure scare easy," Sticks said, his grin growing wider. He reached down to help me to my feet. "You really thought the scarecrow moved, didn't you, Jodie!" he said accusingly.

"I can make the scarecrows move," Stanley said, pulling the cap down lower on his forehead. "I can make them walk. I did it. It's all in the book."

Sticks's smile faded. The light seemed to dim from his dark eyes. "Yeah, sure, Dad," he murmured.

Sticks is sixteen. He is tall and lanky. He has long, skinny arms and legs. That's how he got the nickname Sticks.

He tries to look tough. He has long black hair down past his collar, which he seldom washes. He wears tight muscle shirts and dirty jeans, ripped at the knees. He sneers a lot, and his dark eyes always seem to be laughing at you.

He calls Mark and me "the city kids." He always says it with a sneer. And he's always playing stupid jokes on us. I think he's kind of jealous of Mark and me. I don't think it's been easy for Sticks to grow up on the farm, living in the little guest house with his dad.

I mean, Stanley is more like a kid than a father.

"I saw you back there," Mark told Sticks.

"Well, thanks for warning me!" I snapped at Mark. I turned back angrily to Sticks. "I see you haven't changed at all."

"Great to see you, too, Jodie," he replied sarcastically. "The city kids are back for another month with the hicks!"

"Sticks — what's your problem?" I shot back.

"Be nice," Stanley muttered. "The corn has ears, you know."

We all stared at Stanley. Had he just made a joke? It was hard to tell with him.

Stanley's face remained serious. His big eyes stared out at me through the shade of his cap. "The corn has ears," he repeated. "There are spirits in the field."

Sticks shook his head unhappily. "Dad, you spend too much time with that superstition book," he muttered.

"The book is all true," Stanley replied. "It's all true."

Sticks kicked at the dirt. He raised his eyes to me. His expression seemed very sad. "Things are different here," he murmured.

"Huh?" I didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

Sticks turned to his father. Stanley was staring back at him, his eyes narrowed.

Sticks shrugged and didn't reply. He grabbed Mark's arm and squeezed it. "You're as flabby as ever," he told Mark. "Want to throw a football around this afternoon?"

"It's kind of hot," Mark replied. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Sticks sneered at him. "Still a wimp, huh?"

"No way!" Mark protested. "I just said it was hot, that's all."

"Hey — you've got something on your back," Sticks told Mark. "Turn around."

Mark obediently turned around.

Sticks quickly bent down, picked up the wormy corncob, and stuffed it down the back of Mark's T-shirt.

I had to laugh as I watched my brother run screaming all the way back to the farmhouse.

Dinner was quiet. Grandma Miriam's fried chicken was as tasty as ever. And she was right about the corn. It was very sweet. Mark and I each ate two ears, dripping with butter.

I enjoyed the dinner. But it upset me that both of my grandparents seemed so changed. Grandpa Kurt used to talk nonstop. He always had dozens of funny stories about the farmers in the area. And he always had new jokes to tell.

Tonight he barely said a word.

Grandma Miriam kept urging Mark and me to eat more. And she kept asking us how we liked everything. But she, too, seemed quieter.

They both seemed tense. Uncomfortable.

They both kept glancing down the table at Stanley, who was eating with both hands, butter dripping down his chin.

Sticks sat glumly across from his father. He seemed even more unfriendly than usual.

Stanley was the only cheerful person at the table. He chewed his chicken enthusiastically and asked for a third helping of mashed potatoes.

"Is everything okay, Stanley?" Grandma Miriam kept asking, biting her bottom lip. "Everything okay?"

Stanley burped and smiled. "Not bad," was his reply.

Why do things seem so different? I wondered. Is it just because Grandma and Grandpa are getting old?

After dinner, we sat around the big, comfortable living room. Grandpa Kurt rocked gently back and forth in the antique wooden rocking chair by the fireplace.

It was too hot to build a fire. But as he rocked, he stared into the dark fireplace, a thoughtful expression on his white-stubbled face.

Grandma Miriam sat in her favorite chair, a big, green overstuffed armchair across from Grandpa Kurt. She had an unopened gardening magazine in her lap.

Sticks, who had barely said two words the whole evening, disappeared. Stanley leaned against the wall, poking his teeth with a toothpick.

Mark sank down into the long, green couch. I sat down at the other end of it and stared across the room.

"Yuck. That stuffed bear still gives me the creeps!" I exclaimed.

At the far end of the room, an enormous stuffed brown bear — about eight feet tall — stood straight up on its hind legs. Grandpa Kurt had shot it many years ago on a hunting trip. The bear's huge paws were extended, as if ready to pounce.

"That was a killer bear," Grandpa Kurt remembered, rocking slowly, his eyes on the angry-looking beast. "He mauled two hunters before I shot him. I saved their lives."

I shuddered and turned away from the bear. I really hated it. I don't know why Grandma Miriam let Grandpa Kurt keep it in the living room!

"How about a scary story?" I asked Grandpa Kurt.

He stared back at me, his blue eyes suddenly lifeless and dull.

"Yeah. We've been looking forward to your stories," Mark chimed in. "Tell us the one about the headless boy in the closet."

"No. Tell a new one," I insisted eagerly.

Grandpa Kurt rubbed his chin slowly. His eyes went to Stanley across the room. Then he cleared his throat nervously.

"I'm kind of tired, kids," he said softly. "Think I'll just go to bed."

"But — no story?" I protested.

He stared back at me with those dull eyes. "I don't really know any stories," he murmured. He slowly climbed to his feet and headed toward his room.

What is going on here? I asked myself. What is wrong?

Upstairs in my bedroom later that night, I changed into a long nightshirt. The bedroom window was open, and a soft breeze invaded the room.

I stared out the open window. A broad apple tree cast its shadow over the lawn.

Where the grass ended, the cornfields stretched out under the glow of the full moon. The pale moonlight made the tall stalks shimmer like gold. The stalks cast long blue shadows over the field.

Across the wide field, the scarecrows poked up stiffly like dark-uniformed soldiers. Their coat sleeves ruffled in the light breeze. Their pale burlap faces seemed to stare back at me.

I felt a cold chill run down my back.

So many scarecrows. At least a dozen of them, standing in straight rows. Like an army ready to march.

"The scarecrow walks at midnight."

That's what Stanley had said in that low, frightening tone I had never heard him use before.

I glanced at the clock on the bed table. Just past ten o'clock.

I'll be asleep by the time they walk, I thought.

A crazy thought.

I sneezed. It seems I'm allergic to the farm air both day and night!

I stared at the long shadows cast by the scarecrows. A gust of wind bent the stalks, making the shadows roll forward like a dark ocean wave.

And then I saw the scarecrows start to twitch.

"Mark!" I screamed. "Mark — come here! Hurry!"

Under the light of the full moon, I stared in horror as the dark scarecrows started to move.

Their arms jerked. Their burlap heads lurched forward.

All of them. In unison.

All of the scarecrows were jerking, twitching, straining — as if struggling to pull free of their stakes.

"Mark — hurry!" I screamed.

I heard footsteps clomping rapidly down the hall. Mark burst breathlessly into my room. "Jodie — what is it?" he cried.

I motioned frantically for him to come to the window. As he stepped beside me, I pointed to the cornfields. "Look — the scarecrows."

He gripped the windowsill and leaned out the window.

Over his shoulder, I could see the scarecrows twitch in unison. A cold shudder made me wrap my arms around myself.

"It's the wind," Mark said, stepping back from the window. "What's your problem, Jodie? It's just the wind blowing them around."

"You — you're wrong, Mark," I stammered, still hugging myself. "Look again."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. But he turned back and leaned out the window. He gazed out at the field for a long time.

"Don't you see?" I demanded shrilly. "They're all moving together. Their arms, their heads — all moving together."

When Mark pulled back from the window, his blue eyes were wide and fearful. He stared at me thoughtfully and didn't say a word.

Finally, he swallowed hard and his voice came out low and frightened. "We've got to tell Grandpa Kurt," he said.

We rushed downstairs, but our grandparents had gone to bed. The bedroom door was closed. It was silent on the other side.

"Maybe we'd better wait till tomorrow morning," I whispered as Mark and I tiptoed back upstairs to our rooms. "I think we'll be safe till then."

We crept back to our rooms. I pushed the window shut and locked it. Out in the fields, the scarecrows were still twitching, still pulling at their stakes.

With a shudder, I turned away from the window and plunged into the bed, pulling the old quilt up over my head.

I slept restlessly, tossing under the heavy quilt. In the morning, I jumped eagerly from bed. I ran a brush through my hair and hurried down to breakfast.

Mark was right behind me on the stairs. He was wearing the same jeans as yesterday and a red-and-black Nirvana T-shirt. He hadn't bothered to brush his hair. It stood straight up in back.

"Pancakes!" he managed to choke out. Mark is only good for one word at a time this early in the morning.

But the word instantly cheered me up and made me forget for a moment about the creepy scarecrows.

How could I have forgotten about Grandma Miriam's amazing chocolate chip pancakes?

They are so soft, they really do melt in your mouth. And the warm chocolate mixed with the sweet maple syrup makes the most delicious breakfast I've ever eaten.

As we hurried across the living room toward the kitchen, I sniffed the air, hoping to smell that wonderful aroma of pancake batter on the stove.

But my nose was too stuffed up to smell anything.

Mark and I burst into the kitchen at the same time. Grandpa Kurt and Stanley were already at the table. A big blue pot of coffee stood steaming in front of them.

Stanley sipped his coffee. Grandpa Kurt had his face buried behind the morning newspaper. He glanced up and smiled as Mark and I entered.

Everyone said good morning to everyone.

Mark and I took our places at the table. We were so eager for the famous pancakes, we were practically rubbing our hands together the way cartoon characters do.

Imagine our shock when Grandma Miriam set down big bowls of cornflakes in front of us.

I practically burst into tears.

I glanced across the table at Mark. He was staring back at me, his face revealing his surprise — and disappointment. "Cornflakes?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.

Grandma Miriam had gone back to the sink. I turned to her. "Grandma Miriam — no pancakes?" I asked meekly.

I saw her glance at Stanley. "I've stopped making them, Jodie," she replied, her eyes still on Stanley. "Pancakes are too fattening."

"Nothing like a good bowl of cornflakes in the morning," Stanley said with a big smile. He reached for the cornflakes box in the center of the table and filled his bowl up with a second helping.

Grandpa Kurt grunted behind his newspaper.

"Go ahead — eat them before they get soggy," Grandma Miriam urged from the sink.

Mark and I just stared at each other. Last summer, Grandma Miriam had made us a big stack of chocolate chip pancakes almost every morning!

What is going on here? I wondered once again.

I suddenly remembered Sticks out in the cornfields the day before, whispering to me, "Things are different here."

They sure were different. And not for the better, I decided.

My stomach grumbled. I picked up the spoon and started to eat my cornflakes. I saw Mark glumly spooning his. And then I suddenly remembered the twitching scarecrows.

"Grandpa Kurt — " I started. "Last night, Mark and I — we were looking out at the cornfields and we saw the scarecrows. They were moving. We — "

I heard Grandma Miriam utter a low gasp from behind me.

Grandpa Kurt lowered his newspaper. He narrowed his eyes at me, but didn't say a word.

"The scarecrows were moving!" Mark chimed in.

Stanley chuckled. "It was the wind," he said, his eyes on Grandpa Kurt. "It had to be the wind blowing them around."

Grandpa Kurt glared at Stanley. "You sure?" he demanded.

"Yeah. It was the wind," Stanley replied tensely.

"But they were trying to get off their poles!" I cried. "We saw them!"

Grandpa Kurt stared hard at Stanley.

Stanley's ears turned bright red. He lowered his eyes. "It was a breezy night," he said. "They move in the wind."

"It's going to be a sunny day," Grandma Miriam said brightly from the sink.

"But the scarecrows — " Mark insisted.

"Yep. Looks like a real pretty day," Grandpa Kurt mumbled, ignoring Mark.

He doesn't want to talk about the scarecrows, I realized.

Is it because he doesn't believe us?

Grandpa Kurt turned to Stanley. "After you take the cows to pasture, maybe you and Jodie and Mark can do some fishing at the creek."

"Maybe," Stanley replied, studying the cornflakes box. "Maybe we could just do that."

"Sounds like fun," Mark said. Mark likes fishing. It's one of his favorite sports because you don't have to move too much.

There's a really pretty creek behind the cow pasture at the far end of Grandpa Kurt's property. It's very woodsy back there, and the narrow creek trickles softly beneath the old shade trees and is usually filled with fish.

Finishing my cereal, I turned to Grandma Miriam at the sink. "And what are you doing today?" I asked her. "Maybe you and I could spend some time together and — "

I stopped as she turned toward me and her hand came into view.

"Ohhhh." I let out a frightened moan when I saw her hand. It — it was made of straw!!

"Jodie — what's the matter?" Grandma Miriam asked.

I started to point to her hand.

Then it came into sharp focus, and I saw that her hand wasn't straw — she was holding a broom.

She had gripped it by the handle and was pulling lint off the ends of the straw.

"Nothing's wrong," I told her, feeling like a total jerk. I rubbed my eyes. "I've got to take my allergy medicine," I told her. "My eyes are so watery. I keep seeing things!"

I was seeing scarecrows everywhere I looked!

I scolded myself for acting so crazy.

Stop thinking about scarecrows, I told myself. Stanley was right. The scarecrows had moved in the wind last night.

It was just the wind.

Stanley took us fishing later that morning. As we started off for the creek, he seemed in a really cheerful mood.

He smiled as he swung the big picnic basket Grandma Miriam had packed for our lunch. "She put in all my favorites," Stanley said happily.

He patted the basket with childish satisfaction.

He had three bamboo fishing poles tucked under his left arm. He carried the big straw basket in his right hand. He refused to let Mark and me carry anything.

The warm air smelled sweet. The sun beamed down in a cloudless, blue sky. Blades of recently cut grass stuck to my white sneakers as we headed across the back yard.

The medicine had helped. My eyes were much better.

Stanley turned just past the barn and began walking quickly along its back wall. His expression turned solemn. He appeared to be concentrating hard on something.

"Hey — where are we going?" I called, hurrying to keep up with him.

He didn't seem to hear me. Taking long strides, swinging the straw picnic basket as he walked, he headed back in the direction we started from.

"Hey — wait up!" Mark called breathlessly. My brother hates to hurry when he can take his time.

"Stanley — wait!" I cried, tugging his shirtsleeve. "We're going around in circles!"

He nodded, his expression serious under the black baseball cap. "We have to circle the barn three times," he said in a low voice.

"Huh? Why?" I demanded.

We started our second turn around the barn.

"It will bring us good luck with our fishing," Stanley replied. Then he added, "It's in the book. Everything is in the book."

I opened my mouth to tell him this was really silly. But I decided not to. He seemed so serious about that superstition book of his. I didn't want to spoil it for him.

Besides, Mark and I could use the exercise.

A short while later, we finished circling and started walking along the dirt path that led past the cornfields to the creek. Stanley's smile returned immediately.

He really believes the superstitions in the book, I realized.

I wondered if Sticks believed them, too.

"Where's Sticks?" I asked, kicking a big clump of dirt across the path.

"Doing chores," Stanley replied. "Sticks is a good worker. A real good worker. But he'll be along soon, I bet. Sticks never likes to miss out on a fishing trip."

The sun began to feel really strong on my face and on my shoulders. I wondered if I should run back and get some sunblock.

The dark-suited scarecrows appeared to stare at me as we walked past the tall rows of cornstalks. I could swear their pale, painted faces turned to follow me as I went by.

And did one of them lift its arm to wave a straw hand at me?

I scolded myself for such stupid thoughts, and turned my eyes away.

Stop thinking about scarecrows, Jodie! I told myself.

Forget your bad dream. Forget about the dumb scarecrows.

It's a beautiful day, and you have nothing to worry about. Try to relax and have a good time.

The path led into tall pine woods behind the cornfields. It got shady and much cooler as soon as we stepped into the woods.

"Can't we take a taxi the rest of the way?" Mark whined. A typical Mark joke. He really would take a taxi if there was one!

Stanley shook his head. "City kids," he muttered, grinning.

The path ended, and we continued through the trees. It smelled so piney and fresh in the woods. I saw a tiny, brown-and-white chipmunk dart into a hollow log.

In the near distance I could hear the musical trickle of the creek.

Suddenly, Stanley stopped. He bent and picked up a pinecone.

The three fishing poles fell to the ground. He didn't seem to notice. He held the pinecone close to his face, studying it.

"A pinecone on the shady side means a long winter," he said, turning the dry cone in his hand.

Mark and I bent to pick up the poles. "Is that what the book says?" Mark asked.

Stanley nodded. He set the pinecone down carefully where he found it.

"The cone is still sticky. That's a good sign," he said seriously.

Mark let out a giggle. I knew he was trying not to laugh at Stanley. But the giggle escaped somehow.

Stanley's big brown eyes filled with hurt. "It's all true, Mark," he said quietly. "It's all true."

"I — I'd like to read that book," Mark said, glancing at me.

"It's a very hard book," Stanley replied. "I have trouble with some of the words."

"I can hear the creek," I broke in, changing the subject. "Let's go. I want to catch some fish before lunchtime."

The clear water felt cold against my legs. The smooth rocks of the creek bed were slippery under my bare feet.

All three of us had waded into the shallow creek. Mark had wanted to lie down on the grassy shore to fish. But I convinced him it was much more fun — and much easier to catch something — if you stand in the water.

"Yeah, I'll catch something," he grumbled as he rolled up the cuffs of his jeans. "I'll catch pneumonia!"

Stanley let out a loud laugh. It sounded like, "Har! Har! Har!"

He set the big picnic basket down carefully on the dry grass. Then he rolled up the legs of his denim overalls. Carrying a pole high in one hand, he stepped into the water.

"Ooooh! It's cold!" he cried, waving his arms above his head, nearly losing his balance on the slippery rocks.

"Stanley — didn't you forget something?" I called to him.

He turned, confused. His big ears became bright red. "What did I forget, Jodie?"

I pointed to his fishing pole. "How about some bait?" I called.

He glanced at the empty hook on the end of his line. Then he made his way back to shore to get a worm to bait his hook.

A few minutes later, all three of us were in the water. Mark complained at first about how cold it was and about how the rocks on the bottom hurt his delicate little feet.

But after a while, he got into it, too.

The creek at this point was only about two feet deep. The water was very clear and trickled rapidly, making little swirls and dips over the rocky bottom.

I lowered my line into the water and watched the red plastic float bob on the surface. If it started to sink, I'd know I had a bite.

The sun felt warm on my face. The cool water flowed past pleasantly.

I wish it were deep enough to swim here, I thought.

"Hey — I've got something!" Mark cried excitedly.

Stanley and I turned and watched him tug up his line.

Mark pulled with all his might. "It — it's a big one, I think," he said.

Finally, he gave one last really hard tug — and pulled up a thick clump of green weeds.

"Good one, Mark," I said, rolling my eyes. "It's a big one, all right."

"You're a big one," Mark shot back. "A big jerk."

"Don't be such a baby," I muttered.

I brushed away a buzzing horsefly and tried to concentrate on my line. But my mind started to wander. It always does when I'm fishing.

I found myself thinking about the tall scarecrows in the field. They stood so darkly, so menacingly, so alert. Their painted faces all had the same hard stare.

I was still picturing them when I felt the hand slip around my ankle.

The straw scarecrow hand.

It reached up from the water, circled my ankle, and started to tighten its cold, wet grip around my leg.

I screamed and tried to kick the hand away.

But my feet slipped on the smooth rocks. My hands shot up as I toppled backwards.

"Ohh!" I cried out again as I hit the water.

The scarecrow hung on.

On my back, the water rushing over me, I kicked and thrashed my arms.

And then I saw it. The clump of green weeds that had wrapped itself around my ankle.

"Oh, no," I moaned out loud.

No scarecrow. Only weeds.

I lowered my foot to the water. I didn't move. I just lay there on my back, waiting for my heart to stop pounding, feeling once again like a total jerk.

I glanced up at Mark and Stanley. They were staring down at me, too startled to laugh.

"Don't say a word," I warned them, struggling to my feet. "I'm warning you — don't say a word."

Mark snickered, but he obediently didn't say anything.

"I didn't bring a towel," Stanley said with concern. "I'm sorry, Jodie, I didn't know you wanted to swim."

That made Mark burst out in loud guffaws.

I shot Mark a warning stare. My T-shirt and shorts were soaked. I started to shore, carrying the pole awkwardly in front of me.

"I don't need a towel," I told Stanley. "It feels good. Very refreshing."

"You scared away all the fish, Jodie," Mark complained.

"No. You scared them away. They saw your face!" I replied. I knew I was acting like a baby now. But I didn't care. I was cold and wet and angry.

I stomped onto the shore, shaking water from my hair.

"I think they're biting better down here," I heard Stanley call to Mark. I turned to see him disappear around a curve of the creek.

Stepping carefully over the rocks, Mark followed after him. They were both hidden from view behind the thick trees.

I squeezed my hair, trying to get the creek water out. Finally, I gave up and tossed my hair behind my shoulder.

I was debating what to do next when I heard a crackling sound in the woods.

A footstep?

I turned and stared into the trees. I didn't see anyone.

Another chipmunk scurried away over the blanket of dead, brown leaves. Had someone — or something — frightened the chipmunk?

I listened hard. Another crackling footstep. Rustling sounds.

"Who — who's there?" I called.

The low bushes rustled in reply.

"Sticks — is that you? Sticks?" My voice trembled.

No reply.

It has to be Sticks, I told myself. This is Grandpa Kurt's property. No one else would be back here.

"Sticks — stop trying to scare me!" I shouted angrily.

No reply.

Another footstep. The crack of a twig.

More rustling sounds. Closer now.

"Sticks — I know it's you!" I called uncertainly. "I'm really tired of your dumb tricks. Sticks?"

My eyes stared straight ahead into the trees.

I listened. Silence now.

Heavy silence.

And then I raised my hand to my mouth as I saw the dark figure poke out from the shade of two tall pines.

"Sticks — ?"

I squinted into the deep blue shadows.

I saw the bulging, dark coat. The faded burlap head. The dark fedora hat tilted over the black, painted eyes.

I saw the straw poking out under the jacket. The straw sticking out from the long jacket sleeves.

A scarecrow.

A scarecrow that had followed us? Followed us to the creek?

Squinting hard into the shadows, staring at its evil, frozen grin, I opened my mouth to scream — but no sound came out.

And then a hand grabbed my shoulder.

"Ohh!" I let out a cry and spun around.

Stanley stared at me with concern. He and Mark had come up behind me.

"Jodie, what's the matter?" Stanley asked. "Mark and I — we thought we heard you calling."

"What's up?" Mark asked casually. The line on his fishing pole had become tangled, and he was working to untangle it. "Did you see a squirrel or something?"

"No — I — I — " My heart was pounding so hard, I could barely speak.

"Cool your jets, Jodie," Mark said, imitating me.

"I saw a scarecrow!" I finally managed to scream.

Stanley's mouth dropped open.

Mark narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me. "A scarecrow? Here in the woods?"

"It — it was walking," I stammered. "I heard it. I heard it walking."

A choking sound escaped Stanley's open mouth.

Mark continued to stare at me, his features tight with fear.

"It's over there!" I cried. "Right there! Look!"

I pointed.

But it was gone.

Stanley stared hard at me, his big brown eyes tilled with confusion.

"I saw it," I insisted. "Between those two trees." I pointed again.

"You did? A scarecrow? Really?" Stanley asked. I could see he was really starting to get scared.

"Well . . . maybe it was just the shadows," I said. I didn't want to frighten Stanley.

I shivered. "I'm soaked. I've got to get back in the sunlight," I told them.

"But did you see it?" Stanley asked, his big eyes locked on mine. "Did you see a scarecrow here, Jodie?"

"I — I don't think so, Stanley," I replied, trying to calm him down. "I'm sorry."

"This is very bad," he murmured, talking to himself. "This is very bad. I have to read the book. This is very bad." Then, muttering to himself, he turned and ran.

"Stanley — stop!" I called. "Stanley — come back! Don't leave us down here!"

But he was gone. Vanished into the woods.

"I'm going after him," I told Mark. "And then I'm going to tell Grandpa Kurt about this. Can you carry back the fishing poles by yourself?"

"Do I have to?" Mark whined. My brother is so lazy!

I told him he had to. Then I went running along the path through the woods toward the farmhouse.

My heart pounded as I reached the cornfields. The dark-coated scarecrows appeared to stare at me. As my sneakers thudded on the narrow dirt path, I imagined the straw arms reaching for me, reaching to grab me and pull me into the corn.

But the scarecrows kept their silent, still watch over the cornstalks. They didn't move or twitch as I hurtled past.

Up ahead I saw Stanley running to his little house. I cupped my hands over my mouth and called to him, but he disappeared inside.

I decided to find Grandpa Kurt and tell him about the scarecrow I saw moving through the woods.

The barn door was open, and I thought I saw someone moving around inside. "Grandpa Kurt?" I called breathlessly. "Are you in there?"

My wet hair bounced on my shoulders as I ran into the barn. I stood in the rectangle of light that stretched from the doorway and stared into the darkness. "Grandpa Kurt?" I called, struggling to catch my breath.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. I stepped deeper into the barn. "Grandpa Kurt? Are you here?"

Hearing a soft scraping sound against the far wall, I made my way toward it. "Grandpa Kurt — can I talk to you? I really need to talk to you!" My voice sounded tiny and frightened in the big, dark barn. My sneakers scraped over the dry straw floor as I walked toward the back.

I spun around as I heard a rumbling sound.

The light grew dimmer.

"Hey — " I shouted. Too late.

The barn door was sliding shut.

"Hey! Who's there?" I cried out in stunned anger. "Hey — stop!"

I slipped over the straw as I started to lurch toward the sliding door. I fell down hard, but quickly scrambled to my feet.

I darted toward the door. But I wasn't fast enough.

As the heavy door rumbled shut, the rectangle of light grew narrower, narrower.

The door slammed with a deafening bang.

The darkness slid around me, circled me, covered me.

"Hey — let me out!" I screamed. "Let me out of here!"

My scream ended in a choked sob. My breath escaped in noisy gasps.

I pounded on the wooden barn door with both fists. Then I frantically swept my hands over the door, searching blindly for a latch, for something to pull — some way to open the door.

When I couldn't find anything, I pounded on the door until my fists hurt.

Then I stopped and took a step back.

Calm down, Jodie, I told myself. Calm down. You'll get out of the barn. You'll find a way out. It's not like you're trapped in here forever.

I tried to force away my panic. I held my breath, waiting for my heart to stop racing. Then I let my breath out slowly. Slooooowly.

I was just starting to feel a little better when I heard the scraping sound.

A dry scraping. The sound of a shoe crunching over straw.

"Oh." I let out a sharp cry, then raised both hands to my face and listened.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

The sound of footsteps. Slow, steady footsteps, so light on the barn floor.

Footsteps coming toward me in the darkness.

"Who — who's there?" I choked out, my voice a hushed whisper.

No reply.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

The soft, scratchy footsteps came closer.

"Who is it?" I cried shrilly.

No reply.

I stared into the darkness. I couldn't see a thing.

Scrape. Scrape.

Whoever — or whatever — was moving steadily toward me.

I took a step back. Then another.

I tried to cry out, but my throat was choked with fear.

I let out a terrified gasp as I backed into something. In my panic, it took me a few seconds to realize that it was only a wooden ladder. The ladder that led up to the hayloft.

The footsteps crunched closer. Closer.

"Please — " I uttered in a tiny, choked voice. "Please — don't — "

Closer. Closer. Scraping toward me through the heavy darkness.

I gripped the sides of the ladder. "Please — leave me alone!"

Before I realized what I was doing, I was pulling myself up the ladder. My arms trembled, and my legs felt as if they each weighed a thousand pounds.

But I scrambled rung by rung toward the hayloft, away from the frightening, scraping footsteps down below.

When I reached the top, I lay flat on the hayloft floor. I struggled to listen, to hear the footsteps over the loud pounding of my heart.

Was I being followed? Was the thing chasing me up the ladder?

I held my breath. I listened.

Scrabbling sounds. Scraping footsteps.

"Go away!" I screamed frantically. "Whoever you are — go away!"

But the sounds continued, dry and scratchy. Like straw brushing against straw.

Scrambling to my knees, I turned to the small, square hayloft window. Sunlight filtered in through the window. The light made the hay strewn over the floor gleam like slender strands of gold.

My heart still pounding, I crawled to the window.

Yes! The heavy rope was still tied to the side. The rope that Mark and I always used to swing down to the ground.

I can get out of here! I told myself happily.

I can grab the rope and swing out of the hayloft. I can escape!

Eagerly, I grabbed the rope with both hands.

Then I poked my head out the window and gazed down to the ground.

And let out a scream of surprise and horror.

Gazing down, I saw a black hat. Beneath it, a black coat.

A scarecrow. Perched outside the barn door. As if standing guard.

It jerked its arms and legs at the sound of my scream.

And as I stared in disbelief, it hurried around the side of the barn, hobbling on its straw legs, its arms flapping at its sides.

I blinked several times.

Was I seeing things?

My hands were cold and wet. I gripped the rope more tightly. Taking a deep breath, I plunged out of the small square window.

The heavy rope swung out over the front of the barn.

Down, down. I hit the ground hard, landing on my feet.

"Ow!" I cried out as the rope cut my hands.

I let go and ran around to the side of the barn. I wanted to catch up to that scarecrow. I wanted to see if it really was a scarecrow, a scarecrow that could run.

Ignoring my fear, I ran as fast as I could.

No sign of him on this side of the barn.

My chest began to ache. My temples throbbed.

I turned the corner and headed around the back of the barn, searching for the fleeing scarecrow.

And ran right into Sticks!

"Hey — " We both shouted in surprise as we collided.

I frantically untangled myself from him. Staring past him, I saw that the scarecrow had vanished.

"What's the hurry?" Sticks demanded. "You practically ran me over!"

He was wearing faded denim jeans, slashed at both knees, and a faded purple muscle shirt that only showed off how skinny he was. His black hair was tied back in a short ponytail.

"A — a scarecrow!" I stammered.

And, then — that instant — I knew.

In that instant, I solved the whole mystery of the scarecrows.

It hadn't been a scarecrow.

It was Sticks.

In the woods down by the creek. And, now, outside the barn.

Sticks. Playing another one of his mean tricks.

And I was suddenly certain that Sticks had somehow made the scarecrows twitch and pull on their stakes last night.

Sticks just loved fooling the "city kids." Ever since Mark and I had been little, he'd played the scariest, meanest practical jokes on us.

Sometimes Sticks could be a nice guy. But he had a real cruel streak.

"I thought you were fishing," he said casually.

"Well, I'm not," I snapped. "Sticks, why do you keep trying to scare us?"

"Huh?" He pretended he didn't know what I was talking about.

"Sticks, give me a break," I muttered. "I know you were the scarecrow just now. I'm not stupid!"

"Scarecrow? What scarecrow?" he asked, giving me a wide-eyed, innocent expression.

"You were dressed as a scarecrow," I accused him. "Or else you carried one here, and pulled it on a string or something."

"You're totally crazy," Sticks replied angrily. "Have you been out in the sun too long or something?"

"Sticks — give up," I said. "Why are you doing this? Why do you keep trying to scare Mark and me? You scared your Dad, too."

"Jodie, you're nuts!" he exclaimed. "I really don't have time to be dressing up in costumes just to amuse you and your brother."

"Sticks — you're not fooling me," I insisted. "You — "

I stopped short when I saw Sticks's expression change. "Dad!" he cried, suddenly frightened. "Dad! You say he was scared?"

I nodded.

"I've got to find him!" Sticks exclaimed frantically, "He — he could do something terrible!"

"Sticks, your joke has gone far enough!" I cried. "Just stop it!"

But he was already running toward the front of the barn, calling for his father, his voice shrill and frantic.

Sticks didn't find his dad until dinnertime. That's the next time I saw him, too — just before dinner. He was carrying his big superstition book, holding it tightly under his arm.

"Jodie," he whispered, motioning for me to come close. His face was red. His dark eyes revealed his excitement.

"Hi, Stanley," I whispered back uncertainly.

"Don't tell Grandpa Kurt about the scarecrow," Stanley whispered.

"Huh?" Stanley's request caught me off guard.

"Don't tell your grandpa," Stanley repeated. "It will only upset him. We don't want to frighten him, do we?"

"But, Stanley — " I started to protest.

Stanley raised a finger to his lips. "Don't tell, Jodie. Your grandpa doesn't like to be upset. I'll take care of the scarecrow. I have the book." He tapped the big book with his finger.

I started to tell Stanley that the scarecrow was only Sticks, playing a mean joke. But Grandma Miriam called us to the table before I could get the words out.

Stanley carried his superstition book to the table. Every few bites, he would pick up the big, black book and read a few paragraphs.

He moved his lips as he read. But I was sitting down at the other end of the table and couldn't make out any of the words.

Sticks kept his eyes down on his plate and hardly said a word. I think he was really embarrassed that his father was reading the superstition book at the dinner table.

But Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam didn't act the least bit surprised. They talked cheerfully to Mark and me and kept passing us more food — as if they didn't even notice Stanley's behavior.

I really wanted to tell Grandpa Kurt about how Sticks was trying to scare Mark and me. But I decided to listen to Stanley and not upset my grandfather.

Besides, I could deal with Sticks if I had to. He thought he was so tough. But I wasn't the least bit afraid of him.

Stanley was still reading, jabbering away as he read, as Grandma Miriam cleared the dinner dishes. Mark and I helped. Then we took our seats as Grandma Miriam carried a big cherry pie to the table.

"Weird," Mark whispered to me, staring at the pie.

He was right. "Doesn't Grandpa Kurt like apple pie?" I blurted out.

Grandma Miriam gave me a tense smile. "Too early in the year for apples," she murmured.

"But isn't Grandpa Kurt allergic to cherries?" Mark asked.

Grandma Miriam started cutting the pie with a silver pie cutter. "Everyone loves cherry pie," she replied, concentrating on her work. Then she raised her eyes to Stanley. "Isn't that right, Stanley?"

Stanley grinned over his book. "It's my favorite," he said. "Grandma Miriam always serves my favorite."

After dinner, Grandpa Kurt once again refused to tell Mark and me a scary story.

We were sitting around the fireplace, staring at the crackling yellow flames. Even though it had been so hot, the air had grown cool this evening, cool enough to build a nice, toasty fire.

Grandpa Kurt was in his rocking chair at the side of the hearth. The old wooden chair creaked as he rocked slowly back and forth.

He had always loved to gaze at the fire and tell us one of his frightening stories. You could see the leaping flames reflected in his blue eyes. And his voice would go lower and lower as the story got scarier.

But tonight he shrugged when I asked him for a story. He stared dully at the huge stuffed bear on its pedestal against the wall. Then he glanced across the room at Stanley.

"Wish I knew some good stories," Grandpa Kurt replied with a sigh. "But I've clean run out."

A short while later, Mark and I trudged upstairs to our bedrooms. "What is his problem?" Mark whispered as we climbed.

I shook my head. "Beats me."

"He seems so . . . different," Mark said.

"Everyone here does," I agreed. "Except for Sticks. He's still trying to scare us city kids."

"Let's just ignore him," Mark suggested. "Let's just pretend we don't see him running around in his stupid scarecrow costume."

I agreed. Then I said good-night and headed into my room.

Ignore the scarecrows, I thought as I arranged the blankets on the bed.

Just ignore them.

I'm not going to think about scarecrows again, I told myself.

Sticks can go jump in the creek.

Climbing into bed, I pulled the quilt up to my chin. I lay on my back, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, trying to figure out what kind of picture they formed. There were three jagged cracks. I decided they looked like bolts of lightning.

If I squinted, I could make them look like an old man with a beard.

I yawned. I felt really sleepy, but I couldn't get to sleep.

It was only my second night here at the farm. It always takes me awhile to adjust to being in a new place and sleeping in a different bed.

I closed my eyes. Through the open window, I could hear the soft mooing of cows from the barn. And I could hear the whisper of the wind as it brushed through the tall cornstalks.

My nose was totally stuffed up. Bet I snore tonight, I thought.

That is, if I ever get to sleep!

I tried counting sheep. It didn't seem to be working, so I tried counting cows. Big, bulky, bouncing, sloooooow-moooooving cows.

I counted to a hundred twelve before I decided that wasn't working, either.

I turned onto my side. Then, after a few minutes, I tried my other side.

I found myself thinking about my best friend, Shawna. I wondered if Shawna was having a good time at camp.

I thought about some of my other friends. Most of them were just hanging around this summer, not doing much of anything.

When I glanced at the clock, I was surprised to see it was nearly twelve. I've got to get to sleep, I told myself. I'll be wrecked tomorrow if I don't get some sleep.

I settled onto my back, pulling the soft quilt up to my chin again. I closed my eyes and tried to picture nothing. Just empty, black space. Endless, empty space.

The next thing I knew, I was hearing scratching sounds.

I ignored them at first. I thought the curtains were flapping against the open window.

Got to get to sleep, I urged myself. Got to get to sleep.

The scratching grew louder. Closer.

I heard a scraping sound.

From outside the window?

I opened my eyes. Shadows danced on the ceiling. I realized I was holding my breath.

Listening hard.

Another scrape. More scratching. Dry scratching.

I heard a low groan.

"Huh?" A startled gasp escaped my lips.

I pulled myself up against the headboard. I tugged the quilt up to my chin, gripping it tightly with both hands.

I heard more dry scraping. Like sandpaper, I thought.

Suddenly the room grew darker.

I saw something pull itself up to the window. A dark figure. Blocking the moonlight.

"Who — who's there?" I tried to call. But my voice came out a choked whisper.

I could see a shadowy head, black against the purple sky.

It rose up in the window. Dark shoulders. Followed by a darker chest. Black against black.

A silent shadow, slipping into my room.

"H-help!" Another stammered whisper.

My heart had stopped beating. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe.

It slid over the windowsill. Brushed away the curtains as it lowered itself into my room.

Its feet scraped over the bare floorboards.

Scratch scratch scratch.

It moved slowly, steadily toward my bed.

I struggled to get up.

Too late.

My feet tangled in the quilt.

I fell to the floor, landing hard on my elbows.

I raised my eyes to see it move closer.

I opened my mouth to scream as it emerged from the shadows.

And then I recognized him. Recognized his face.

"Grandpa Kurt!" I cried. "Grandpa Kurt — what are you doing here? Why did you climb in the window?"

He didn't reply. His cold blue eyes glared down at me. His whole face twisted into an ugly frown.

And then he raised both arms above me.

And I saw that he had no hands.

Clumps of straw poked out from his jacket sleeves.

Only straw.

"Grandpa — no!!" I shrieked.

"Grandpa — please — no!" I shrieked as he lowered his straw arms toward me.

He bared his teeth like an angry dog and let out a sharp, frightening growl.

The straw hands reached down for me.

Grandpa Kurt's face was the same. The face I had always known. Except that his eyes were so cold, so cold and dead.

The straw hands brushed over my face as I climbed to my feet. I took a step back, raising my hands like a shield.

"Grandpa — what's wrong? What's happening?" I whispered.

My temples were pounding. My entire body shook.

His cold eyes narrowed in fury as he reached for me again.

"Noooo!" I let out a long wail of terror. Then I turned and stumbled to the door.

His feet scraped over the bare floor as he lurched toward me. Glancing down, I saw the straw poking out from the cuffs of his pants.

His feet — they were straw, too.

"Grandpa Kurt! Grandpa Kurt! What is happening!" Was that really my voice, so shrill and frightened?

He swung an arm. The straw scratched my back as it swept over me.

I grabbed for the doorknob. Twisted it. Pulled open the door.

And cried out again as I collided with Grandma Miriam.

"Oh, help! Please help! Grandma Miriam — he's chasing me!" I cried.

Her expression didn't change. She stared back at me.

In the dim light of the hallway, her face came into focus.

And I saw that her glasses were painted on.

And her eyes. And mouth. And big round nose.

Her entire face was painted on.

"You're not real!" I cried.

And then darkness swept over me as Grandpa Kurt's straw hands wrapped around my face.

I woke up coughing and choking.

Surrounded by darkness. Heavy darkness.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I'd been sleeping with the pillow over my face.

Tossing it to the foot of the bed, I pulled myself up, breathing hard. My face was hot. My nightshirt stuck wetly to my back.

I glanced at the window, suddenly afraid that I'd see a dark figure climbing in.

The curtains fluttered gently. The early morning sky was still gray. I heard the shrill cry of a rooster.

A dream. It had all been a frightening nightmare.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I lowered my feet to the floor.

I stared at the gray morning light through the window. Just a dream, I assured myself. Calm down, Jodie. It was just a dream.

I could hear someone moving around downstairs. Staggering over to the dresser, I pulled out some fresh clothes — a pair of faded denim cutoffs, a sleeveless blue T-shirt.

My eyes were watery. Everything was a blur. My allergies were really bad this morning.

Rubbing my eyes, I made my way to the window and peered out. A red ball of a sun was just peeking over the broad apple tree. A heavy morning dew made the grass of the back yard sparkle like emeralds.

The sea of cornstalks rose darkly behind the grass. The scarecrows stood stiffly over them, arms outstretched as if welcoming the morning.

The rooster crowed again.

What a stupid nightmare, I thought. I shook myself as if trying to shake it from my memory. Then I ran a brush through my hair and hurried down to breakfast.

Mark was just entering the kitchen as I came in. We found Grandma Miriam by herself at the table. A mug of tea steamed in front of her as she gazed out the window at the morning sunlight.

She turned and smiled at us as we entered. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

I was tempted to tell her about my scary nightmare. But, instead, I asked, "Where's Grandpa Kurt?" I stared at his empty chair. The newspaper lay unopened on the table.

"They all went off early," Grandma Miriam replied.

She stood up, walked to the cabinets, and brought a big box of cornflakes to the table. She motioned for us to take our places. "Pretty day," she said cheerfully.

"No pancakes?" Mark blurted out.

Grandma Miriam stopped halfway across the room. "I've completely forgotten how to make them," she said without turning around.

She set two bowls down and made her way to the refrigerator to get the milk. "You kids want orange juice this morning? It's fresh squeezed."

Grandma Miriam set the milk carton down beside my bowl. She smiled at me. Her eyes remained dull behind her square-rimmed glasses. "I hope you two are enjoying your visit," she said quietly.

"We would be if it weren't for Sticks," I blurted out.

Her expression turned to surprise. "Sticks?"

"He's trying to scare us again," I said.

Grandma Miriam tsk-tsked. "You know Sticks," she replied softly.

She pushed at her red hair with both hands. "What are you two planning for today?" she asked brightly. "It's a beautiful morning to go riding. Before they left this morning, Grandpa Kurt had Stanley saddle up Betsy and Maggie, in case you wanted to ride."

"Sounds like fun," I told her. "What do you say, Mark? Before it gets really hot out?"

"I guess," Mark replied.

"You two always enjoyed riding along the creek," Grandma Miriam said, putting the cornflakes box away.

I stared across the room at her, stared at her red, curly hair, her pudgy arms, her flowered housedress.

"Are you okay, Grandma Miriam?" I asked. The words just tumbled out of my mouth. "Is everything okay here?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she lowered her eyes, avoiding my gaze. "Go have your ride," she said quietly. "Don't worry about me."

Grandpa Kurt always called Betsy and Maggie the "old gray mares." I guess because they were both old and they were both gray. And they were as grumpy as can be when Mark and I climbed onto their saddles and started to urge them from the barn.

They were the perfect horses for us "city kids." The only time we ever got to ride horses was during our summers at the farm. So we were not exactly the most skillful riders in the world.

Bumping along on these two old nags was just our speed. And even as slow as we were moving, I dug my knees into Betsy's sides and held onto the saddle horn for dear life.

We followed the dirt path past the cornfields toward the woods. The sun was still climbing a hazy, yellow sky. But the air was already hot and sticky.

Flies buzzed around me as I bounced on top of Betsy. I removed one hand from the saddle horn to brush a big one off Betsy's back.

Several scarecrows stared back at us as Mark and I rode past. Their black eyes glared at us from under their floppy hats.

Mark and I didn't say a word. We were keeping to our promise of not talking about scarecrows.

I turned my eyes to the woods and tossed the reins, urging Betsy to move a little faster. She ignored me, of course, and kept clopping along over the path at her slow, steady pace.

"I wonder if these horses can still get up to a trot," Mark called. He was a few paces behind me on the narrow dirt path.

"Let's give it a try!" I called back, grabbing the reins tighter.

I dug my sneaker heels into Betsy's side. "Go, girl — go!" I cried, slapping her gently with the reins.

"Whoooa!" I let out a startled cry as the old horse obediently began to trot. I really didn't think she would cooperate!

"All right! Cool!" I heard Mark shout behind me.

Their hooves clopped loudly on the path as the two horses began to pick up speed. I was bouncing hard over the saddle, holding on tightly, off-balance, beginning to wonder if this was such a hot idea.

I didn't have a chance to cry out when the dark figure hurtled across the path.

It all happened so fast.

Betsy was trotting rapidly. I was bouncing on the saddle, bouncing so hard, my feet slipped out of the stirrups.

The dark figure leaped out right in front of us.

Betsy let out a shrill, startled whinny — and reared back.

As I started to fall, I saw immediately what had jumped onto the path.

It was a grinning scarecrow.

Betsy rose up with a high whinny.

My hand grabbed for the reins, but they slipped from my grasp.

The sky appeared to roll over me, then tilt away.

I slid backwards, out of the saddle, off the horse, my feet thrashing wildly for the flapping stirrups.

The sky tilted even more.

I hit the ground hard on my back.

I remember only the shock of stopping so abruptly, the surprise at how hard the ground felt, how so much pain shot through my body so quickly.

The sky turned bright red. A glowing scarlet. Like an explosion.

And then the scarlet faded to deep, deep, endlessly deep black.

I heard low moans before I opened my eyes.

I recognized the voice. Mark's voice.

My eyes still shut, I opened my mouth to call to him. My lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Ohhhh." Another low groan from him, not far from me.

"Mark — ?" I managed to choke out. My back ached. My shoulders hurt. My head throbbed.

Everything hurt.

"My wrist — I think I broke it," Mark said, his voice shrill and frightened.

"You fell, too?" I asked.

"Yeah. I fell, too," he groaned.

I opened my eyes. Finally. I opened my eyes.

And saw the hazy sky.

All a blur. Everything was a watery blur.

I stared at the sky, trying to get it in focus.

And then saw a hand in front of the sky. A hand lowering itself toward me.

A bony hand stretching out from a heavy black coat.

The hand of the scarecrow, I realized, staring up helplessly at it.

The hand of the scarecrow, coming down to grab me.

The hand grabbed my shoulder.

Too terrified to cry out, too dazed to think clearly, my eyes followed the dark coat sleeve — up to the shoulder — up to the face.

A blur. All a frightening blur.

And then the face became clear.

"Stanley!" I cried.

He leaned over me, his red ears glowing, his face tight with worry. He gently grabbed my shoulder. "Jodie — are you all right?"

"Stanley — it's you!" I exclaimed happily. I sat up. "I think I'm okay. I don't know. Everything hurts."

"What a bad fall," Stanley said softly. "I was in the field. And I saw it. I saw the scarecrow. . . ."

His voice trailed off. I followed his frightened gaze up ahead of me on the dirt path.

The scarecrow lay facedown across the path.

"I saw it jump out," Stanley uttered with a shudder that shook his whole body.

"My wrist . . ." Mark moaned from nearby.

I turned as Stanley hurried over to him. Mark was sitting up in the grass at the side of the path, holding his wrist. "Look — it's starting to swell up," he groaned.

"Oooh, that's bad. That's bad," Stanley said, shaking his head.

"Maybe it's just a sprain," I suggested.

"Yeah," Stanley quickly agreed. "We'd better get you to the house and put ice on it. Can you get back up on Maggie? I'll ride behind you."

"Where's my horse?" I asked, searching both ways along the path. I climbed unsteadily to my feet.

"She galloped back to the barn," Stanley replied, pointing. "Fastest I've seen her go in years!"

He glanced down at the scarecrow and shuddered again.

I took a few steps, stretching my arms and my back. "I'm okay," I told him. "Take Mark on the horse. I'll walk back."

Stanley eagerly started to help Mark to his feet. I could see that Stanley wanted to get away from here — away from the scarecrow — as fast as possible.

I watched as they rode off down the path toward the house. Stanley sat behind Mark in the saddle, holding the reins, keeping Maggie at a slow, gentle pace. Mark held his wrist against his chest and leaned back against Stanley.

I stretched my arms over my head again, trying to stretch the soreness from my back. My head ached. But other than that, I didn't feel bad.

"Guess I'm lucky," I murmured out loud.

I took a long glance at the scarecrow, sprawled facedown across the path. Cautiously, I walked over to it.

I poked its side with the toe of my sneaker.

The straw beneath the coat crinkled.

I poked it harder, pushing my sneaker hard into the scarecrow's middle.

I don't know what I expected to happen. Did I think the scarecrow would cry out? Try to squirm away?

With an angry cry, I kicked the scarecrow. Hard.

I kicked it again.

The burlap bag head bounced on the path. The scarecrow's ghastly painted grin didn't move.

It's just a scarecrow, I told myself, giving it one last kick that sent straw falling out from the jacket front.

Just a scarecrow that Sticks tossed onto the path.

Mark and I could have been killed, I told myself.

We're lucky we weren't.

Sticks. It had to be Sticks.

But why?

This wasn't a joke.

Why was Sticks trying to hurt us?

Stanley and Sticks weren't at lunch. Grandpa Kurt said they had to go into town for supplies.

Mark's wrist was only sprained. Grandma Miriam put an ice bag on it, and the swelling went right down. But Mark was groaning and complaining. He was really making the most of it.

"Guess I'll have to lie on the couch and watch TV for a week or so," he moaned.

Grandma Miriam served ham sandwiches and homemade coleslaw. Mark and I gobbled down our lunches. All that excitement had made us really hungry.

As we ate, I decided to tell Grandpa Kurt everything that had been happening. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I told him about how Sticks was making the scarecrows move at night. And how he was trying to frighten us, trying to make us think the scarecrows were alive.

I caught a glimpse of fear in Grandpa Kurt's blue eyes. But then he rubbed his white-stubbled cheeks, and he got a faraway look on his face.

"Sticks and his little jokes," he said finally, a smile spreading across his face. "That boy sure likes his jokes."

"He's not joking," I insisted. "He's really trying to frighten us, Grandpa."

"We could have been killed this morning!" Mark joined in. He had mayonnaise smeared on his cheek.

"Sticks is a good boy," Grandma Miriam murmured. She was smiling, too. She and Grandpa Kurt exchanged glances.

"Sticks wouldn't really hurt you," Grandpa Kurt said softly. "He just likes to have his fun."

"Great fun!" I muttered sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah. Great fun," Mark groaned. "I almost broke my wrist!"

Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam just smiled back at us, their faces frozen like the painted scarecrow faces.

After lunch, Mark slumped to the couch, where he planned to spend the rest of the afternoon staring at the TV. He loved having an excuse not to go outdoors.

I heard Stanley's truck pull up the drive. I decided to go find Sticks and tell him how fed up we were with his stupid scarecrow tricks.

I didn't think his jokes were all in fun. I really believed he was trying to frighten us or hurt us — and I wanted to find out why.

I didn't see Sticks or Stanley out in the yard. So I made my way across the grass to the guest house where they lived.

It was a warm, beautiful day. The sky was clear and bright. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

But I couldn't enjoy the sunshine. All I could think about was letting Sticks know how angry I was.

I knocked on the guest house door. I took a deep breath and tossed my hair behind my shoulders, listening for signs of life inside.

I tried to think of what I was going to say to Sticks. But I was too angry to plan it. My heart started to pound. I realized I was breathing hard.

I knocked on the door again, harder this time.

There was no one inside.

I turned my gaze to the cornfields. The stalks stood stiffly, watched over by the motionless scarecrows. No sign of Sticks.

I turned to the barn, across the wide grass from the guest house. Maybe Sticks is in there, I thought.

I jogged to the barn. Two enormous crows hopped along the ground in front of the open barn doors. They flapped their wings hard and scrambled out of my way.

"Hey — Sticks?" I shouted breathlessly as I stepped inside.

No reply.

The barn was dark. I waited for my eyes to adjust.

Remembering my last creepy visit to the barn, I stepped reluctantly, my sneakers scraping over the straw on the floor. "Sticks? Are you in here?" I called, staring hard into the deep shadows.

A rusted baling machine stood to one side of the straw bales. A wheelbarrow tilted against the wall. I hadn't noticed them before.

"Guess he isn't here," I said to myself out loud.

I walked past the wheelbarrow. I saw something else I hadn't noticed before — a pile of old coats on the barn floor. Empty burlap bags were stacked beside them.

I picked one up. It had a frowning face painted on it in black paint. I dropped the bag back onto the pile.

These must be Stanley's scarecrow supplies, I realized.

How many more scarecrows did he plan to build?

Then something in the corner caught my eye. I walked quickly over the straw. Then I bent down to examine what I saw.

Torches. At least a dozen torches, stacked in the corner, hidden by the darkness. Next to them I spotted a large bottle of kerosene.

What on earth are these doing here? I asked myself.

Suddenly, I heard a scraping sound. I saw shadows slide against shadows.

And I realized that once again I was no longer alone.

I jumped to my feet. "Sticks!" I cried. "You scared me."

His face was half hidden in darkness. His black hair fell over his forehead. He didn't smile. "I warned you," he said menacingly.

Feeling the fear rise to my throat, I stepped out of the corner and moved past him, into the light from the doorway. "I — I was looking for you," I stammered. "Sticks, why are you trying to scare Mark and me?"

"I warned you," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I warned you to get away from here, to go back home."

"But why?" I demanded. "What's your problem, Sticks? What did we do to you? Why are you trying to scare us?"

"I'm not," Sticks replied. He glanced back nervously to the barn doors.

"Huh?" I gaped at him.

"I'm not trying to scare you. Really," he insisted.

"Liar," I muttered angrily. "You must really think I'm a moron. I know you threw that scarecrow onto our path this morning. It had to be you, Sticks."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," he insisted coldly. "But I'm warning you — "

A sound at the doorway made him stop.

We both saw Stanley step into the barn. He shielded his eyes with one hand as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Sticks — are you in here?" he called.

Sticks's features tightened in sudden fear. He let out a low gasp.

"I — I've got to go," Sticks whispered tensely to me. He turned and started jogging toward Stanley. "Here I am, Dad," he called. "Is the tractor ready?"

I watched the two of them hurry from the barn. Sticks didn't look back.

I stood in the darkness, my eyes on the empty doorway, thinking hard.

I know Sticks was lying to me, I thought.

I know he made the scarecrows move at night. I know he dressed as a scarecrow to scare me in the woods and at the barn. And I know he tossed that scarecrow in front of the horses this morning.

I know he's trying to frighten Mark and me.

But enough is enough, I decided.

Now it's payback time.

Now it's time for Sticks to be frightened. Really frightened.

"I can't do this!" Mark protested.

"Of course you can," I assured him. "This is going to be really cool."

"But my wrist hurts again," my brother whined. "It just started hurting. I can't use it."

"No problem," I told him. "You won't have to use it."

He started to protest some more. But then a smile spread across his face, and his eyes lit up gleefully. "It's kind of a cool idea," he said, laughing.

"Of course it's an awesome idea," I agreed. "I thought of it!"

We were standing in the doorway to the barn. The white light from a full moon shone down on us. Owls hooted somewhere nearby.

It was a cool, clear night. The grass shimmered from a heavy dew. A soft wind made the trees whisper. The moonlight was so bright, I could see every blade of grass.

After Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam had gone to bed, I dragged Mark from the house. I pulled him across the yard to the barn.

"Wait right here," I said. Then I hurried into the barn to get what we needed.

It was a little creepy in the dark barn at night. I heard a soft fluttering sound high in the rafters.

Probably a bat.

My sneakers were wet from the grass. I slid over the straw on the barn floor.

The bat swooped low over my head. I heard a high-pitched chittering up in the rafters. More bats.

I grabbed one of the big, old coats from the pile. Then I pulled up one of the burlap bag faces and slung it on top of the coat.

Ignoring the fluttering wings swooping back and forth, back and forth, across the barn, I hurried outside to Mark.

And explained my plan, my plan to get our revenge on Sticks.

It was actually a very simple plan. We'd dress Mark up as a scarecrow. He'd stand with the other scarecrows in the cornfield.

I'd go to the guest house and get Sticks. I'd tell Sticks I saw something weird in the field. I'd pull Sticks out to the field. Mark would start to stagger toward him — and Sticks would be so freaked, he'd have a cow!

A simple plan. And a good one.

Sticks deserved it, too.

I pulled the burlap bag over Mark's head. The black, painted eyes stared back at me. I reached down, picked up a handful of straw, and began stuffing it under the bag.

"Stop squirming!" I told Mark.

"But the straw itches!" he cried.

"You'll get used to it," I told him. I grabbed his shoulders. "Stand still. Don't move."

"Why do I need straw?" he whined.

"Mark, you have to look like all the other scarecrows," I told him. "Otherwise, Sticks won't be fooled."

I stuffed the burlap face with straw. Then I held up the old overcoat for Mark to put on.

"I can't do this!" he wailed. "I'm going to itch to death! I can't breathe!"

"You can breathe perfectly fine," I told him. I stuffed straw into the sleeves. I was careful to let clumps of straw hang from the cuffs, covering Mark's hands. Then I stuffed more straw into the jacket.

"Will you stand still?" I whispered angrily. "This is a lot of hard work — you know?"

He grumbled in a low voice to himself as I continued to work.

"Just keep thinking how great it'll be when Sticks sees you and thinks you're a scarecrow that's really coming to life," I said.

I had straw stuck to my hands, straw all down the front of my sweatshirt and jeans. I sneezed. Once. Twice. I'm definitely allergic to the stuff.

But I didn't care. I was so excited. I couldn't wait to see Sticks's terrified face. I couldn't wait to pay him back for trying to frighten us all week.

"I need a hat," Mark said. He was standing stiffly, afraid to move under all the straw.

"Hmmmm." I thought hard. There weren't any hats in the barn with the other scarecrow supplies. "We'll just take one off a real scarecrow," I told Mark.

I stepped back to see my handiwork. Mark looked pretty good. But he still needed more straw. I set to work, stuffing him, making the old coat bulge.

"Now don't forget to stand straight and stiff, with your arms straight out," I instructed.

"Do I have a choice?" Mark complained. "I — I can't move at all!"

"Good," I said. I arranged the straw that stuck out of his sleeves, then stepped back. "Okay. You're ready," I told him.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Like a short scarecrow," I told him.

"I'm too short?" he replied.

"Don't worry, Mark," I said, grabbing his arm. "I'm going to stick you up on a pole!"

"Huh?"

I laughed. "Gotcha," I muttered. "I'm kidding." I started to lead him to the cornfields.

"Think this is going to work?" Mark asked, walking stiffly. "Think we're really going to scare Sticks?"

I nodded. An evil grin spread over my face. "I think so," I told my brother. "I think Sticks is in for a terrifying surprise."

Little did I know that we all were!

I gripped Mark's arm with both hands and led him to the cornfields. The bright moon bathed us in white light. The tall cornstalks shivered in a light breeze.

Mark looked so much like a scarecrow, it was scary. Tufts of straw stuck out at his neck and the cuffs of his coat. The enormous old coat hung loosely over his shoulders and came down nearly to his knees.

We stepped into the field. Our sneakers crunched over the dry ground as we edged through a narrow row.

The cornstalks rose above our heads. The breeze made them lean over us, as if trying to close us in.

I let out a gasp as I heard a rustling sound along the ground.

Footsteps?

Mark and I both froze. And listened.

The tall stalks bent low as the wind picked up. They made an eerie creaking sound as they moved. The ripe corn sheaths bobbed heavily.

Creeeeak. Creeeeak.

The stalks shifted back and forth.

Then we heard the rustling again. A soft brushing sound.

Very nearby.

"Ow. Let go!" Mark whispered.

I suddenly realized I was still gripping his arm, squeezing it tightly.

I let go. And listened. "Do you hear it?" I whispered to Mark. "That brushing sound?"

Creeeeak. Creeeeak.

The cornstalks leaned over us, shifting in the wind.

A twig cracked. So nearby, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I held my breath. My heart was racing.

Another soft rustling sound. I stared down at the ground, trying to follow the sound.

"Oh."

A large gray squirrel scampered across the row and disappeared between the stalks.

I burst out laughing, mostly from relief. "Just a squirrel," I said. "Do you believe it? Just a squirrel!"

Mark let out a long, relieved sigh from under the burlap bag. "Jodie, can we get going?" he demanded impatiently. "This thing itches like crazy!"

He raised both hands and tried to scratch his face through the bag. But I quickly tugged his arms down. "Mark — stop. You'll mess up the straw!"

"But my face feels like a hundred bugs are crawling all over it!" he wailed. "And I can't see. You didn't cut the eyeholes big enough."

"Just follow me," I muttered. "And stop complaining. You want to scare Sticks, don't you?"

Mark didn't reply. But he let me lead him deeper into the cornfield.

Suddenly, a black shadow fell over our path.

I let out a sharp gasp before I realized it was the long shadow of a scarecrow.

"How do you do," I said, reaching out and shaking its straw hand. "May I borrow your hat?"

I reached up and pulled the brown, floppy hat off the burlap head. Then I lowered it over Mark's burlap head and pulled it down tight.

"Hey — !" Mark protested.

"I don't want it to fall off," I told him.

"I'm never going to stop itching!" Mark whined. "Can you scratch my back? Please? My whole back is itching!"

I gave the back of the old coat a few hard rubs. "Turn around," I instructed him. I gave him a final inspection.

Excellent. He looked more like a scarecrow than the scarecrows did.

"Stand right here," I told him, moving him into a small clearing between two rows of cornstalks. "Good. Now when you hear me bringing Sticks over, put your arms straight out. And don't move a muscle."

"I know, I know," Mark grumbled. "Think I don't know how to be a scarecrow? Just hurry — okay?"

"Okay," I told him. I turned and made my way quickly along the shifting rows of cornstalks. Dry straw and leaves crackled beneath my sneakers.

I was breathing hard by the time I reached the guest house. The doorway was dark. But an orange light glowed dimly behind the pulled shade in the window.

I hesitated at the doorway and listened. Silence inside.

How was I going to get Sticks to come out alone — without his father?

I didn't want to frighten Stanley. He was a really nice man, who would never think of playing mean jokes on Mark and me. And I knew how scared and upset he could get.

I only wanted to frighten Sticks. To teach him a lesson. To teach him he had no business getting on our case just because Mark and I are "city kids."

The wind fluttered through my hair. I could hear the cornstalks creaking behind me in the fields.

I shivered.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist to knock on the door.

But a sound behind me made me spin around.

"Hey — !" I choked out.

Someone was moving across the grass, half running, half stumbling. My eyes were all watery. It was hard to see.

Was it Mark?

Yes. I recognized the floppy hat, the bulky, dark overcoat falling down past his knees.

What is he doing? I asked myself, watching him approach.

Why is he following me?

He's going to ruin the whole joke!

As he came closer, he raised a straw hand as if pointing at me.

"Mark — what's wrong?" I called in a loud whisper.

He continued to gesture with his straw hand as he ran.

"Mark — get back in the field!" I whispered. "You're not supposed to follow me. You're going to ruin everything! Mark — what are you doing here?"

I motioned with both hands for him to go back to the cornfield.

But he ignored me and kept coming, trailing straw as he ran.

"Mark, please — go back! Go back!" I pleaded.

But he stepped up in front of me and grabbed my shoulders.

And as I stared into the cold, painted black eyes — I realized to my horror that it wasn't Mark!

I cried out and tried to pull away.

But the scarecrow held on to me tightly.

"Sticks — is that you?" I cried in a trembling voice.

No reply.

I stared into the blank, painted eyes.

And realized there were no human eyes behind them.

The straw hands scratched against my throat.

I opened my mouth to scream.

And the door to the guest house swung open. "Sticks — "I managed to choke out.

Sticks stepped out onto the small stoop. "What on earth — !" he cried.

He leaped off the stoop, grabbed the scarecrow by the coat shoulders — and heaved it to the ground.

The scarecrow hit the ground without making a sound. It lay sprawled on its back, staring up at us blankly.

"Who — who is it?" I cried, rubbing my neck where the straw hands had scratched it.

Sticks bent down and jerked away the burlap scarecrow head.

Nothing underneath. Nothing but straw.

"It — it really is a scarecrow!" I cried in horror. "But it — walked!"

"I warned you," Sticks said solemnly, staring down at the headless dark figure. "I warned you, Jodie."

"You mean it wasn't you?" I demanded. "It wasn't you trying to scare Mark and me?"

Sticks shook his head. He raised his dark eyes to mine. "Dad brought the scarecrows to life," he said softly. "Last week. Before you came. He used his book. He chanted some words — and they all came to life."

"Oh, no," I murmured, raising my hands to my face.

"We were all so frightened," Sticks continued. "Especially your grandparents. They begged Dad to recite the words and put the scarecrows back to sleep."

"Did he?" I asked.

"Yes," Sticks replied. "He put them back to sleep. But first he insisted your grandparents make some promises. They had to promise not to laugh at him anymore. And they had to promise to do everything he wanted from now on."

Sticks took a deep breath. He stared toward the guest house window. "Haven't you noticed how different things are at the farm? Haven't you noticed how frightened your grandparents are?"

I nodded solemnly. "Of course I have."

"They've been trying to keep Dad happy," Sticks continued. "They've been doing everything they can to keep him from getting upset or angry. Your grandmother fixes only his favorite food. Your grandfather stopped telling scary stories because Dad doesn't like them."

I shook my head. "They're that afraid of Stanley?"

"They're afraid he'll read the chant in the book again and bring the scarecrows back to life," Sticks said. He swallowed hard. "There's only one problem," he murmured.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Well, I haven't told Dad yet. But . . ." His voice trailed off.

"But what?" I demanded eagerly.

"Some of the scarecrows are still alive," Sticks replied. "Some of them never went back to sleep."

We both let out short cries as the front door to the house swung open.

Startled, I leaped away from the doorway.

As the door pulled open, it revealed a rectangle of orange light. Stanley stepped into the light.

He held on to the door and peered out. His eyes showed surprise as they landed on Sticks and me. But then he goggled and uttered a choking sound as he spotted the headless scarecrow on the ground.

"N-no!" Stanley sputtered. He pointed a trembling finger at the scarecrow. "It — it walks! The scarecrow walks!"

"No, Dad — !" Sticks cried.

But Stanley didn't hear him. Stanley had already dived back into the house.

Sticks started after him. But Stanley reappeared in the doorway. As he stepped outside, I saw that he was carrying the big superstition book.

"The scarecrows walk!" Stanley screamed. "I must take charge! I must take charge of them all now!"

His eyes were wild. His entire skinny body was trembling. He started toward the cornfields, totally crazy. Sticks tried to calm him down.

"No, Dad!" Sticks cried desperately, hurrying after him. "The scarecrow was dropped here! I dropped it here, Dad! It didn't walk! It didn't walk!"

Stanley kept walking, taking long, rapid strides. He didn't seem to hear Sticks. "I must take charge now!" Stanley declared. "I must be the leader. I will bring the others back to life and take control."

He turned and glanced at Sticks, who was hurrying to catch up to him. "Stay back!" Stanley shouted. "Stay back — until I read the chant! Then you can follow!"

"Dad — please listen to me!" Sticks cried. "The scarecrows are all asleep! Don't wake them!"

Stanley finally stopped a few yards from the edge of the cornfields. He turned to Sticks and studied his face. "You're sure? You're sure they're not out of my control? You're sure they're not walking?"

Sticks nodded. "Yes. I'm sure, Dad. I'm really sure."

Stanley's face filled with confusion. He kept staring hard at Sticks, as if not believing him. "I don't have to read the chant?" Stanley asked, confused, his eyes on the swaying cornstalks. "I don't have to take charge?"

"No, Dad," Sticks replied softly. "The scarecrows are all still. You can put the book away. The scarecrows are not moving."

Stanley sighed with relief. He lowered the book to his side. "None of them?" he asked warily.

"None of them," Sticks replied soothingly.

And that's when Mark — in full scarecrow costume — decided to come staggering out of the cornfield.

"Where've you been?" Mark called.

Stanley's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth in a high shriek of terror.

"Dad, please — !" Sticks pleaded.

Too late.

Stanley took off, heading into the cornfields, the big book raised high in front of him. "The scarecrows walk! They walk!" he cried.

Mark tucked at the burlap bag face. "Did we blow it?" he called. "Is the joke over? What's happening?"

There was no time to answer him.

Sticks turned to me, his features tight with fear. "We've got to stop Dad!" he cried. He started running to the swaying cornstalks.

Stanley had already disappeared between the tall rows of corn.

My allergies were really bad. I kept rubbing my eyes, trying to clear them. But as I followed Sticks, everything was a shimmering blur of grays and blacks.

"Ow!" I cried out as I stumbled in a soft hole and fell.

Mark, right behind me, nearly toppled over me.

He reached down and helped pull me up. I had landed hard on both knees, and they were throbbing with pain.

"Which way did they go?" I asked breathlessly, searching the dark, swaying rows of creaking cornstalks.

"I — I'm not sure!" Mark stammered. "What's going on, Jodie? Tell me!"

"Not now!" I told him. "We have to stop Stanley. We have to — "

Stanley's voice, high and excited, rose up from somewhere nearby. Mark and I both froze as we listened to the strange words he was chanting.

"Is he reading something from that weird book?" Mark demanded.

Without answering, I headed in the direction of Stanley's voice. It was easy to follow him. He was chanting the strange words at the top of his lungs.

Where was Sticks? I wondered.

Why hadn't Sticks been able to stop his father?

I pushed frantically through the tall stalks. I was moving blindly, my eyes watered over, brushing the stalks out of the way with both hands.

In a small clearing, I found Stanley and Sticks. They were standing in front of two scarecrows on poles.

Stanley held the book up close to his face as he chanted, moving his finger over the words.

Sticks stood frozen, a blank expression on his face, a face of cold terror.

Had the words of the chant somehow frozen him there like that?

The scarecrows stood stiffly on their poles, their painted eyes staring lifelessly out from under their floppy black hats.

Mark and I stepped into the clearing just as Stanley finished his chant. He slammed the big book shut and tucked it under one arm.

"They're going to walk now!" Stanley cried excitedly. "They're going to come alive again!"

Sticks suddenly seemed to come back to life. He blinked several times and shook his head hard, as if trying to clear it.

We all stared at the two scarecrows.

They stared back at us, lifeless, unmoving.

The clouds floated away from the moon. The shadow over the cornfields rolled away.

I stared into the eerie, pale light.

A heavy silence descended over us. The only sounds I could hear were Stanley's shallow breathing, tense gasps as he waited for his chant to work, for his scarecrows to come to life.

I don't know how long we stood there, none of us moving a muscle, watching the scarecrows. Watching. Watching.

"It didn't work," Stanley moaned finally. His voice came out sad and low. "I did something wrong. The chant — it didn't work."

A smile grew on Sticks's face. He gazed at me. "It didn't work!" Sticks exclaimed happily.

And then I heard the scratch scratch scratch of dry straw.

I saw the scarecrows' shoulders start to twitch. I saw their eyes light up and their heads lean forward.

Scratch scratch scratch.

The dry straw crinkled loudly as they both squirmed off their poles and lowered themselves silently to the ground.

"Go warn your grandparents!" Sticks cried. "Hurry! Go tell them what my dad has done!"

Mark and I hesitated. We stared at the scarecrows as they stretched their arms and rolled their burlap bag heads, as if waking up after a long sleep.

"Jodie — look!" Mark choked out in a hushed whisper. He pointed out to the fields.

I gasped in horror as I saw what Mark was staring at.

All over the field, dark-coated scarecrows were stretching, squirming, lowering themselves from their poles.

More than a dozen of them, silently coming to life.

"Run!" Sticks was screaming. "Go! Tell your grandparents!"

Stanley stood frozen in place, gripping the book in both hands. He stared in amazement, shaking his head, enjoying his triumph.

Sticks's face was knotted with fear. He gave my shoulders a hard shove. "Run!"

The scarecrows were rolling their heads back and forth, stretching out their straw arms. The dry scratch of straw filled the night air.

I forced myself to take my eyes off them. Mark and I turned and started running through the cornfield. We pushed the tall stalks away with both hands as we ran. We ducked our heads low, running in terrified silence.

We ran across the grass, past the guest house. Past the dark, silent barn.

The farmhouse loomed darkly ahead of us. The windows were dark. A dim porch light sent a circle of yellow light over the back porch.

"Hey — !" Mark shouted, pointing.

Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam must have heard our shouts back in the cornfields. They were waiting for us in the back yard.

They looked frail and frightened. Grandma Miriam had pulled a flannel bathrobe over her nightdress. She had a scarf tied over her short red hair.

Grandpa Kurt had pulled his overalls on over his pajamas. He leaned heavily on his cane, shaking his head as Mark and I came running up.

"The scarecrows — !" I exclaimed breathlessly.

"They're walking!" Mark cried. "Stanley — he — "

"Did you get Stanley upset?" Grandpa Kurt asked, his eyes wide with fear. "Who got Stanley upset? He promised us he wouldn't do it again! He promised — if we didn't upset him."

"It was an accident!" I told him. "We didn't mean to. Really!"

"We've worked so hard to keep Stanley happy," Grandma Miriam said sadly. She chewed her lower lip. "So hard . . ."

"I didn't think he'd do it," Grandpa Kurt said, his eyes on the cornfields. "I thought we convinced him it was too dangerous."

"Why are you dressed like that?" Grandma Miriam asked Mark.

I was so frightened and upset, I had completely forgotten that Mark was still dressed as a scarecrow.

"Mark, did you dress like that to scare Stanley?" Grandma Miriam demanded.

"No!" Mark cried. "It was supposed to be a joke! Just a joke!"

"We were trying to scare Sticks," I told them. "But when Stanley saw Mark, he . . ."

My voice trailed off as I saw the dark figures step out of the cornfields.

In the silvery moonlight, I saw Stanley and Sticks. They were running hard, leaning forward as they ran. Stanley held the book in front of him. His shoes slipped and slid over the wet grass.

Behind them came the scarecrows. They were moving awkwardly, staggering, lurching silently forward.

Their straw arms stretched straight forward, as if reaching to grab Stanley and Sticks. Their round, black eyes glowed blankly in the moonlight.

Staggering, tumbling, falling, they came after Stanley and Sticks. A dozen twisted figures in black coats and hats. Leaving clumps of straw as they pulled themselves forward.

Grandma Miriam grabbed my arm and squeezed it in terror. Her hand was as cold as ice.

We watched Stanley fall, then scramble to his feet. Sticks helped pull him up, and the two of them continued to run toward us in terror.

The silent scarecrows lurched and staggered closer. Closer.

"Help us — please!" Stanley called to us.

"What can we do?" I heard Grandpa Kurt mutter sadly.

The four of us huddled close together, staring in helpless horror as the scarecrows made their way, chasing Stanley and Sticks across the moonlit lawn.

Grandma Miriam held on to my arm. Grandpa Kurt leaned heavily, squeezing the handle of his cane.

"They won't obey me!" Stanley screamed breathlessly. He stopped in front of us, holding the book in one hand.

His chest was heaving up and down as he struggled to catch his breath. Despite the coolness of the night, sweat poured down his forehead.

"They won't obey me! They must obey me! The book says so!" Stanley cried, frantically waving the book in the air.

Sticks stopped beside his father. He turned to watch the scarecrows approach. "What are you going to do?" he asked his father. "You have to do something!"

"They're alive!" Stanley shrieked. "Alive!"

"What does the book say?" Grandpa Kurt demanded.

"They're alive! They're all alive!" Stanley repeated, his eyes wild with fright.

"Stanley — listen to me!" Grandpa Kurt yelled. He grabbed Stanley by the shoulders and spun him around to face him. "Stanley — what does the book say to do? How do you get them in control?"

"Alive," Stanley murmured, his eyes rolling in his head. "They're all alive."

"Stanley — what does the book say to do?" Grandpa Kurt demanded once again.

"I — I don't know," Stanley replied.

We turned back to the scarecrows. They were moving closer. Spreading out. Forming a line as they staggered toward us. Their arms reached forward menacingly, as if preparing to grab us.

Clumps of straw fell from their sleeves. Straw spilled from their coats.

But they continued to lurch toward us. Closer. Closer.

The black, painted eyes stared straight ahead. They leered at us with their ugly, painted mouths.

"Stop!" Stanley screamed, raising the book high over his head. "I command you to stop!"

The scarecrows lurched slowly, steadily forward.

"Stop!" Stanley shrieked in a high, frightened voice. "I brought you to life! You are mine! Mine! I command you! I command you to stop!"

The blank eyes stared straight at us. The arms reached stiffly forward. The scarecrows pulled themselves closer. Closer.

"Stop! I said stop!" Stanley screeched.

Mark edged closer to me. Behind his burlap mask I could see his eyes. Terrified eyes.

Ignoring Stanley's frightened pleas, the scarecrows dragged themselves closer. Closer.

And then I did something that changed the whole night.

I sneezed.

Mark was so startled by my sudden, loud sneeze that he let out a short cry and jumped away from me.

To my amazement, the scarecrows all stopped moving forward — and jumped back, too.

"Whoa!" I cried. "What's going on here?"

The scarecrows all seemed to have trained their painted eyes on Mark.

"Mark — quick — raise your right hand!" I cried.

Mark gazed at me through the burlap bag. I could see confusion in his eyes.

But he obediently raised his right hand high over his head.

And the scarecrows all raised their right hands!

"Mark — they're imitating you!" Grandma Miriam cried.

Mark raised both hands in the air.

The scarecrows copied him again. I heard the scratch of straw as they lifted both arms.

Mark tilted his head to the left. The scarecrows tilted their heads to the left.

Mark dropped to his knees. The scarecrows sank in their straw, slaves to my brother's every move.

"They — they think you're one of them," Grandpa Kurt whispered.

"They think you're their leader!" Stanley cried, staring wide-eyed at the scarecrows slumped on the ground.

"But how do I make them go back to their poles?" Mark demanded excitedly. "How do I make them go back to being scarecrows?"

"Dad — find the right chant!" Sticks yelled. "Find the right words! Make them sleep again!"

Stanley scratched his short, dark hair. "I — I'm too scared!" he confessed sadly.

And then I had an idea.

"Mark — " I whispered, leaning close to him. "Pull off your head."

"Huh?" He gazed at me through the burlap mask.

"Pull off your scarecrow head," I urged him, still whispering.

"But why?" Mark demanded. He waved his hands in the air. The scarecrows obediently waved their straw hands in the air.

Everyone was staring at me, eager to hear my explanation.

"If you pull off your scarecrow head," I told Mark, "then they will pull off their heads. And they'll die."

Mark hesitated. "Huh? You think so?"

"It's worth a try," Grandpa Kurt urged.

"Go ahead, Mark. Hurry!" Sticks cried.

Mark hesitated for a second. Then he stepped forward, just inches from the dark-coated scarecrows.

"Hurry!" Sticks urged him.

Mark gripped the top of the burlap bag with both hands. "I sure hope this works," he murmured. Then he gave the bag a hard tug and pulled it off.

The scarecrows stopped moving. They stood still as statues as they watched Mark pull off his scarecrow head.

Mark stared back at them, holding the burlap bag between his hands. His hair was matted wetly to his forehead. He was dripping with sweat.

The scarecrows hesitated for a moment more.

A long, silent moment.

I held my breath. My heart was pounding.

Then I let out a happy cry as the scarecrows all reached up with their straw hands — and pulled off their heads!

The dark hats and burlap heads fell silently to the grass.

None of us moved. We were waiting for the scarecrows to fall.

Waiting for the headless scarecrows to collapse and fall.

But they didn't go down.

Instead, they reached out their arms and moved stiffly, menacingly forward.

"They — they're coming to get us!" Stanley cried in a high, trembling voice.

"Mark — do something!" I shouted, shoving him forward. "Make them stand on one foot or hop up and down. Stop them!"

The headless figures dragged themselves toward us, arms outstretched.

Mark stepped forward. He raised both hands over his head.

The scarecrows didn't stop, didn't copy him.

"Hey — hands up!" Mark shouted desperately. He waved his hands above his head.

The scarecrows edged forward, silently, steadily.

"Th-they're not doing it!" Mark wailed. "They're not following me!"

"You don't look like a scarecrow anymore," Grandma Miriam added. "They don't think you're their leader."

Closer they came, staggering blindly. Closer.

They formed a tight circle around us.

A scarecrow brushed its straw hand against my cheek.

I uttered a terrified cry. "Noooooo!"

It reached for my throat, the dry straw scratching me, scratching my face, scratching, scratching.

The headless scarecrows swarmed over Mark. He thrashed and kicked. But they were smothering him, forcing him to the ground.

My grandparents cried out helplessly as the dark-coated figures surrounded them. Stanley let out a silent gasp.

"Sticks — help me!" I shrieked as the straw hands wrapped around my neck. "Sticks? Sticks?"

I glanced frantically around.

"Sticks? Help me! Please! Where are you?"

Then I realized to my horror that Sticks was gone.

"Sticks?" I let out a final muffled cry.

The straw hands wrapped around my throat. The scarecrow rolled over me. My face was pressed into the dry straw of its chest.

I tried to squirm free. But it held on, surrounded me, choked me.

The straw smelled sour. Decayed. I felt sick. A wave of nausea swept over me.

"Let go! Let go!" I heard Stanley pleading.

The scarecrow was surprisingly strong. It wrapped its arms around me tightly, smothering me in the disgusting straw.

I made one last attempt to pull free. Struggling with all my might, I raised my head.

And saw two balls of fire. Orange streaks of light.

Floating closer.

And in the orange light, I saw Sticks's face, hard and determined.

I gave another hard tug. And tumbled backwards.

"Sticks!" I cried.

He was carrying two blazing torches. The torches from the barn, I realized.

"I was saving these just in case!" Sticks called.

The scarecrows seemed to sense danger.

They let go of us, tried to scramble away.

But Sticks moved quickly.

He swept the two torches, swinging them like baseball bats.

A scarecrow caught fire. Then another.

Sticks made another wide swing.

The fire crackled, a streak of orange against the darkness.

The dry straw burst into flame. The old coats burned quickly.

The scarecrows twisted and writhed as the bright flames danced over them. They sank to their backs on the ground. Burning. Burning so brightly, so silently, so fast.

I took a step back, staring in horror and fascination.

Grandpa Kurt had his arm around Grandma Miriam. They leaned close together, their faces reflecting the flickering flames.

Stanley stood tensely, his eyes wide. He hugged the book tightly to his chest. He was murmuring to himself, but I couldn't make out the words.

Mark and I stood beside Sticks, who held a torch in each hand, watching with narrowed eyes as the scarecrows burned.

In seconds, there was nothing left but clumps of dark ashes on the ground.

"It's over," Grandma Miriam murmured softly, gratefully.

"Never again," I heard Stanley mutter.

The house was quiet the next afternoon.

Mark was out on the screen porch, lying in the hammock, reading a stack of comic books. Grandpa Kurt and Grandma Miriam had gone in for their afternoon nap.

Sticks had driven into town to pick up the mail.

Stanley sat at the kitchen table, reading his superstition book. His finger moved over the page as he muttered the words aloud in a low voice.

"Never again," he had repeated at lunch. "I've learned my lesson about this book. I'll never try to bring any scarecrows to life again. I won't even read the part about scarecrows!"

We were all glad to hear that.

So now, on this lazy, peaceful afternoon, Stanley sat at the table, quietly reading some chapter of the big book.

And I sat alone on the couch in the living room, hearing Stanley's gentle murmurings from the kitchen, thinking about the night before.

It felt good to have a quiet afternoon, to be all alone to think about what had happened.

All alone . . .

The only one in the room . . .

The only one to hear Stanley's low mumbling as he read the book.

The only one to see the gigantic stuffed brown bear blink its eyes.

The only one to see the bear lick its lips, step off its platform, snarl and paw the air with its enormous claws.

The only one to hear its stomach growl as it stared down at me.

The only one to see the hungry look on its face as it magically came out of its long hibernation.

"Stanley?" I called in a tiny, high voice. "Stanley? What chapter have you been reading?"

Return of the Mummy

2014-03-12T02:16:00.000-07:00

R.L. Stine: Return of the Mummy (Goosebumps #23)

"Gabe, we will be landing soon," the stewardess told me, leaning over the seat. "Will someone be meeting you at the airport?" "Yes. Probably an ancient Egyptian pharaoh," I told her. "Or maybe a disgusting, decaying mummy." She narrowed her eyes at me. "No. Really," she insisted. "Who will be meeting you in Cairo?" "My Uncle Ben," I replied. "But he likes to play practical jokes. Sometimes he dresses in weird costumes and tries to scare me." "You told me that your uncle was a famous scientist," the stewardess said. "He is," I replied. "But he's also weird." She laughed. I liked her a lot. She had pretty blond hair. And I liked the way she always tilted her head to one side when she talked. Her name was Nancy, and she had been very nice to me during the long flight to Egypt. She knew it was my first time flying all by myself. She kept checking on me and asking me how I was doing. But she treated me like a grown-up. She didn't bring me one of those dumb connect-the-dots books or a plastic wings pin that they always give to kids on planes. And she kept slipping me extra bags of peanuts, even though she wasn't supposed to. "Why are you visiting your uncle?" Nancy asked. "Just for fun?" I nodded. "I did it last summer, too," I told her. "It was really awesome! But this year, Uncle Ben has been digging in an unexplored pyramid. He's discovered an ancient, sacred tomb. And he invited me to be with him when he opens it up." She laughed and tilted her head a little more. "You have a good imagination, Gabe," she said. Then she turned away to answer a man's question. I do have a good imagination. But I wasn't making that up. My Uncle Ben Hassad is a famous archaeologist. He has been digging around in pyramids for lots of years. I've seen newspaper articles about him. And once he was in National Geographic. Last summer, my entire family visited Cairo. My cousin Sari and I — she's Uncle Ben's daughter — had some amazing adventures down in the chambers of the Great Pyramid. Sari will be there this summer, too, I remembered, staring out the plane window at the solid blue sky. I wondered if maybe she would give me a break this time. I like Sari, but she's so competitive! She always has to be the first, the strongest, the smartest, the best. She's the only thirteen-year-old girl I know who can turn eating breakfast into a contest! "Flight attendants, prepare for landing," the pilot announced over the loudspeaker. I sat up to get a better view out the window. As the plane lowered, I could see the city of Cairo beneath us. A slender blue ribbon curled along the city. That, I knew, was the Nile River. The city stretched out from the river. Peering straight down, I could see tall, glass skyscrapers and low, domed temples. Where the city ended, the desert began. Yellow sand stretched to the horizon. My stomach began to feel a little fluttery. The pyramids were somewhere out in that desert. And in a day or two, I would be climbing down into one of them, following my uncle into a tomb that hadn't been opened for thousands of years. What would we find? I pulled the little mummy hand from my shirt pocket and gazed down at it. It was so tiny — no bigger than a child's hand. I had bought it from a kid at a garage sale for two dollars. He said it was called a "Summoner." He said it could summon ancient evil spirits. It looked like a mummy hand. The fingers were wrapped in stained gauze bandages, with a little black tar showing through. I thought it was a fake, made of rubber or plastic. I mean, I never thought it was a real mummy hand. But last summer, the hand had saved all of our lives. The kid who sold it to me was right. It really did bring a bunch of mummies to life! It was amazing! Of course my parents and my friends back home didn't believe my incredible story. And they didn't believe that the Summoner really worked. They said it was just a joke mummy hand made in some souvenir factory. Probably made in Taiwan. But I carry it with me wherever I go. It is my good luck charm. I'm not very superstitious. I mean, I walk under ladders all the time. And my lucky number is thirteen. But I really do believe that the little mummy hand will protect me. The strange thing about the mummy hand is that it is always warm. It doesn't feel like plastic. It feels warm, like a real human hand. Back home in Michigan, I had a major panic attack when Mom and Dad were packing my suitcase for the flight. I couldn't find the mummy hand. And, of course, there was no way I would go to Egypt without it! I was so relieved when I finally found it. It was tucked into the back pocket of a crumpled-up pair of jeans. Now, as the plane nosed down for a landing, I reached for the hand in the pocket of my T-shirt. I pulled it out — and gasped. The hand was cold. Cold as ice! 2 Why had the mummy hand suddenly turned cold? Was it some kind of a message? A warning? Was I heading into danger? I didn't have time to think about it. The plane rolled into the gate, and the passengers were scrambling to pull down their carry-on bags and push their way out of the plane. I tucked the mummy hand into my jeans pocket, hoisted up my backpack, and headed to the front. I said good-bye to Nancy and thanked her for all the peanuts. Then I followed the others down the long, covered ramp and into the airport. So many people! And they all seemed to be in a hurry. They were practically stepping over each other. Men in dark business suits. Women in loose-flowing robes, their faces covered by veils. Teenage girls in jeans and T-shirts. A group of dark, serious-looking men in silky white suits that looked like pajamas. A family with three little kids, all crying. I had a sudden sinking feeling. How would I ever find Uncle Ben in this crowd? My backpack began to feel very heavy. My eyes frantically searched back and forth. Strange voices surrounded me, all talking so loudly. No one was speaking English. "Ow!" I cried out as I felt a sharp pain in my side. I turned and realized that a woman had bumped me with her luggage cart. Stay calm, Gabe, I instructed myself. Just stay calm. Uncle Ben is here, looking for you. He'll find you. You just have to stay calm. But what if my uncle forgot? I asked myself. What if he got mixed up about what day I was arriving? Or what if he got busy down in the pyramid and lost track of the time? I can be a real worrier if I put my mind to it. And right now I was worrying enough for three people! If Uncle Ben isn't here, I'll go to a phone and call him, I decided. For sure. I could just hear myself saying, "Operator, can I speak to my uncle at the pyramids, please?" I don't think that would work too well. I didn't have a phone number for Uncle Ben. I wasn't sure he even had a phone out where he was staying. All I knew was that he had been living in a tent somewhere near the pyramid where he was digging. Gazing frantically around the crowded arrival area, I was just about to give in to total panic — when a large man came walking up to me. I couldn't see his face. He wore a long, white, hooded robe. It's called a burnoose. And his face was buried inside the hood. "Taxi?" he asked in a high, shrill voice. "Taxi? American taxi?" I burst out laughing. "Uncle Ben!" I cried happily. "Taxi? American taxi? Taxi ride?" he insisted. "Uncle Ben! I'm so glad to see you!" I exclaimed. I threw my arms around his waist and gave him a big hug. Then, laughing at his stupid disguise, I reached up and pulled back his hood. The man under the hood had a bald, shaved head and a heavy black mustache. He glared at me furiously. I had never seen him before in my life. 3 "Gabe! Gabe! Over here!" I heard a voice calling my name. Glancing past the angry man, I saw Uncle Ben and Sari. They were waving to me from in front of the reservations counter. The man's face turned bright red, and he shouted something at me in Arabic. I was glad I couldn't understand him. He kept muttering as he pulled up the hood of his burnoose. "Sorry about that!" I cried. Then I dodged past him and hurried to greet Uncle Ben and my cousin. Uncle Ben shook my hand and said, "Welcome to Cairo, Gabe." He was wearing a loose-fitting, white, short-sleeved sportshirt and baggy chinos. Sari wore faded denim cutoffs and a bright green tank top. She was already laughing at me. A bad start. "Was that a friend of yours?" she teased. "I — I made a mistake," I confessed. I glanced back. The man was still scowling at me. "Did you really think that was Daddy?" Sari demanded. I mumbled a reply. Sari and I were the same age. But I saw that she was still an inch taller than me. She had let her black hair grow. It fell down her back in a single braid. Her big, dark eyes sparkled excitedly. She loved making fun of me. I told them about my flight as we walked to the baggage area to get my suitcase. I told them how Nancy, the stewardess, kept slipping me bags of peanuts. "I flew here last week," Sari told me. "The stewardess let me sit in First Class. Did you know you can have an ice-cream sundae in First Class?" No, I didn't know that. I could see that Sari hadn't changed a bit. She goes to a boarding school in Chicago since Uncle Ben has been spending all of his time in Egypt. Of course she gets straight A's. And she's a champion skier and tennis player. Sometimes I feel a little sorry for her. Her mom died when Sari was five. And Sari only gets to see her dad on holidays and during the summer. But as we waited for my suitcase to come out on the conveyor belt, I wasn't feeling sorry for her at all. She was busy bragging about how this pyramid was twice as big as the one I'd been in last summer. And how she'd already been down in it several times, and how she'd take me on a tour — if I wasn't too afraid. Finally, my bulging, blue suitcase appeared. I lugged it off the conveyor and dropped it at my feet. It weighed a ton! I tried to lift it, but I could barely budge it. Sari pushed me out of the way. "Let me get that," she insisted. She grabbed the handle, raised the suitcase off the floor, and started off with it. "Hey — !" I called after her. What a show-off! Uncle Ben grinned at me. "I think Sari has been working out," he said. He put a hand on my shoulder and led me toward the glass doors. "Let's get to the jeep." We loaded the suitcase into the back of the jeep, then headed toward the city. "It's been sweltering hot during the day," Uncle Ben told me, mopping his broad forehead with a handkerchief. "And then cool at night." Traffic crawled on the narrow street. Horns honked constantly. Drivers kept their horns going whether they moved or stopped. The noise was deafening. "We're not stopping in Cairo," Uncle Ben explained. "We're going straight to the pyramid at Al-Jizah. We're all living in tents out there so we can be close to our work." "I hope you brought bug spray," Sari complained. "The mosquitoes are as big as frogs!" "Don't exaggerate," Uncle Ben scolded. "Gabe isn't afraid of a few mosquitoes — are you?" "No way," I replied quietly. "How about scorpions?" Sari demanded. The traffic grew lighter as we left the city behind and headed into the desert. The yellow sand gleamed under the hot afternoon sun. Waves of heat rose up in front of us as the jeep bumped over the narrow, two-lane road. Before long, a pyramid came into view. Behind the waves of heat off the desert floor, it looked like a wavering mirage. It didn't seem real. As I stared out at it, my throat tightened with excitement. I had seen the pyramids last summer. But it was still a thrilling sight. "I can't believe the pyramids are over four thousand years old!" I exclaimed. "Yeah. That's even older than me!" Uncle Ben joked. His expression turned serious. "It fills me with pride every time I see them, Gabe," he admitted. "To think that our ancient ancestors were smart enough and skilled enough to build these marvels." Uncle Ben was right. I guess the pyramids have special meaning for me since my family is Egyptian. Both sets of my grandparents came from Egypt. They moved to the United States around 1930. My mom and dad were born in Michigan. I think of myself as a typical American kid. But there's still something exciting about visiting the country where your ancestors came from. As we drove nearer, the pyramid appeared to rise up in front of us. Its shadow formed a long, blue triangle over the yellow sand. Cars and tour buses jammed a small parking lot. I could see a row of saddled camels tethered on one side of the lot. A crowd of tourists stretched across the sand, gazing up at the pyramid, snapping photographs, chatting noisily and pointing. Uncle Ben turned the jeep onto a narrow side road, and we headed away from the crowd, toward the back of the pyramid. As we drove into the shade, the air suddenly felt cooler. "I'd kill for an ice-cream cone!" Sari wailed. "I've never been so hot in my life." "Let's not talk about the heat," Uncle Ben replied, sweat dripping down his forehead into his bushy eyebrows. "Let's talk about how happy you are to see your father after so many months." Sari groaned. "I'd be happier to see you if you were carrying an ice-cream cone." Uncle Ben laughed. A khaki-uniformed guard stepped in front of the jeep. Uncle Ben held up a blue ID card. The guard waved us past. As we followed the road behind the pyramid, a row of low, white canvas tents came into view. "Welcome to the Pyramid Hilton!" Uncle Ben joked. "That's our luxury suite over there." He pointed to the nearest tent. "It's pretty comfortable," he said, parking the jeep beside the tent. "But the room service is lousy." "And you have to watch out for scorpions," Sari warned. She'd say anything to try to scare me. We unloaded my suitcase. Then Uncle Ben led us up to the base of the pyramid. A camera crew was packing up its equipment. A young man, covered in dust, climbed out of a low entrance dug into one of the limestone squares. He waved to my uncle, then hurried toward the tents. "One of my people," Uncle Ben muttered. He motioned toward the pyramid. "Well, here you are, Gabe. A long way from Michigan, huh?" I nodded. "It's amazing," I told him, shielding my eyes to gaze up to the top. "I forgot how much bigger the pyramids look in person." "Tomorrow I'll take you both down to the tomb," Uncle Ben promised. "You've come at just the right time. We've been digging for months and months. And at long last, we are about to break the seal and enter the tomb itself." "Wow!" I exclaimed. I wanted to be cool in front of Sari. But I couldn't help it. I was really excited. "Guess you'll be really famous after you open the tomb, huh, Dad?" Sari asked. She swatted a fly on her arm. "Ow!" "I'll be so famous, the flies will be afraid to bite you," Uncle Ben replied. "By the way, do you know what they called flies in ancient Egypt?" Sari and I shook our heads no. "I don't either!" Uncle Ben said, grinning. One of his dumb jokes. He had an endless supply of them. His expression suddenly changed. "Oh. That reminds me. I have a present for you, Gabe." "A present?" "Now, where did I put it?" He dug both hands into the pockets of his baggy chinos. As he searched, I saw something move behind him. A shadow over my uncle's shoulder, back at the low opening to the pyramid. I squinted at it. The shadow moved. A figure stepped out slowly. At first I thought the sun was playing tricks on my eyes. But as I squinted harder, I realized that I was seeing correctly. The figure stepped out from the pyramid — its face was covered in worn, yellowed gauze. So were its arms. And its legs. I opened my mouth to cry out — but my voice choked in my throat. And as I struggled to alert my uncle, the mummy stiffly stretched out its arms and came staggering up behind him. 4 I saw Sari's eyes grow wide with fright. She let out a low gasp. "Uncle Ben — !" I finally managed to scream. "Turn around! It — it — !" My uncle narrowed his eyes at me, confused. The mummy staggered closer, its hands reaching out menacingly, about to grab the back of Uncle Ben's neck. "A mummy!" I shrieked. Uncle Ben spun around. He let out a startled cry. "It walks!" he shouted, pointing at the mummy with a trembling finger. He backed away as the mummy advanced. "It walks!" "Ohhh." A strange moan escaped Sari's lips. I turned and started to run. But then the mummy burst out laughing. It lowered its yellowed arms. "Boo!" it cried, and laughed again. I turned and saw that Uncle Ben was laughing, too. His dark eyes sparkled gleefully. "It walks! It walks!" he repeated, shaking his head. He put his arm around the mummy's shoulder. I gaped at the two of them, my heart still pounding. "This is John," Uncle Ben said, enjoying the joke he'd pulled on us. "He's been doing a TV commercial here. For some new kind of stickier bandage." "Sticky Bird Bandages," John told us. "They're just what your mummy ordered!" He and Uncle Ben enjoyed another good laugh at that. Then my uncle pointed to the camera crew, packing their equipment into a small van. "They finished for the day. But John agreed to hang around and help me scare you." Sari rolled her eyes. "Nice try," she said dryly. "You'll have to do better than that, Daddy, to frighten me." And then she added, "Poor Gabe. Did you see his face? He was so freaked out! I thought he was going to spontaneously combust or something!" Uncle Ben and John laughed. "Hey — no way!" I insisted, feeling my face turn red. How could Sari say that? When the mummy staggered out, I saw her gasp and back away. She was just as scared as I was! "I heard you scream, too!" I told her. I didn't mean to sound so whiny. "I just did that to help them scare you," Sari insisted. She tossed her long braid over her shoulder. "I've got to run," John said, glancing at his wristwatch. "As soon as we get back to the hotel, I'm going to hit the pool. I may stay underwater for a week!" He gave us a wave of his bandaged hand and went jogging to the van. Why hadn't I noticed that he was wearing a wristwatch? I felt like a total dork. "That's it!" I cried angrily to my uncle. "I'm never falling for one of your dumb jokes again! Never!" He grinned at me and winked. "Want to bet?" "What about Gabe's present?" Sari asked. "What is it?" Uncle Ben pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. A pendant on a string. Made of clear orange glass. It gleamed in the bright sunlight. He handed it to me. I moved it in my hand, feeling its smoothness as I examined it. "What is it?" I asked him. "What kind of glass is this?" "It isn't glass," he replied. "It's a clear stone called amber." He stepped closer to examine it along with me. "Hold it up and look inside the pendant." I followed his instructions. I saw a large brown bug inside. "It looks like some kind of beetle," I said. "It is a beetle," Uncle Ben said, squinting one eye to see it better. "It's an ancient beetle called a scarab. It was trapped in the amber four thousand years ago. As you can see, it's perfectly preserved." "That's really gross," Sari commented, making a face. She slapped Uncle Ben on the back. "Great gift, Dad. A dead bug. Remind me not to let you do our Christmas shopping!" Uncle Ben laughed. Then he turned back to me. "The scarab was very important to the ancient Egyptians," he said, rolling the amber pendant in his fingers, then dropping it back in my palm. "They believed that scarabs were a symbol of immortality." I stared at the bug's dark shell, its six prickly legs, perfectly preserved. "To keep a scarab meant immortality," my uncle continued. "But the bite of a scarab meant instant death." "Weird," Sari muttered. "It's great-looking," I told him. "Is it really four thousand years old?" He nodded. "Wear it around your neck, Gabe. Maybe it still has some of its ancient powers." I slipped the pendant over my head and adjusted it under my T-shirt. The amber stone felt cool against my skin. "Thanks, Uncle Ben," I said. "It's a great present." He mopped his sweaty forehead with a wadded-up handkerchief. "Let's go back to the tent and get something cold to drink," he said. We took a few steps — and then stopped when we saw Sari's face. Her entire body trembled. Her mouth dropped open as she pointed to my chest. "Sari — what is it?" Uncle Ben cried. "The s-scarab — " she stammered. "It . . . escaped! I saw it!" She pointed down. "It's there!" "Huh?" I spun away from her and bent down to find the scarab. "Ow!" I cried out when I felt a sharp stab of pain on the back of my leg. And realized the scarab had bitten me. 5 As I gasped in alarm, Uncle Ben's words about the scarab rushed through my mind. "To keep a scarab meant immortality. But the bite of a scarab meant instant death." Instant death? "Noooo!" I let out a howl and spun around. And saw Sari hunched down on her knees. Grinning. Her hand outstretched. And realized she had pinched my leg. My heart still pounding, I grabbed the pendant and stared into the orange glassy stone. The scarab was still frozen inside, just as it had been for four thousand years. "Aaaaaaaggh!" I let out a howl of rage. I was mostly furious at myself. Was I going to fall for every dumb joke Uncle Ben and Sari played on me this trip? If so, it was going to be a very long summer. I had always liked my cousin. Except for the times when she was being so competitive and so superior, we always got along really well. But now I wanted to punch her. I wanted to say really nasty things to her. But I couldn't think of anything nasty enough. "That was really mean, Sari," I said glumly, tucking the pendant under my T-shirt. "Yes, it was — wasn't it!" she replied, very pleased with herself. That night, I lay on my back on my narrow cot, staring up at the low tent roof, listening. Listening to the brush of the wind against the tent door, the soft creak of the tent poles, the flap of the canvas. I don't think I'd ever felt so alert. Turning my head, I could see the pale glow of moonlight through a crack in the tent door. I could see blades of dried desert grass on the sand outside. I could see water stains on the tent wall over my bed. I'll never get to sleep, I thought unhappily. I pushed and punched the flat pillow for the twentieth time, trying to fluff it up. The harsh wool blanket felt scratchy against my chin. I'd slept away from home before. But I'd always slept in a room of some kind. Not in the middle of a vast, sandy desert in a tiny, flapping, creaking, canvas tent. I wasn't scared. My uncle lay snoring away in his cot a few feet across the tent. I was just alert. Very, very alert. So alert I could hear the swish of palm trees outside. And I could hear the low hum of car tires miles away on the narrow road. And I heard the thudding of my heart when something wriggled on my chest. I was so alert. I felt it instantly. Just a tickle. A quick, light move. It could only be one thing. The scarab moving inside the amber pendant. No joke this time. No joke. It moved. I fumbled for the pendant in the dark, tossing down the blanket. I held it up to the moonlight. I could see the fat beetle in there, black in its orange prison. "Did you move?" I whispered to it. "Did you wriggle your legs?" I suddenly felt really stupid. Why was I whispering to a four-thousand-year-old insect? Why was I imagining that it was alive? Annoyed with myself, I tucked the pendant back under my nightshirt. I had no way of knowing how important that pendant would soon become to me. I had no way of knowing that the pendant held a secret that would either save my life. Or kill me. 6 The tent was already hot when I awoke the next morning. Bright yellow sunlight poured in through the open tent flap. Squinting against the light, I rubbed my eyes and stretched. Uncle Ben had already gone out. My back ached. The little cot was so hard! But I was too excited to worry about my back. I was going down into the pyramid this morning, to the entrance of an ancient tomb. I pulled on a clean T-shirt and the jeans I'd worn the day before. I adjusted the scarab pendant under the T-shirt. Then I carefully tucked the little mummy hand into the back pocket of my jeans. With the pendant and the mummy hand, I'm well protected, I told myself. Nothing bad can happen this trip. I pulled a hairbrush through my thick, black hair a few times, tugged my black-and-yellow Michigan Wolverines cap on. Then I hurried to the mess tent to get some breakfast. The sun was floating above the palm trees in the distance. The yellow desert sand gleamed brightly. I took a deep breath of fresh air. Yuck. There must be some camels nearby, I decided. The air wasn't exactly fresh. I found Sari and Uncle Ben having their breakfast, seated at the end of the long table in the mess tent. Uncle Ben wore his usual baggy chinos and a short-sleeved, white sportshirt with coffee stains down the front. Sari had her long, black hair pulled straight back in a ponytail. She wore a bright red tank top over white tennis shorts. They greeted me as I entered the tent. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and, since I didn't see any Frosted Flakes, filled a bowl with raisin bran. Three of Uncle Ben's workers were eating at the other end of the table. They were talking excitedly about their work. "We could go in today," I heard one of them say. "It might take days to break the seal on the tomb door," a young woman replied. I sat down next to Sari. "Tell me all about the tomb," I said to Uncle Ben. "Whose tomb is it? What's in there?" He chuckled. "Let me say good morning before I launch into a lecture." Sari leaned over my cereal bowl. "Hey, look — " she said, pointing. "I got a lot more raisins than you did!" I told you she could turn breakfast into a contest. "Well, I got more pulp in my orange juice," I replied. It was just a joke, but she checked her juice glass to make sure. Uncle Ben wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He took a long sip of black coffee. "If I'm not mistaken," he began, "the tomb we have discovered here belonged to a prince. Actually, a cousin of King Tutankhamen." "That's King Tut," Sari told me, interrupting. "I know that!" I replied sharply. "King Tut's tomb was discovered in 1922," Uncle Ben continued. "The vast burial chamber was filled with most of Tut's treasures. It was the most amazing archaeological discovery of the century." A smile crossed his face. "Until now." "Do you think you've found something even more amazing?" I asked. I hadn't touched my cereal. I was too interested in my uncle's story. He shrugged. "There's no way of knowing what's behind the tomb door until we open it, Gabe. But I have my fingers crossed. I believe we've found the burial chamber of Prince Khor-Ru. He was the king's cousin. And he was said to be as wealthy as the king." "And do you think all of Prince Khor-Ru's crowns, and jewels, and belongings are buried with him?" Sari asked. Uncle Ben took the last sip of coffee and slid the white mug across the table. "Who knows?" he replied. "There could be amazing treasures in there. Or it could be empty. Just an empty room." "How could it be empty?" I demanded. "Why would there be an empty tomb in the pyramids?" "Grave robbers," Uncle Ben replied, frowning. "Remember, Prince Khor-Ru was buried sometime around 1300 B.C. Over the centuries, thieves broke into the pyramids and robbed the treasures from many burial chambers." He stood up and sighed. "We may have been digging for all these months only to find an empty room." "No way!" I cried excitedly. "I'll bet we find the Prince's mummy in there. And millions of dollars' worth of jewels!" Uncle Ben smiled at me. "Enough talk," he said. "Finish your breakfast so we can go find out." Sari and I followed Uncle Ben out of the tent. He waved to two young men who came out of the supply tent carrying digging equipment. Then he hurried over to talk to them. Sari and I lingered back. She turned to me, a serious expression on her face. "Hey, Gabe," she said softly, "sorry I've been such a pain." "You? A pain?" I replied sarcastically. She didn't laugh. "I'm kind of worried," she confessed. "About Daddy." I glanced at Uncle Ben. He was slapping one of the young men on the back as he talked. His usual jolly self. "Why are you worried?" I asked Sari. "Your dad is in a great mood." "That's why I'm worried," Sari whispered. "He's so happy and excited. He really thinks this is going to be the discovery that makes him famous." "So?" I demanded. "So what if it turns out to be an empty room?" Sari replied, her dark eyes watching her father. "What if grave robbers did strip the place? Or what if it isn't that prince's tomb after all? What if Daddy breaks the seal, opens the door — and finds nothing but a dusty, old room filled with snakes?" She sighed. "Daddy will be heartbroken. Just heartbroken. He's counting on this so much, Gabe. I don't know if he'll be able to take the disappointment." "Why look on the gloomy side?" I replied. "What if — " I stopped because Uncle Ben was hurrying back to us. "Let's go down to the chamber," he said excitedly. "The workers think we are very close to uncovering the tomb entrance." He put an arm on each of our shoulders and guided us to the pyramid. As we stepped into the shade of the pyramid, the air grew cooler. The low entrance dug at the bottom of the back wall came into view. It was just big enough for us to enter one at a time. Peering into the narrow hole, I saw that the tunnel dropped steeply. I hope I don't fall, I thought, a heavy knot of fear tightening my stomach. I pictured myself falling and falling down an endless, dark hole. Mainly, I didn't want to fall in front of Sari. I knew she'd never let me forget it. Uncle Ben handed Sari and me bright yellow hard hats. They had lights built into them, like miners' hats. "Stick close together," he instructed. "I remember last summer. You two wandered off and got us into a lot of trouble." "W-we won't," I stammered. I was trying not to sound nervous, but I couldn't help it. I glanced at Sari. She was adjusting the yellow hard hat over her hair. She seemed as calm and confident as ever. "I'll lead the way," Uncle Ben said, pulling the chin strap under his chin. He turned and started to lower himself into the hole. But a shrill cry from behind us made us all stop and turn around. "Stop! Please — stop! Don't go in!" 7 A young woman came running across the sand. Her long, black hair flew behind her head as she ran. She carried a brown briefcase in one hand. A camera, strapped around her neck, bobbed in front of her. She stopped in front of us and smiled at Uncle Ben. "Dr. Hassad?" she asked breathlessly. My uncle nodded. "Yes?" He waited for her to catch her breath. Wow. She's really pretty, I thought. She had long, black hair, sleek and shiny. She had bangs cut straight across her forehead. Beneath the bangs were the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. She was dressed all in white. A white suit jacket and a white blouse over white slacks. She was short — only an inch or two taller than Sari. She must be a movie star or something, I told myself. She's so great-looking! She set her briefcase down on the sand and brushed back her long, black hair. "I'm sorry I shouted like that, Dr. Hassad," she told my uncle. "It's just that I needed to talk to you. I didn't want you to disappear into the pyramid." Uncle Ben narrowed his eyes at her, studying her. "How did you get past the security guard?" he asked, pulling off the hard hat. "I showed them my press card," she replied. "I'm a reporter for the Cairo Sun. My name is Nila Rahmad. I was hoping — " "Nila?" Uncle Ben interrupted. "What a pretty name." She smiled. "Yes. My mother named me after the River of Life, the Nile." "Well, it's a very pretty name," Uncle Ben replied. His eyes twinkled. "But I'm not ready to have any reporters write about our work here." Nila frowned and bit her lower lip. "I spoke to Dr. Fielding a few days ago," she said. My uncle's eyes widened in surprise. "You did?" "Dr. Fielding gave me permission to write about your discovery," Nila insisted, her green eyes locked on my uncle. "Well, we haven't discovered anything yet!" Uncle Ben said sharply. "There may not be anything to discover." "That's not what Dr. Fielding told me," Nila replied. "He seemed confident that you were about to make a discovery that would shock the world." Uncle Ben laughed. "Sometimes my partner gets excited and talks too much," he told Nila. Nila's eyes pleaded with my uncle. "May I come into the pyramid with you?" She glanced at Sari and me. "I see you have other visitors." "My daughter, Sari, and my nephew, Gabe," Uncle Ben replied. "Well, could I come down with them?" Nila pleaded. "I promise I won't write a word for my paper until you give me permission." Uncle Ben rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He swung the hard hat back onto his head. "No photographs, either," he muttered. "Does that mean I can come?" Nila asked excitedly. Uncle Ben nodded. "As an observer." He was trying to act real tough. But I could see he liked her. Nila flashed him a warm smile. "Thank you, Dr. Hassad." He reached into the storage cart and handed her a yellow hard hat. "We won't be making any amazing discoveries today," he warned her. "But we're getting very close — to something." As she slipped on the heavy helmet, Nila turned to Sari and me. "Is this your first time in the pyramid?" she asked. "No way. I've already been down three times," Sari boasted. "It's really awesome." "I just arrived yesterday," I said. "So it's my first time down in — " I stopped when I saw Nila's expression change. Why was she staring at me like that? I glanced down and realized that she was staring at the amber pendant. Her mouth was open in shock. "No! I don't believe this! I really don't! This is so weird!" she exclaimed. 8 "Wh-what's wrong?" I stammered. "We're twins!" Nila declared. She reached under her suit jacket and pulled out a pendant she wore around her neck. An amber pendant, shaped exactly like mine. "How unusual!" Uncle Ben exclaimed. Nila grasped my pendant between her fingers and lowered her face to examine it. "You have a scarab inside yours," she told me, turning the pendant around in her fingers. She dropped mine and held hers up for me to see. "Look, Gabe. Mine is empty." I gazed into her pendant. It looked like clear orange glass. Nothing inside. "I think yours is prettier," Sari told Nila. "I wouldn't want to wear a dead bug around my neck." "But it's supposed to be good luck or something," Nila replied. She tucked the pendant back under her white jacket. "I hope it isn't bad luck to have an empty one!" "I hope so, too," Uncle Ben commented dryly. He turned and led us into the pyramid opening. I'm not really sure how I got lost. Sari and I were walking together behind Uncle Ben and Nila. We were close behind them. I could hear my uncle explaining about how the tunnel walls were granite and limestone. Our helmet lights were on. The narrow beams of yellow light darted and crisscrossed over the dusty tunnel floor and walls as we made our way deeper and deeper into the pyramid. The ceiling hung low, and we all had to stoop as we walked. The tunnel kept curving, and there were several smaller tunnels that branched off. "False starts and dead ends," Uncle Ben called them. It was hard to see in the flickering light from our helmets. I stumbled once and scraped my elbow against the rough tunnel wall. It was surprisingly cool down here, and I wished I had worn a sweatshirt or something. Up ahead, Uncle Ben was telling Nila about King Tut and Prince Khor-Ru. It sounded to me as if Uncle Ben was trying to impress her. I wondered if he had a crush on her or something. "This is so thrilling!" I heard Nila exclaim. "It was so nice of Dr. Fielding and you to let me see it." "Who is Dr. Fielding?" I whispered to Sari. "My father's partner," Sari whispered back. "But Daddy doesn't like him. You'll probably meet him. He's always around. I don't like him much, either." I stopped to examine a strange-looking marking on the tunnel wall. It was shaped like some kind of animal head. "Sari — look!" I whispered. "An ancient drawing." Sari rolled her eyes. "It's Bart Simpson," she muttered. "One of Daddy's workers must have drawn it there." "I knew that!" I lied. "I was just testing you." When was I going to stop making a fool of myself in front of my cousin? I turned back from the stupid drawing on the wall — and Sari had vanished. I could see the narrow beam of light from her hard hat up ahead. "Hey — wait up!" I called. But the light disappeared as the tunnel curved away. And then I stumbled again. My helmet hit the tunnel wall. And the light went out. "Hey — Sari? Uncle Ben?" I called to them. I leaned heavily against the wall, afraid to move in the total darkness. "Hey — ! Can anybody hear me?" My voice echoed down the narrow tunnel. But no one replied. I pulled off the hard hat and fiddled with the light. I turned it, trying to tighten it. Then I shook the whole hat. But the light wouldn't come back on. Sighing, I strapped the hat back onto my head. Now what? I thought, starting to feel a little afraid. My stomach began fluttering. My throat suddenly felt dry. "Hey — can anybody hear me?" I shouted. "I'm in the dark back here. I can't walk!" No reply. Where were they? Didn't they notice that I had disappeared? "Well, I'll just wait right here for them," I murmured to myself. I leaned my shoulder against the tunnel wall — — and fell right through the wall. No way to catch my balance. Nothing to grab on to. I was falling, falling down through total darkness. 9 My hands flailed wildly as I fell. I reached out frantically for something to grab on to. It all happened too fast to cry out. I landed hard on my back. Pain shot out through my arms and legs. The darkness swirled around me. My breath was knocked right out of me. I saw bright flashes of red, then everything went black again. I struggled to breathe, but couldn't suck in any air. I had that horrible heavy feeling in my chest, like when a basketball hits you in the stomach. Finally, I sat up, struggling to see in the total darkness. I heard a soft, shuffling sound. Something scraping over the hard dirt floor. "Hey — can anyone hear me?" My voice came out a hoarse whisper. Now my back ached, but I was starting to breathe normally. "Hey — I'm down here!" I called, a little louder. No reply. Didn't they miss me? Weren't they looking for me? I was leaning back on my hands, starting to feel better. My right hand started to itch. I reached to scratch it and brushed something away. And realized my legs were itching, too. And felt something crawling on my left wrist. I shook my hand hard. "What's going on here?" I whispered to myself. My entire body tingled. I felt soft pinpricks up my arms and legs. Shaking both arms, I jumped to my feet. And banged my helmet against a low ledge. The light flickered on. I gasped when I saw the crawling creatures in the narrow beam of light. Spiders. Hundreds of bulby, white spiders, thick on the chamber floor. They scuttled across the floor, climbing over each other. As I jerked my head up and the light swept up with it, I saw that the stone walls were covered with them, too. The white spiders made the wall appear to move, as if it were alive. Spiders hung on invisible threads from the chamber ceiling. They seemed to bob and float in midair. I shook one off the back of my hand. And with a gasp, realized why my legs itched. Spiders were crawling all over them. Up over my arms. Down my back. "Help — somebody! Please!" I managed to cry out. I felt a spider drop on to the top of my head. I brushed it away with a frantic slap. "Somebody — help me!" I screamed. "Can anyone hear me?" And then I saw something scarier. Much scarier. A snake slid down from above me, lowering itself rapidly toward my face. 10 I ducked and tried to cover my head as the snake silently dropped toward me. "Grab it!" I heard someone call. "Grab on to it!" With a startled cry, I raised my eyes. The light beam followed. And I saw that it was not a snake that stretched from above — but a rope. "Grab on to it, Gabe! Hurry!" Sari shouted urgently from high above. Brushing away spiders, kicking frantically to shake the spiders off my sneakers, I grasped the rope with both hands. And felt myself being tugged up, pulled up through the darkness to the tunnel floor above. A few seconds later, Uncle Ben reached down and grabbed me under the shoulders. As he hoisted me up, I could see Sari and Nila pulling with all their might on the rope. I cheered happily as my feet touched solid ground. But I didn't have long to celebrate. My entire body felt as if it were on fire! I went wild, kicking my legs, brushing spiders off my arms, scratching spiders off my back, stamping on the spiders as they scuttled off me. Glancing up, I saw that Sari was laughing at me. "Gabe, what do you call that dance?" she asked. Uncle Ben and Nila laughed, too. "How did you fall down there, Gabe?" my uncle demanded, peering down into the spider chamber. "The wall — it gave way," I told him, frantically scratching my legs. "I thought you were still with me," Sari explained. "When I turned around . . ." Her voice trailed off. The light on Uncle Ben's helmet beamed down to the lower chamber. "That's a long fall," Uncle Ben said, turning back to me. "Are you sure you're okay?" I nodded. "Yeah. I guess. It knocked the wind out of me. And then the spiders — " "There must be hundreds of chambers like that," my uncle commented, glancing at Nila. "The pyramid builders made a maze of tunnels and chambers — to fool tomb robbers and keep them from finding the real tomb." "Yuck! Such fat spiders!" Sari groaned, stepping back. "There are millions of them down there," I told her. "On the walls, hanging from the ceiling — everywhere." "This is going to give me bad dreams," Nila said softly, moving closer to Uncle Ben. "You sure you're okay?" my uncle demanded again. I started to reply. Then I suddenly remembered something. The mummy hand. It was tucked in my back pocket. Had it been crushed when I landed on it? My heart skipped a beat. I didn't want anything bad to happen to that little hand. It was my good luck charm. I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled it out. Holding it under the light from my hard hat, I examined it carefully. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was okay. It still felt cold. But it hadn't been crushed. "What's that?" Nila asked, leaning closer to see it better. She brushed her long hair away from her face. "Is that The Summoner?" "How did you know that?" I demanded, holding the hand up so she could see it better. Nila stared at it intently. "I know a lot about ancient Egypt," she replied. "I've studied it my whole life." "It might be an ancient relic," Uncle Ben broke in. "Or it might just be a tacky souvenir," Sari added. "It has real powers," I insisted, brushing it off carefully. "I landed on it down there — " I pointed to the spider chamber — "and it didn't get crushed." "I guess it is a good luck charm," Nila said, turning back to Uncle Ben. "Then why didn't it keep Gabe from falling through that wall?" Sari cracked. Before I could answer, I saw the mummy hand move. The tiny fingers slowly curled. Out and then in. I cried out and nearly dropped it. "Gabe — now what?" Uncle Ben demanded sharply. "Uh . . . nothing," I replied. They wouldn't believe me anyway. "I think we've done enough exploring for now," Uncle Ben said. As we made our way to the entrance, I held the mummy hand in front of me. I wasn't seeing things. I knew that for sure. The fingers really had moved. But why? Was the hand trying to signal me? Was it trying to warn me about something? 11 Two days later, Uncle Ben's workers reached the doorway to the burial chamber. Sari and I had spent the two days hanging around in the tent or exploring the area outside the pyramid. Since it was mostly sand, there wasn't much to explore. We spent one long afternoon playing game after game of Scrabble. Playing Scrabble with Sari wasn't much fun at all. She was a very defensive player and spent hours figuring out ways to clog the board and block me from getting any good words. Whenever I put down a really good word, Sari claimed it wasn't a real word and couldn't be allowed. And since we didn't have a dictionary in the tent, she won most of the arguments. Uncle Ben, meanwhile, seemed really stressed out. I thought maybe he was nervous about finally opening the tomb. He barely spoke to Sari and me. Instead, he spent a lot of time meeting with people I didn't recognize. He seemed very serious and businesslike. None of his usual backslapping and joking. Uncle Ben also spent a lot of time talking with Nila. At first, she'd said she wanted to write about his discovery in the pyramid. But now she'd decided to write an article about him. She wrote down nearly every word he said in a little pad she carried with her. Then, at breakfast, he finally smiled for the first time in two days. "Today's the day," he announced. Sari and I couldn't hide our excitement. "Are you taking us with you?" I asked. Uncle Ben nodded. "I want you to be there," he replied. "Perhaps we will make history today. Perhaps it will be a day you will want to remember for the rest of your lives." He shrugged and added thoughtfully: "Perhaps." A few minutes later, the three of us followed several workers across the sand toward the pyramid. It was a gray day. Heavy clouds hovered low in the sky, threatening rain. The pyramid rose up darkly to meet the clouds. As we approached the small opening in the back wall, Nila came running up, her camera bobbing in front of her. She wore a long-sleeved, blue denim work shirt over loose-fitting, faded jeans. Uncle Ben greeted her warmly. "But still no photographs," he told her firmly. "Promise?" Nila smiled back at him. Her green eyes lit up excitedly. She raised a hand to her heart. "Promise." We all took yellow hard hats from the equipment dump. Uncle Ben was carrying a large stone mallet. He lowered himself into the entrance, and we followed. My heart was racing as I hurried to keep up with Sari. The lights from our helmets darted over the narrow tunnel. Far up ahead, I could hear the voices of workers and the steady scrape of their digging tools. "This is really awesome!" I exclaimed breathlessly to Sari. "Maybe the tomb is filled with jewels," Sari whispered as we made our way around a curve. "Sapphires and rubies and emeralds. Maybe I'll get to try on a jeweled crown worn by an Egyptian princess." "Do you think there's a mummy in the tomb?" I asked. I wasn't too interested in jewels. "Do you think the mummified body of Prince Khor-Ru is lying there, waiting to be discovered?" Sari made a disgusted face. "Is that all you can think about — mummies?" "Well, we are in an ancient Egyptian pyramid!" I shot back. "There could be millions of dollars' worth of jewels and relics in that tomb," Sari scolded. "And all you can think about is some moldy old body wrapped up in tar and gauze." She shook her head. "You know, most kids get over their fascination with mummies by the time they're eight or nine." "Uncle Ben didn't!" I replied. That shut her up. We followed Nila and Uncle Ben in silence. After a while, the narrow tunnel curved up sharply. The air grew warmer as we followed it up. I could see lights ahead. Two battery-powered spotlights were trained on the far wall. As we drew closer, I realized it wasn't a wall. It was a door. Four workers — two men and two women — were on their knees, working with small shovels and picks. They were scraping the last chunks of dirt away from the door. "It looks beautiful!" Uncle Ben cried, running up to the workers. They turned to greet him. "It's awesome in the true sense of the word!" he declared. Nila, Sari, and I stepped up behind him. Uncle Ben was right. The ancient door really was awesome! It wasn't very tall. I could see that Uncle Ben would have to stoop to step into it. But it looked like a door fit for a prince. The dark mahogany wood — now petrified — must have been brought from far away. I knew that kind of wood didn't come from any trees that grew in Egypt. Strange hieroglyphics covered the door from top to bottom. I recognized birds, and cats, and other animals etched deeply into the dark wood. The most startling sight of all was the seal that locked the door — a snarling lion's head, sculpted in gold. The light from the spotlights made the lion glow like the sun. "The gold is soft," I heard one of the workers tell my uncle. "The seal will break away easily." Uncle Ben lowered his heavy mallet to the ground. He stared for a long moment at the glowing lion's head, then turned back to us. "They thought this lion would scare any intruders away from the tomb," he explained. "I guess it worked. Till now." "Dr. Hassad, I have to photograph the actual breaking of the seal," Nila said, stepping up beside him. "You really must let me. We can't let the moment go unrecorded." He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Well . . . okay," he agreed. A pleased smile crossed her face as she raised her camera. "Thanks, Ben." The workers stepped back. One of them handed Uncle Ben a hammer and a delicate tool that looked like a doctor's scalpel. "It's all yours, Dr. Hassad," she said. Uncle Ben raised the tools and stepped up to the seal. "Once I break this seal, we will open the door and step into a room that hasn't been seen in four thousand years," he announced. Nila steadied her camera over her eye, carefully adjusting the lens. Sari and I moved up beside the workers. The gold lion appeared to glow brighter as Uncle Ben raised the tool. A hush fell over the tunnel. I could feel the excitement, feel the tension in the air. Such suspense! I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out in a long, silent whoosh and took another. I glanced at Sari. She was nervously chewing her lower lip. Her hands were pressed tightly at her sides. "Anyone hungry? Maybe we should forget about this and send out for a pizza!" Uncle Ben joked. We all laughed loudly. That was Uncle Ben for you — cracking a dumb joke at what might be the most exciting moment of his life. The tense silence returned. Uncle Ben's expression turned serious. He turned back to the ancient seal. He raised the small chisel to the back of the seal. Then he started to lift the hammer. And a booming voice rang out, "PLEASE — LET ME REST IN PEACE!" 12 I let out a startled cry. "LET ME REST IN PEACE!" the booming voice repeated. I saw Uncle Ben lower his chisel. He spun around, his eyes wide with surprise. I realized the voice came from behind us. I turned to see a man I had never seen before, half hidden in the shadowy tunnel. He made his way toward us, taking long, steady strides. He was a tall, lanky man, so tall he really had to hunch his shoulders in the low tunnel. Bald except for a fringe of dark hair at the ears, he had a slender face, an unfriendly scowl on his thin lips. He wore a perfectly ironed safari jacket over a shirt and necktie. His black eyes, like little raisins, glared at my uncle. I wondered if the man ever ate. He was as skinny as a mummy himself! "Omar — !" Uncle Ben started. "I wasn't expecting you back from Cairo." "Let me rest in peace," Dr. Fielding repeated, softer this time. "Those are the words of Prince Khor-Ru. Written on the ancient stone we found last month. That was the prince's wish." "Omar, we've been over this before," my uncle replied, sighing. He lowered the hammer and chisel to his sides. Dr. Fielding pushed past Sari and me as if we weren't there. He stopped in front of my uncle and swept a hand back over his bald head. "Well, then, how can you dare to break the seal?" Dr. Fielding demanded. "I am a scientist," my uncle replied slowly, speaking each word clearly and distinctly. "I cannot allow superstition to stand in the way of discovery, Omar." "I am also a scientist," Dr. Fielding replied, using both hands to tighten his necktie. "But I am not willing to defile this ancient tomb. I am not willing to go against the wishes of Prince Khor-Ru. And I am not willing to call the words of the hieroglyph mere superstition." "This is where we disagree," Uncle Ben said softly. He motioned to the four workers. "We have spent too many months, too many years, to stop just outside the door. We have come this far, Omar. We must go the rest of the way." Dr. Fielding chewed his lower lip. He pointed to the top of the door. "Look, Ben. There are the same hieroglyphs as on the stone. The same warning. Let me rest in peace." "I know, I know," my uncle said, frowning. "The warning is very clear," Dr. Fielding continued heatedly, his tiny raisin eyes narrowed at my uncle. "If anyone should disturb the prince, if anyone should repeat the ancient words written on the tomb five times — the mummified prince shall come to life. And he shall seek his vengeance on those who disturbed him." Listening to those words made me shudder. I stared hard at Uncle Ben. Why hadn't he ever told Sari and me about the prince's threat? Why hadn't he ever mentioned the words of warning they had found on an ancient stone? Was he afraid he might frighten us? Was he frightened himself? No. No way. He didn't seem at all frightened now as he argued with Dr. Fielding. I could tell they had had this argument before. And I could see there was no way that Dr. Fielding was going to stop my uncle from breaking the seal and entering the tomb. "This is my final warning, Ben — " Dr. Fielding said. "For the sake of everyone here . . ." He motioned with one hand to the four workers. "Superstition," Uncle Ben replied. "I cannot be stopped by superstition. I am a scientist." He raised the chisel and hammer. "The seal will be broken." Dr. Fielding tossed up both hands in disgust. "I will not be a party to this," he declared. He spun around, nearly hitting his head on the tunnel ceiling. Then, muttering to himself, he hurried away, disappearing quickly into the darkness of the tunnel. Uncle Ben took a couple of steps after him. "Omar — ? Omar?" But we could hear Dr. Fielding's footsteps growing fainter as he made his way out of the pyramid. Uncle Ben sighed and leaned close to me. "I don't trust that man," he muttered. "He doesn't really care about the old superstitions. He wants to steal this discovery for himself. That's why he tried to make me stop outside the door." I didn't know how to reply. My uncle's words startled me. I thought scientists had rules about who took credit for what discoveries. Uncle Ben whispered something to Nila. Then he made his way back to the four workers. "If any of you agree with Dr. Fielding," he told them, "you are free to leave now." The workers exchanged glances with one another. "You have all heard the words of warning on the tomb door. I do not want to force anyone to enter the tomb," Uncle Ben told them. "But we have worked so hard," one of the men said. "We cannot stop here. We have no choice. We have to open that door." A smile crossed my uncle's face. "I agree," he said, turning back to the lion seal. I glanced at Sari and realized that she was already staring at me. "Gabe, if you're scared, Daddy will let you leave," she whispered. "You don't have to be embarrassed." She never quits! "I'm staying," I whispered back. "But if you want me to walk you back to the tent, I will." A loud clink made us both turn back to the door. Uncle Ben was working to pry off the gold lion seal. Nila had her camera poised. The workers stood tensely, watching Uncle Ben's every move. Uncle Ben worked slowly, carefully. He slid the chisel behind the ancient seal and gently pried and scraped. A few minutes later, the seal fell into my uncle's hands. Nila busily snapped photograph after photograph. Uncle Ben carefully passed it to one of the workers. "That's not a Christmas gift," he joked. "I'm keeping that for my mantelpiece!" Everyone laughed. Uncle Ben gripped the edge of the door with both hands. "I'm going in first," he announced. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, go tell Dr. Fielding he was right!" More laughter. Two of the workers moved to help Uncle Ben slide open the door. They pressed their shoulders against it, straining hard. The door didn't budge. "It might need a little oiling," Uncle Ben joked. "After all, it's been closed for four thousand years." They worked for several minutes with picks and chisels, carefully freeing the door. Then they tried once again, pressing their shoulders against the heavy mahogany door. "Yes!" Uncle Ben cried out as the door slid an inch. Then another inch. Another inch. Everyone pressed forward, eager to get a view of the ancient tomb. Two of the workers moved the large spotlights, aiming them into the doorway. As Uncle Ben and his two helpers pushed against the door, Sari and I stepped up beside Nila. "Isn't this amazing!" Nila cried excitedly. "I can't believe I'm the only reporter here! I'm so lucky!" I'm lucky, too, I realized. How many kids would give anything to be standing right where I am? How many kids would love to be one of the first people in the world to step into a four-thousand-year-old tomb in an Egyptian pyramid? The faces of some of my friends back home suddenly popped into my mind. I realized I couldn't wait to tell them about my adventure here! The door scraped noisily against the dirt floor. Another inch. Another inch. The opening was almost big enough for a person to squeeze through. "Move the light a little," Uncle Ben instructed. "Another few inches, and we can go in and shake hands with the prince." The door scraped open another inch. With a great heave, Uncle Ben and his helpers forced it open another few inches. "Yes!" he cried happily. Nila snapped a photograph. We all pressed forward eagerly. Uncle Ben slid through the opening first. Sari bumped me out of the way and cut in front of me. My heart was pounding hard. My hands were suddenly ice cold. I didn't care who went in first. I just wanted to go in! One by one, we slipped into the ancient chamber. Finally, my turn came. I took a deep breath, slipped through the opening, and saw — — nothing. Except for a lot of cobwebs, the chamber was bare. Totally bare. 13 I let out a long sigh. Poor Uncle Ben. All that work for nothing. I felt so disappointed. I glanced around the bare chamber. The spotlights made the thick cobwebs glow like silver. Our shadows stretched across the dirt floor like ghosts. I turned to Uncle Ben, expecting him to be disappointed, too. But to my surprise, he had a smile on his face. "Move the lights," he told one of the workers. "And bring the tools. We have another seal to remove." He pointed across the empty room to the back wall. In the gray light, I could make out the outline of a door. Another sculpted lion sealed it shut. "I knew this wasn't the real burial chamber!" Sari cried, grinning at me. "As I said, the Egyptians often did this," Uncle Ben explained. "They built several false chambers to hide the real chamber from grave robbers." He pulled off his hard hat and scratched his hair. "In fact," he continued, "we may find several empty chambers before we find Prince Khor-Ru's resting place." Nila snapped a photo of Uncle Ben examining the newly discovered door. She smiled at me. "You should have seen the expression on your face, Gabe," she said. "You looked so disappointed." "I thought — " I started. But the scrape of Uncle Ben's chisel against the seal made me stop. We all turned to watch him work at the seal. Staring across the cobweb-filled chamber, I tried to imagine what waited for us on the other side of the door. Another empty chamber? Or a four-thousand-year-old Egyptian prince, surrounded by all of his treasures and belongings? Work on the door went slowly. We all broke for lunch and then returned. That afternoon Uncle Ben and his helpers worked for another couple of hours, carefully trying to remove the seal without damaging it. As they worked, Sari and I sat on the floor and watched. The air was hot and kind of sour. I guess it was ancient air. Sari and I talked about last summer and the adventures we'd had in the Great Pyramid. Nila snapped our picture. "Almost got it," Uncle Ben announced. We all started to get excited again. Sari and I climbed to our feet and crossed the room to get a better view. The lion seal slid free from the door. Two of the workers placed it gently into a padded crate. Then Uncle Ben and the other two workers set to work pushing open the door. This door proved even more difficult than the last. "It's . . . really . . . stuck," Uncle Ben groaned. He and the workers pulled out more tools and began prying and chipping away the hard crust that had formed on the doorway over the centuries. An hour later, they got the door to slide an inch. Then another inch. Another. When it had slid halfway open, Uncle Ben removed the light from his helmet and beamed it through the opening. He peered into the next chamber for the longest time without saying a word. Sari and I moved closer. My heart began racing again. What did he see? I wondered. What was he staring at so silently? Finally, Uncle Ben lowered the light and turned back to us. "We've made a big mistake," he said quietly. 14 A shocked silence fell over the room. I swallowed hard, stunned by my uncle's words. But then a broad smile crossed his face. "We made a mistake by underestimating our discovery!" he exclaimed. "This will be more important than the discovery of King Tut! This tomb is even grander!" A gleeful cheer echoed against the stone walls. The workers rushed forward to shake Uncle Ben's hand and offer their congratulations. "Congratulations to us all!" Uncle Ben declared happily. We were all laughing and talking excitedly as we slipped through the narrow opening, into the next chamber. As the lights beamed over the vast room, I knew I was seeing something I would never forget. Even the thick layer of dust and cobwebs could not cover the amazing treasures that filled the chamber. My eyes darted quickly around. I struggled to focus on it all. But there was too much to see! I actually felt dizzy. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with hieroglyphics, etched into the stone. The floor was cluttered with furniture and other objects. It looked more like someone's attic or a storeroom than a tomb! A tall, straight-backed throne caught my eye. It had a golden, radiating sun etched into the seat-back. Behind it, I saw chairs and benches, and a long couch. Against the wall were stacked dozens of stone and clay jars. Some were cracked and broken. But many were in perfect condition. A gold monkey head lay on its side in the middle of the floor. Behind it, I saw several large chests. Uncle Ben and one of the workers carefully pulled back the lid of one of the chests. Their eyes grew wide as they gaped inside. "Jewelry!" Uncle Ben declared. "It's filled with gold jewelry!" Sari came up beside me, an excited grin on her face. "This is awesome!" I whispered. She nodded agreement. "Awesome!" We whispered in the heavy silence. No one else talked. Everyone was too overwhelmed by the amazing sight. The loudest sound was the clicking of Nila's camera. Uncle Ben stepped between Sari and me and placed a hand on our shoulders. "Isn't this unbelievable?" he cried. "It's all in perfect condition. Untouched for four thousand years." When I glanced up at him, I saw that he had tears in his eyes. This is the greatest moment of Uncle Ben's life, I realized. "We must be very careful — " Uncle Ben started. But he stopped in midsentence, and I saw his expression change. As he guided Sari and me across the room, I saw what he was staring at. A large stone mummy case, hidden in shadow, stood against the far wall. "Oh, wow!" I murmured as we stepped up to it. Made of smooth, gray stone, the heavy lid had a long crack down the center. "Is the prince buried inside it?" Sari asked eagerly. It took Uncle Ben a moment to reply. He stood between us, his eyes locked on the ancient mummy case. "We'll soon see," he finally replied. As he and the four workers struggled to move the lid, Nila lowered her camera and stepped forward to watch. Her green eyes stared intensely as the lid slowly slid away. Inside was a coffin in the shape of the mummy. It wasn't very long. And it was narrower than I thought it would be. The workers slowly pried open the coffin's lid. I gasped and grabbed Uncle Ben's hand as the mummy was revealed. It looked so tiny and frail! "Prince Khor-Ru," Uncle Ben muttered, staring down into the stone case. The prince lay on his back, his slender arms crossed over his chest. Black tar had seeped through the bandages. The gauze had worn away from the head, revealing the tar-covered skull. As I leaned over the case, my heart in my throat, the tar-blackened eyes seemed to stare helplessly up at me. There's a real person inside there, I thought, feeling a chill run down my spine. He's about my size. And he died. And they covered him with hot tar and cloth. And he's been lying in this case for four thousand years. A real person. A royal prince. I stared at the stained, cracked tar that covered his face. At the gauzelike cloth, all frayed and yellowed. At the stiff body, so frail and small. He was alive once, I thought. Did he ever dream that four thousand years later, people would open hiscoffin and stare at him? Stare at his mummified body? I took a step back to catch my breath. It was too exciting. I saw that Nila also had tears in her eyes. She rested both hands on the edge of the case and leaned over the prince's body, her eyes locked on the blackened face. "These may be the best-preserved remains ever found," Uncle Ben said quietly. "Of course we will have to do many tests to determine the young man's identity. But, judging from everything else in this chamber, I think it's safe to say . . ." His voice trailed off as we all heard sounds from the outer chamber. Footsteps. Voices. I spun around toward the doorway as four black-uniformed police officers burst into the room. "Okay. Everybody take one step back," one of them ordered, lowering his hand to the gun holster at his side. 15 Startled cries filled the room. Uncle Ben spun around, his eyes wide with surprise. "What is happening?" he cried. The four Cairo police officers, their features set in hard frowns, moved quickly into the center of the room. "Be careful!" Uncle Ben warned, standing in front of the mummy case as if protecting it. "Do not move anything. It is all terribly fragile." He pulled off the hard hat. His eyes went from officer to officer. "What are you doing here?" "I asked them to come," a voice boomed from the doorway. Dr. Fielding entered, a pleased expression on his face. His tiny eyes danced excitedly. "Omar — I don't understand," Uncle Ben said, taking a few steps toward the other scientist. "I thought it best to protect the contents of the room," Dr. Fielding replied. He gazed quickly around the room, taking in the treasures. "Wonderful! This is wonderful!" he cried. He stepped forward and shook my uncle's hand enthusiastically. "Congratulations, everyone!" he boomed. "This is almost too much to believe." Uncle Ben's expression softened. "I still do not understand the need for them," he said, motioning to the grim-faced officers. "No one in this room is about to steal anything." "Certainly not," Dr. Fielding replied, still squeezing Uncle Ben's hand. "Certainly not. But word will soon get out, Ben. And I thought we should be prepared to guard what we have found." Uncle Ben eyed the four officers suspiciously. But then he shrugged his broad shoulders. "Perhaps you are right," he told Dr. Fielding. "Perhaps you are being smart." "Just ignore them," Dr. Fielding replied. He slapped my uncle on the back. "I owe you an apology, Ben. I was wrong to try to stop you before. As a scientist, I should have known better. We owed it to the world to open this tomb. I hope you'll forgive me. We have much to celebrate — don't we!" "I don't trust him," Uncle Ben confided that evening as we walked from the tent to dinner. "I don't trust my partner at all." It was a clear night, surprisingly cool. The purple sky was dotted with a million twinkling white stars. A steady breeze made the palm trees sway on the horizon. The big campfire up ahead dipped and shifted with the wind. "Is Dr. Fielding coming with us to dinner?" Sari asked. She wore a pale green sweater, pulled down over black leggings. Uncle Ben shook his head. "No, he hurried to phone Cairo. I think he's eager to tell our backers the good news." "He seemed really excited when he saw the mummy and everything," I said, glancing at the pyramid rising darkly to the evening sky. "Yes, he did," my uncle admitted. "He certainly changed his mind in a hurry! But I'm keeping my eye on him. Omar would like nothing better than to take over the project. I'm going to keep an eye on those police officers of his, too." "Daddy, this should be a happy night," Sari scolded. "Let's not talk about Dr. Fielding. Let's just talk about Prince Khor-Ru and how you're going to be rich and famous!" Uncle Ben laughed. "It's a deal," he told her. Nila waited for us by the campfire. Uncle Ben had invited her to join us for a barbecue. She wore a white sweatshirt over loose-fitting jeans. Her amber pendant caught the light from the half-moon, just rising over the tents. She looked really pretty. She flashed Uncle Ben a warm smile as we came near. I could tell by his face that he liked her. "Sari, you're taller than Gabe, aren't you!" Nila commented. Sari grinned. She loved being taller than me, even though I'm a little older. "Less than an inch," I said quickly. "People are definitely getting taller," Nila said to my uncle. "Prince Khor-Ru was so short. He'd be a midget today!" "It makes you wonder why such short people built such tall pyramids," Uncle Ben said, grinning. Nila smiled and took his arm. Sari and I exchanged glances. I could see what Sari was thinking. Her expression said: What's up with those two? We had a great dinner. Uncle Ben burned the hamburger rolls a little. But no one really minded. Sari downed two hamburgers. I could only eat one. That gave her something else to boast about. I was really getting fed up with my bragging cousin. I found myself trying to think of a way to get back at her. Nila and Uncle Ben kidded around a lot. "That burial chamber looked like a movie set," Nila teased my uncle. "It was all too perfect. All that gold. And that perfect little mummy. It's all a fake. That's what I'm going to write in my article." Uncle Ben laughed. He turned to me. "Did you check out the mummy, Gabe? Was this one wearing a wristwatch?" I shook my head. "No wristwatch." "See?" Uncle Ben told Nila. "No wristwatch. So it's got to be real!" "I guess that proves it," Nila said, smiling warmly at my uncle. "Daddy, do you know the words to bring the mummy to life?" Sari broke in. "You know. The words on the tomb that Dr. Fielding was talking about?" Uncle Ben swallowed the last bite of his hamburger. He wiped the grease off his chin with a napkin. "I can't believe that a serious scientist would believe such superstition," he murmured. "But what are the six words to bring the mummy to life?" Nila demanded. "Come on, Ben. Tell us." Uncle Ben's smile faded. He shook his finger at Nila. "Oh, no!" he declared. "I don't trust you. If I tell you the words, you'll bring the mummy back to life just to get a good photograph for your newspaper!" We all laughed. We were sitting around the campfire, its orange light flickering over our faces. Uncle Ben set his plate down on the ground and spread his hands over the fire. "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" he chanted in a deep voice, waving his hands over the flames. The fire crackled. A twig made a loud popping sound that made my heart skip a beat. "Are those the secret words?" Sari demanded. Uncle Ben nodded solemnly. "Those are the words of the hieroglyphs over the entrance to the tomb." "So maybe the mummy just sat up and stretched?" Sari asked. "I'd be very surprised," Uncle Ben replied, climbing to his feet. "You're forgetting, Sari — you have to chant the words five times." "Oh." Sari stared thoughtfully into the fire. I repeated the words in my mind. "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" I needed to memorize the words. I had a plan to scare Sari. "Where are you going?" Nila asked my uncle. "To the communications tent," he replied. "I have to make a phone call." He turned and made his way quickly over the sand toward the row of canvas tents. Nila let out a surprised laugh. "He didn't even say goodnight." "Daddy's always like that," Sari explained, "when he has something on his mind." "Guess I'd better go, too," Nila said, climbing to her feet and brushing sand off her jeans. "I'm going to start writing my story for the paper." She said good night and walked quickly away, her sandals making a slapping sound against the sand. Sari and I sat staring into the crackling fire. The half-moon had floated high in the sky. Its pale light reflected off the top of the pyramid in the distance. "Nila is right," I told Sari. "It really did look like a movie set in there." Sari didn't reply. She stared into the fire without blinking, thinking hard. Something in the fire popped again. The sound seemed to snap her out of her thoughts. "Do you think Nila likes Daddy?" she asked me, her dark eyes locking on mine. "Yeah, I guess," I replied. "She's always giving him this smile." I imitated Nila's smile. "And she's always kind of teasing him." Sari thought about my reply. "And do you think Daddy likes her?" I grinned. "For sure." I stood up. I was eager to get back to the tent. I wanted to scare Sari. We walked toward the tents in silence. I guessed that Sari was still thinking about her dad and Nila. The night air was cool, but it was warm inside the tent. Moonlight filtered through the canvas. Sari pulled her trunk out from under her cot and got down on her knees to search through her clothes. "Sari," I whispered. "Dare me to recite the ancient words five times?" "Huh?" She gazed up from the trunk. "I'm going to chant the words five times," I told her. "You know. See if anything happens." I expected her to beg me not to. I expected her to get scared and plead: "Please, Gabe — don't do it! Don't! It's too dangerous!" But, instead, Sari turned back to her clothes trunk. "Hey. Give it a try," she told me. "You sure?" I asked her. "Yeah. Why not?" she replied, pulling out a pair of denim cutoffs. I stared across the tent at her. Was that fear I saw in her eyes? Was she just pretending to be so casual about it? Yes. I think Sari was a little scared. And trying hard not to show it. I took a few steps closer and chanted the ancient words, in the same low voice Uncle Ben had used: "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" Sari dropped the jeans and turned to watch me. I repeated the chant a second time: "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" A third time. A fourth time. I hesitated. I felt a cold breeze tingle the back of my neck. Should I chant the words again? Should I go for number five? 16 I stared down at Sari. She had closed the trunk lid and was leaning on it tensely, staring back at me. I could see that she was frightened. She chewed her bottom lip. Should I chant the words for a fifth time? I felt another chill at the back of my neck. It's just superstition, I told myself. Four-thousand-year-old superstition. There's no way that moldy, old mummified prince is going to come back to life just because I recite six words I don't even know the meaning of! No way. I suddenly thought of all the old movies I had rented about mummies in ancient Egypt. In the movies, the scientists always ignored ancient curses warning them not to disturb the mummies' tombs. Then the mummies always came to life to get their revenge. They staggered around, grabbed the scientists by the throat, and strangled them. Dumb movies. But I loved them. Now, staring down at Sari, I saw that she was really scared. I took a deep breath. I suddenly realized that I felt scared, too. But it was too late. I had gone too far. I couldn't chicken out now. "Teki Kahru Teki Kahra Teki Khari!" I shouted. The fifth time. I froze — and waited. I don't know what I expected. A flash of lightning, maybe. Sari climbed to her feet. She tugged at a strand of dark hair. "Admit it. You're totally freaked," I said, unable to keep a grin from spreading across my face. "No way!" she insisted. "Go ahead, Gabe. Chant the words again. Chant them a hundred times! You're not going to scare me! No way!" But we both gasped when we suddenly saw a dark shadow roll over the tent wall. And my heart completely stopped when a hoarse voice whispered into the tent: "Are you in there?" 17 My legs trembled as I stumbled back, closer to Sari. I could see her eyes go wide with surprise — and fear. The shadow moved quickly toward the tent opening. We had no time to scream. No time to call for help. Gaping into the darkness, I saw the flap pull open — and a smooth head poked into the tent. "Ohhh." I let out a terrified moan as the dark figure slumped toward us. The mummy is alive! The horrifying thought swept through my mind as I backed away. The mummy is alive! "Dr. Fielding!" Sari cried. "Huh?" I squinted to see better. Yes. It was Dr. Fielding. I struggled to say hello. But my heart was pounding so hard, I couldn't speak. I took a long, deep breath and held it. "I'm looking for your father," Dr. Fielding told Sari. "I must see him at once. It's extremely urgent." "He — he's making a phone call," Sari replied in a shaky voice. Dr. Fielding spun around and ducked out of the tent. The flap snapped shut behind him. I turned to Sari, my heart still pounding. "He scared me to death!" I confessed. "I thought he was in Cairo. When he poked that skinny, bald head into the tent . . ." Sari laughed. "He really looks like a mummy — doesn't he?" Her smile faded. "I wonder why he's in such a hurry to see Daddy." "Let's follow him!" I urged. The idea just popped into my head. "Yes! Let's go!" I hadn't expected Sari to agree so quickly. But she was already pushing open the tent flap. I followed her out of the tent. The night had grown cooler. A steady wind made all of the tents appear to shiver. "Which way did he go?" I whispered. Sari pointed. "I think that's the communications tent at the end." She started jogging across the sand. As we ran, the wind blew sand against our legs. I heard music and voices from one of the tents. The workers were celebrating the day's discovery. The moon cast a strip of light like a carpet along our path. Up ahead, I could see Dr. Fielding's lanky body, leaning forward, lurching awkwardly toward the last tent. He disappeared around the side of it. Sari and I stopped a few tents away. We ducked out of the moonlight, into deep shadows where we wouldn't be seen. I could hear Dr. Fielding's booming voice from the communications tent. He was talking rapidly, excitedly. "What is he saying?" Sari whispered. I couldn't make out the words. A few seconds later, two figures emerged from the tent. Carrying bright flashlights, they crossed the strip of yellow moonlight, then moved quickly into shadow. Dr. Fielding appeared to be pulling Uncle Ben, pulling him toward the pyramid. "What's going on?" Sari whispered, grabbing my sleeve. "Is he forcing Daddy to go with him?" The wind swirled the sand around us. I shivered. The two men were talking at the same time, shouting and gesturing with their flashlights. They're arguing about something, I realized. Dr. Fielding had a hand on Uncle Ben's shoulder. Was he shoving Uncle Ben toward the pyramid? Or was Uncle Ben actually leading the way? It was impossible to tell. "Let's go," I whispered to Sari. We stepped away from the tent and started to follow them. We walked slowly, keeping them in view, but being careful not to get too close. "If they turn back, they'll see us," Sari whispered, huddling close to me as we crept over the sand. She was right. There were no trees or bushes to hide behind here in the open desert. "Maybe they won't turn back," I replied hopefully. We crept closer. The pyramid rose up darkly in front of us. We saw Dr. Fielding and Uncle Ben stop at the opening in the side. I could hear their excited voices, but the wind carried away their words. They still seemed to be arguing. Uncle Ben disappeared into the pyramid first. Dr. Fielding went in right behind him. "Did he shove Daddy in?" Sari demanded in a shrill, frightened voice. "It looked like he pushed him inside!" "I — I don't know," I stammered. We made our way closer to the entrance. Then we both stopped and stared into the darkness. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. I knew we both had the same question on our lips: Should we follow them in? 18 Sari and I exchanged glances. The pyramid seemed so much bigger at night, so much darker. The gusting wind howled around its walls, as if warning us to stay back. We crept behind a pile of stones left by the workers. "Let's wait out here for Daddy to come out," Sari suggested. I didn't argue with her. We had no flashlights, no light of any kind. I didn't think we'd get very far wandering the dark tunnels by ourselves. I pressed up against the smooth stones and stared at the pyramid opening. Sari gazed up at the half-moon. Thin wisps of cloud floated over it. The ground darkened in front of us. "You don't think Daddy is in any kind of trouble, do you?" Sari asked. "I mean, he told us he didn't trust Dr. Fielding. And then — " "I'm sure Uncle Ben is okay," I told her. "I mean, Dr. Fielding is a scientist. He's not a criminal or anything." "But why did he force Daddy into the pyramid in the middle of the night?" Sari asked shrilly. "And what were they arguing about?" I shrugged in reply. I didn't remember ever seeing Sari so frightened. Normally, I would have enjoyed it. She always bragged about how brave and fearless she was — especially compared to me. But there was no way I could enjoy this. Mainly because I was just as scared as she was! It did look as if the two scientists were fighting. And it did look as if Dr. Fielding pushed Uncle Ben down into the pyramid. Sari crossed her arms over her sweater again and narrowed her eyes at the opening. The wind fluttered her hair, blowing strands across her forehead. But she made no attempt to brush them away. "What could be so important?" she demanded. "Why did they have to go into the pyramid now? Do you think something was stolen? Aren't those police officers from Cairo down there guarding the place?" "I saw the four policemen leave," I told her. "They piled into their little car and drove away, just before dinner. I don't know why. Maybe they were called back to the city." "I — I'm just so confused," Sari admitted. "And worried. I didn't like the look on Dr. Fielding's face. I didn't like the way he was so rude, just bursting into the tent like that. Scaring us to death. Not even saying hi." "Calm down, Sari," I said softly. "Let's just wait. Everything will be okay." She let out a sigh, but didn't say anything in reply. We waited in silence. I don't know how much time went by. It seemed like hours and hours. The slivers of cloud drifted away from the moon. The wind continued to howl eerily around the side of the pyramid. "Where are they? What are they doing in there?" Sari demanded. I started to reply — but stopped when I saw a flicker of light at the pyramid opening. I grabbed Sari's arm. "Look — !" I whispered. The light grew brighter. A figure emerged, pulling himself out quickly. Dr. Fielding. As he stepped into the moonlight, I caught the strange expression on his face. His tiny black eyes were wide and seemed to be rolling around crazily in his head. His eyebrows twitched. His mouth was twisted open. He seemed to be breathing hard. Dr. Fielding brushed himself off with his hands and began walking away from the pyramid. He was half-walking, half-staggering, taking long, quick strides with his lanky legs. "But — where's Daddy?" Sari whispered. Leaning out from the rocks, I could see the pyramid opening clearly. No light flickered. No sign of Uncle Ben. "He — he isn't coming out!" Sari stammered. And before I could react, Sari leaped out from our hiding place behind the stones — and stepped into Dr. Fielding's path. "Dr. Fielding," she cried loudly, "where is my dad?" I pushed myself away from the stones and hurried after Sari. I could see Dr. Fielding's eyes spinning wildly. He didn't answer her question. "Where is my dad?" Sari repeated shrilly. Dr. Fielding acted as if he didn't see Sari. He stepped past her, walking stiffly, awkwardly, his arms straight down. "Dr. Fielding — ?" Sari called after him. He hurried through the darkness toward the row of tents. Sari turned back to me, her features tight with fear. "He's done something to Daddy!" she cried. "I know he has!" 19 I turned back to the pyramid opening. Still dark and silent. The only sound now was the howling of the wind around the stone pyramid wall. "Dr. Fielding totally ignored me!" Sari cried, her face revealing her anger. "He stormed past me as if I weren't here!" "I — I know," I stammered weakly. "And did you see the look on his face?" she demanded. "So evil. So totally evil!" "Sari — " I started. "Maybe — " "Gabe, we have to go find Daddy!" Sari interrupted. She grabbed my arm and started pulling me to the pyramid opening. "Hurry!" "No, Sari, wait!" I insisted, tugging out of her grasp. "We can't go stumbling around the pyramid in the dark. We'll just get lost. We'll never find Uncle Ben!" "We'll go back to the tent and get lights," she replied. "Quick, Gabe — " I raised a hand to stop her. "Wait here, Sari," I instructed. "Watch for your dad. Chances are, he'll be climbing out in a few moments. I'll run and get some flashlights." Staring at the dark opening, she started to argue. But then she changed her mind and agreed to my plan. My heart pounding, I ran all the way back to the tent. I stopped at the tent opening, and gazed down the row of tents, searching for Dr. Fielding. No sign of him. In the tent, I grabbed up two flashlights. Then I went hurtling back to the pyramid. Please, I begged silently as I ran. Please be out of the pyramid, Uncle Ben. Please be safe. But as I frantically made my way over the sand, I could see Sari standing by herself. Even from a distance, I could see her frightened expression as she paced tensely back and forth in front of the pyramid opening. Uncle Ben, where are you? I wondered. Why haven't you come out of the pyramid? Are you okay? Sari and I didn't say a word. There was no need. We clicked on the flashlights, then made our way into the pyramid opening. It seemed much steeper than I remembered. I nearly lost my balance, lowering myself to the tunnel floor. Our lights crisscrossed over the dirt floor. I raised mine to the low ceiling. Keeping the light high, I led the way through the curving tunnel. Creeping along slowly, I trailed one hand against the wall to steady myself. The wall felt soft and crumbly. Sari kept on my heels, her bright beam of light playing over the floor in front of our feet. She stopped suddenly as the tunnel curved into a small, empty chamber. "How do we know we're going in the right direction?" she asked, her voice a quivering whisper. I shrugged, breathing hard. "I thought you knew your way," I murmured. "I've only been down here with Daddy," she replied, her eyes over my shoulders, searching the empty chamber. "We'll keep going until we find him," I told her, forcing myself to sound braver than I felt. She stepped in front of me, shining the light over the chamber walls. "Daddy!" she shouted. "Daddy? Can you hear me?" Her voice echoed down the tunnel. Even the echo sounded frightened. We froze in place and listened for a reply. Silence. "Come on," I urged. I had to lower my head to step into the next narrow tunnel. Where did it lead? Were we heading toward Prince Khor-Ru's tomb? Is that where we would find Uncle Ben? Questions, questions. I tried to stop them from coming. But they filled my mind, pestering me, repeating, echoing in my head, as we followed the tunnel's curves. "Daddy? Daddy — where are you?" Sari's cries became more frantic as we moved deeper and deeper into the pyramid. The tunnel curved up steeply, then leveled off. Sari suddenly stopped. Startled, I bumped into her hard, nearly making her drop her flashlight. "Sorry," I whispered. "Gabe, look — !" she cried, pointing her beam of light just ahead of her sneakers. "Footprints!" I lowered my eyes to the small circle of light. I could see a set of bootprints in the dirt. A heel and spikey bumps. "Work boots," I muttered. She circled the floor with the light. There were several different prints in the dirt, heading in the same direction we were. "Does this mean we're going the right way?" she asked. "Maybe," I replied, studying the prints. "It's hard to tell whether these are new or old." "Daddy?" Sari shouted eagerly. "Can you hear me?" No reply. She frowned and motioned for me to follow. Seeing the many sets of prints gave us new hope, and we moved faster, trailing our hands along the wall to steady ourselves as we made our way. We both cried out happily when we realized we had reached the outer chamber to the tomb. Our lights played over the ancient hieroglyphs that covered the wall and the doorway. "Daddy? Daddy?" Sari's voice cut through the heavy silence. We darted through the empty chamber, then slipped through the opening that led to the tomb. The prince's burial chamber stretched out in front of us, dark and silent. "Daddy? Daddy?" Sari tried again. I shouted, too. "Uncle Ben? Are you here?" Silence. I swept my light over the room's clutter of treasures, over the heavy chests, the chairs, the clay jars piled in the corner. "He isn't here," Sari choked out with a disappointed sob. "Then where did Dr. Fielding bring Uncle Ben?" I asked, thinking out loud. "There's nowhere else in the pyramid that they might come." Sari's light came to rest on the large stone mummy case. Her eyes narrowed as she studied it. "Uncle Ben!" I shouted frantically. "Are you in here somewhere?" Sari grabbed my arm. "Gabe — look!" she cried. Her light remained on the mummy case. I couldn't figure out what she was trying to show me. "What about it?" I demanded. "The lid," Sari murmured. I gazed at the lid. The heavy stone slab covered the case tightly. "The lid is closed," Sari continued, stepping away from me and toward the mummy case. Her light remained on the lid. "Yeah. So?" I still didn't understand. "When we all left this afternoon," Sari explained, "the lid was open. In fact, I remember Daddy telling the workers to leave the lid open for tonight." "You're right!" I cried. "Help me, Gabe," Sari pleaded, setting her flashlight down at her feet. "We have to open the mummy case." I hesitated for a second, feeling a wave of cold fear run down my body. Then I took a deep breath and moved to help Sari. She was already pushing the stone lid with both hands. I stepped up beside her and pushed, too. Pushed with all my might. The stone slab slid more easily than I'd guessed. Working together, Sari and I strained against the lid, pushing . . . pushing. We moved it about a foot. Then we both lowered our heads to peer into the mummy's case — and gasped in horror. 20 "Daddy!" Sari shrieked. Uncle Ben lay on his back, knees raised, hands at his sides, his eyes shut. Sari and I shoved the heavy stone lid open another foot. "Is he — ? Is he — ?" Sari stammered. I pressed my hand on his chest. His heart was thumping with a steady beat. "He's breathing," I told her. I leaned into the mummy case. "Uncle Ben? Can you hear me? Uncle Ben?" He didn't move. I lifted his hand and squeezed it. It felt warm, but limp. "Uncle Ben? Wake up!" I shouted. His eyes didn't open. I lowered the hand back to the bottom of the mummy case. "He's out cold," I murmured. Sari stood behind me, both hands pressed against her cheeks. She stared down at Uncle Ben, her eyes wide with fear. "I — I don't believe this!" she cried in a tiny voice. "Dr. Fielding left Daddy here to smother! If we hadn't come along . . ." Her voice trailed off. Uncle Ben let out a low groan. Sari and I stared down at him hopefully. But he didn't open his eyes. "We have to call the police," I told Sari. "We have to tell them about Dr. Fielding." "But we can't just leave Daddy here," Sari replied. I started to reply — but a frightening thought burst into my mind. I felt a shudder of fear roll down my body. "Sari?" I started. "If Uncle Ben is lying in the mummy case . . . then where is the mummy?" Her mouth dropped open. She stared back at me in stunned silence. And then we both heard the footsteps. Slow, scraping footsteps. And saw the mummy stagger stiffly into the room. 21 I opened my mouth to scream — but no sound came out. The mummy lurched stiffly through the chamber doorway. He stared straight ahead with his vacant, tarry eyes. Under the ancient layers of tar, the skull grinned at us. Scrape. Scrape. His feet dragged over the dirt floor, trailing shreds of decaying gauze. Slowly, he raised his arms, making a terrifying cracking sound. Scrape. Scrape. My throat tightened in terror. My entire body began to tremble. I backed away from the mummy case. Sari stood frozen with her hands pressed against her cheeks. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back with me. "Sari — get back! Get back!" I whispered. She stared in terror at the approaching mummy. I couldn't tell if she heard me or not. I tugged her back further. Our backs hit the chamber wall. The mummy scraped closer. Closer. Staring at us through its vacant, blackened eye sockets, he reached for us with his yellowed, tar-encrusted hands. Sari let out a shrill shriek. "Run!" I screamed. "Sari — run!" But our backs were pressed against the wall. The mummy blocked our path to the doorway. Moving stiffly, awkwardly, the ancient corpse dragged itself closer. "This is all my fault!" I declared in a trembling voice. "I said the words five times. I brought him back to life!" "Wh-what can we do?" Sari cried in a hushed whisper. I didn't have an answer. "Uncle Ben!" I shrieked desperately. "Uncle Ben — help us!" But the mummy case remained silent. Even my frantic screams could not awaken my uncle. Sari and I edged along the chamber wall, our eyes locked on the approaching mummy. Its bandaged feet scraped over the floor, sending up dark clouds of dust as it moved heavily toward us. A sour smell rose over the room. The smell of a four-thousand-year-old corpse coming to life. I pressed my back against the cold stone of the chamber wall, my mind racing. The mummy stopped at the mummy case, turned stiffly, and continued lurching toward us. "Hey — !" I cried out as an idea burst into my mind. My little mummy hand. The Summoner. Why hadn't I thought of it before? It had saved us last summer by raising a group of ancient mummies from the dead. Could it also summon them to stop? Could it make them die again? If I raised the little mummy hand up to Prince Khor-Ru, would it stop him long enough for Sari and me to escape? He was only seconds away from grabbing us. It was worth a try. I reached into my back jeans pocket for the mummy hand. It was gone. 22 "No!" I uttered a surprised cry and frantically grabbed at my other pockets. No mummy hand. "Gabe — what's wrong?" Sari demanded. "The mummy hand — it's gone!" I told her, my voice choked with panic. Scrape. Scrape. The foul odor grew stronger as the ancient mummy dragged nearer. I was desperate to find my mummy hand. But I knew there was no time to think about it now. "We've got to make a run for it," I told Sari. "The mummy is slow and stiff. If we can get past him . . ." "But what about Daddy?" she cried. "We can't just leave him here." "We have to," I told her. "We'll get help. We'll come back for him." The mummy made a brittle cracking sound as it stepped forward. The sound of an ancient bone breaking. But it continued toward us, moving stiffly but steadily, its arms outstretched. "Sari — run — now!" I screamed. I gave her a hard shove to get her going. The room blurred as I forced myself to move. The mummy made another loud, cracking sound. It leaned its body forward, and reached out as we dodged around it. I tried to duck under the mummy's outstretched hand. But I felt the scrape of its ancient fingers against the back of my neck — cold fingers, hard as a statue. I knew it was a touch I would never forget. My neck tingled. I lowered my head from his grasp — and plunged forward. Sari let out low sobs as she ran. My heart raced as I hurried to catch up to her. I forced myself to run, but my legs felt so heavy, as if they were made of solid stone. We were nearly to the doorway when we saw a flickering light. Sari and I both cried out and skidded to a stop as a beam of light swept into the room. Behind the light, a figure stepped into the doorway. Shielding my eyes from the sudden brightness, I squinted hard, eager to see who it was. "Nila!" I cried as she raised the flashlight beam to the ceiling. "Nila — help us!" I choked out. "He's come alive!" Sari shouted to her. "Nila — he's come alive!" She pointed back toward the mummy. "Help us!" I screamed. Nila's green eyes widened in surprise. "What can I do?" she asked. And then her expression changed quickly to anger. "What can I do about you two kids? You shouldn't be here. You're going to ruin everything!" "Huh?" I cried out in surprise. Nila stepped into the room. She raised her right hand. In the dim light, I struggled to make out what she was holding up. My little mummy hand! She raised it toward the mummy. "Come to me, my brother!" Nila called. 23 "How did you get my mummy hand? What are you doing?" I demanded. Nila ignored my questions. She held the flashlight in one hand. She gripped the little hand in the other, holding it up toward the approaching mummy. "Come here, my brother!" she called, waving the hand, summoning the mummy. "It is I, Princess Nila!" Its legs cracking, its brittle bones breaking inside the gauze wrappings, the mummy obediently dragged itself forward. "Nila — stop it! What are you doing?" Sari shrieked. But Nila continued to ignore us. "It is I, your sister!" she called to the mummy. A triumphant smile crossed her pretty face. Her green eyes sparkled like flashing emeralds in the darting light. "I have waited so long for this day," Nila told the mummy. "I have waited so many centuries, my brother, hoping that someday someone would uncover your tomb and we could be reunited." Nila's face glowed with excitement. The little mummy hand trembled in her hand. "I have brought you back to life, my brother!" she called to the mummy. "I have waited for centuries. But it will all be worth it. You and I will share all this treasure. And with our powers, we shall rule Egypt together — as we did four thousand years ago!" She lowered her eyes to me. "Thank you, Gabe!" she cried. "Thank you for The Summoner! As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it. I knew it could bring my brother back to me! The ancient words weren't enough. I needed The Summoner, too!" "Give it back!" I demanded, reaching out for it. "It's mine, Nila. Give it back." A cruel laugh escaped her throat. "You won't be needing it, Gabe," she said softly. She waved the hand at the mummy. "Destroy them, my brother!" she ordered. "Destroy them now! There can be no witnesses!" "Nooo!" Sari shrieked. She and I both dove to the doorway. But Nila moved quickly to block our path. I shoved my shoulder against her, trying to push her away like a football lineman. But Nila held her ground with surprising strength. "Nila — let us go!" Sari demanded, breathing hard. Nila smiled and shook her head. "No witnesses," she murmured. "Nila — we just want to get Daddy out of here. You can do what you want!" Sari insisted desperately. Nila ignored her and raised her eyes to the mummy. "Destroy them both!" she called. "They cannot leave this tomb alive!" Sari and I spun around to see the mummy lumbering toward us. Its blackened skull glowed in the dim light. It trailed long strips of yellowed gauze across the dirt floor as it dragged itself closer. Closer. I turned back to the door. Nila blocked the way. My eyes darted frantically around the chamber. No way to escape. No escape. The mummy lurched toward Sari and me. And reached out its cold, cold hands to obey Nila's cruel command. 24 Sari and I darted toward the door. But Nila blocked our escape. Its vacant eyes gazing blindly at us, its jaw frozen in a hideous skeletal grin, the mummy hurtled toward us. Raised its arms stiffly. Stretched out its hands. Dove at us with a final, desperate lurch. And to my shock, reached past Sari and me — and wrapped its tarred hands around Nila's throat. Her mouth opened in a choked cry of protest. The mummy tilted back its head as it gripped her. Its tarred lips moved, and a dry cough cut through the air. And then the whispered words, dry as death, escaped the mummy's throat: "Let me . . . rest in peace!" Nila uttered a choked cry. The mummy tightened its fierce grip on her throat. I spun around and grabbed its arm. "Let her go!" I screamed. A dry wheeze erupted from the blackened skull. Its hands tightened around Nila, bending her back, bending her toward the floor. Nila's eyes shut in defeat. Her hands flew up helplessly. The flashlight and the mummy hand fell to the floor. I grabbed my little mummy hand and shoved it into my jeans pocket. "Let go! Let go! Let go!" I shrieked. I leaped on to the mummy's back and tried to pull its hands from Nila's throat. It let out a defiant roar, a harsh whisper of anger. Then it heaved itself up straight and struggled to toss me off its shoulders. I gasped, startled by the mummy's surprising strength. As I started to slide off the mummy's bandaged back, I reached out my hand, grabbing desperately, grabbing air, trying not to fall. My hand grabbed onto Nila's amber pendant. "Hey — !" I cried out as the mummy gave a hard toss. I tumbled off. The pendant tore off its chain. It fell from my hand, crashed to the floor — and shattered. "Noooooooooo!" Nila's horrified wail shook the walls. The mummy froze. Nila spun out of the mummy's grasp. Backed away. Her eyes wide with terror. "My life! My life!" she shrieked. She bent and struggled to pick up shards of amber from the floor. But the pendant had shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. "My life!" Nila wailed, staring at the smooth pieces in her palm. She raised her eyes to Sari and me. "I lived inside the pendant!" she cried. "At night, I crept inside. It kept me alive for over four thousand years! And now . . . now . . . ohhhhh . . ." As her voice trailed off, Nila began to shrink. Her head, her arms, her entire body grew tinier . . . tinier . . . until she disappeared into her clothes. And a few seconds later, as Sari and I gaped down in horror and shock, a black scarab crawled out from under the sweatshirt and jeans. The scarab moved unsteadily at first. Then it quickly scuttled away over the dirt floor, disappearing into the darkness. "That — that beetle — " Sari stammered. "Is it Nila?" I nodded. "I guess," I said, staring down at Nila's crumpled clothes. "Do you think she was really an ancient Egyptian princess? Prince Khor-Ru's sister?" Sari murmured. "It's all so weird," I replied. I was thinking hard, trying to piece it all together, trying to make sense of what Nila had said. "She must have returned to her scarab form every night," I told Sari, thinking out loud. "She crawled into the amber and slept inside it. It kept her alive — until . . ." "Until you smashed the amber pendant," Sari whispered. "Yes." I nodded. "It was an accident — " I started. But I choked on my words as I felt a cold hand close on my shoulder. And knew that the mummy had grabbed me from behind. 25 The hand rested on my shoulder. The cold seeped through my T-shirt. "Let go!" I screamed. I spun around — and my heart skipped a beat. "Uncle Ben!" I cried. "Daddy!" Sari leaped forward and threw her arms around him. "Daddy — you're okay!" He pulled his hand off my shoulder and rubbed the back of his head. He blinked his eyes uncertainly and shook his head, still a little dazed. Behind him, I saw the mummy standing hunched over, frozen. Lifeless once again. "Whew. I'm still groggy," Uncle Ben said, sweeping a hand back through his thick, black hair. "What a close call." "It's all my fault," I admitted. "I repeated the words five times, Uncle Ben. I didn't mean to bring the mummy back to life, but — " A smile crossed my uncle's face. He lowered his arm around my shoulders. "You didn't do it, Gabe," he said softly. "Nila got there first." He sighed. "I didn't believe in the power of the chant," he said softly. "But I do now. Nila stole your mummy hand and chanted the ancient words. She used The Summoner to bring the mummy to life. Dr. Fielding and I were both suspicious of her." "You were?" I cried, surprised. "But I thought — " "I became suspicious of Nila at dinner," Uncle Ben explained. "Remember? She asked me what were the six ancient words to bring the dead to life? Well, I had never revealed that there were six. So I wondered how Nila knew there were six words." Uncle Ben put an arm around Sari's shoulders, too, and led us to the wall. Then he leaned his back against the wall, rubbing the back of his head. "That's why I hurried to the communications tent right after dinner," Uncle Ben continued. "I phoned the Cairo Sun. They had never heard of Nila at the newspaper. So I knew she was a fake." "But we saw Dr. Fielding pull you from the tent," Sari broke in. "We saw him force you into the pyramid, and — " Uncle Ben chuckled. "You two aren't very good spies," he scolded. "Dr. Fielding didn't force me to do anything. He had spotted Nila sneaking into the pyramid. So he found me at the communications tent. And the two of us hurried to the pyramid to see what Nila was up to. "We got there too late," Uncle Ben continued. "She had already brought the mummy to life. Dr. Fielding and I tried to stop her. She hit me over the head with her flashlight. She dragged me to the mummy case. I guess she stuffed me inside." He rubbed his head. "That's all I remember. Until now. Until I awoke and saw Nila turn into a scarab." "We saw Dr. Fielding hurry out of the pyramid," Sari reported. "He walked right past me. He had the weirdest look on his face, and — " She stopped and her mouth dropped open. We all heard the sounds at the same time. The scraping of feet on the floor outside the burial chamber. My heart jumped to my throat. I grabbed Uncle Ben's arm. The footsteps dragged closer. More mummies. More mummies brought to life, staggering toward the prince's tomb. 26 I reached into my jeans pocket for my little mummy hand. Pressing my back against the wall, I raised my eyes to the chamber doorway — and waited. Waited for the mummies to appear. But to my surprise, Dr. Fielding burst into the room, followed by four dark-uniformed police officers, hands at their gun holsters. "Ben — are you okay?" Dr. Fielding called to my uncle. "Where is the young woman?" "She . . . escaped," Uncle Ben told him. How could he explain that she had turned into a bug? The police explored the chamber warily. Their eyes came to rest on the mummy, frozen in place near the doorway. "I'm so glad you're okay, Ben," Dr. Fielding said, placing a hand warmly on Uncle Ben's shoulder. Then he turned to Sari. "I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Sari," he said, frowning. "When I ran out of here, I must have been in shock. I remember seeing you outside the pyramid. But I don't remember saying anything to you." "That's okay," Sari replied quietly. "I'm really sorry if I frightened you," Dr. Fielding told her. "Your dad had been knocked unconscious by that crazy young woman. And all I could think about was calling the police as fast as possible." "Well, the excitement is over," Uncle Ben said, smiling. "Let's all get out of here." We started toward the doorway, but a police officer interrupted. "Could I just ask one question?" he asked, staring at the upright mummy in the center of the floor. "Did that mummy walk?" "Of course not!" Uncle Ben replied quickly, a grin spreading over his face. "If it could walk, what would it be doing in this dump?" Well, once again, I turned out to be the hero of the day. And, of course, later in the tent, I wasted no time in bragging about my courage to Sari. Sari had no choice. She had to sit there and take it. After all, I was the one who had stopped the mummy and turned Nila back into a beetle by smashing her pendant. "At least you're not too conceited!" Sari shot back, rolling her eyes. Lame. Really lame. "Well, that scarab crawled away and disappeared," she said. An evil smile crossed Sari's lips. "I'll bet that bug is waiting for you, Gabe. I'll bet it's waiting for you in your cot, waiting to bite you." I laughed. "Sari, you'd say anything to try to scare me. You just can't stand the idea that I'm the hero!" "You're right," she replied dryly. "I can't stand the idea. Good night, Gabe." A few minutes later, I was in my pajamas and ready for bed. What a night! What an amazing night! As I slid into the cot and pulled up the covers, I knew it was a night I would never forget. "Ouch!"

One Day at HorrorLand

2014-03-12T02:14:00.000-07:00

R.L. Stine:

`One Day at HorrorLand`

(Goosebumps #16)

1
As we entered the gates to HorrorLand, we had no idea that, in less than an hour, we would all be lying in our coffins.
I'm the calm one in the Morris family. Everyone says, "Lizzy, you're the calm one." And I'm trying to tell this story calmly.
But, believe me — there's no way!
We had never planned to go to HorrorLand. In fact, we'd never heard of it.
The five of us were squeezed into Dad's little Toyota, on our way to spend the day at Zoo Gardens Theme Park. Dad had messed up and left the map at home. But Mom said the park would be real easy to find.
When we got close to the park, Mom said, there would be lots of signs to direct us. But so far we hadn't seen a single sign.
Dad was driving, and Mom was beside him in the front. I was squeezed in back with my little brother Luke, who is ten, and Luke's friend Clay.
It wasn't the best place to be. My brother cannot sit still for a second. Especially in the car. He just has too much energy. And he's totally goofy.
The longer we drove, the more restless Luke became. He tried wrestling with Clay, but there really wasn't room. Then he tried arm wrestling with him, and the two of them kept bumping me until I lost my temper and started shouting at them to stop.
"Why don't you three play Alphabets?" Mom suggested from the front. "Look out the window for letters."
"There aren't any," Luke replied. "There aren't any signs."
"There isn't anything to look at," Clay grumbled.
He was right. We were driving past flat, sandy fields. There were a few scraggly trees here and there. The rest was all desert.
"I'm going to take this turnoff," Dad announced. He took off his Chicago Cubs cap and scratched his thinning blond hair. "Haven't I already taken this turnoff?"
Dad is the only blond in the family. Mom, Luke, and I all have straight black hair and blue eyes.
In fact, Dad doesn't look as if he belongs in the same family. The three of us are tall and thin, with very fair skin. And Dad is short and kind of chubby, with a round face that's almost always pink. I tease him all the time because I think he looks a lot more like a wrestler than a bank manager, which he is.
"I'm pretty sure we've already been here," Dad said unhappily.
"It's hard to tell. It's all desert," Mom replied, gazing out her window.
"Very helpful," Dad muttered.
"How can I be helpful?" Mom shot back. "You're the one who left the map on the kitchen table."
"I thought you packed it," Dad grumbled.
"Why should it be my job to pack the map?" Mom cried.
"Break it up, you two," I interrupted. Once they start fighting, they never stop. It's always best to interrupt them quickly before they really get into it.
"I'm the Mad Pincher!" Luke cried. He let out a gruesome, horror-movie laugh and started pinching Clay's ribs and arms.
I hate Luke's Mad Pincher routine more than anything. I was so glad that Clay was sitting in the middle next to Luke, and not me. Usually, the only way to stop Luke's pinching is to slug him.
Clay started squirming and laughing. He thinks everything Luke does is a riot. He laughs at all of my brother's stupid jokes and stunts. I think that's why Luke likes Clay so much.
The two of them began pinching each other. Then Luke shoved Clay onto me. "Give me a break!" I cried.
I shoved Clay back. I know I shouldn't have. But it was getting hot in the car, and we'd been driving for hours, and what was I supposed to do?
"Lizzy! Boys! Chill out back there!" Dad cried.
"Dad, nobody says 'chill out' anymore," I told him calmly and quietly.
For some reason, that made him go berserk. He started yelling, and his face got bright red.
I knew he wasn't mad at me. He was mad because he couldn't find Zoo Gardens Theme Park.
"Everybody just take a deep breath and be silent," Mom suggested.
"Ow! Stop pinching me!" Clay screamed. He gave Luke a hard shove.
"You stop pinching me!" my brother shrieked, shoving him back.
Boys can really be animals.
"Hey, look — a sign up ahead!" Mom pointed as a large green sign came into view.
Luke and Clay stopped fighting. Dad leaned forward over the steering wheel, squinting through the windshield.
"Does it say where the park is?" Luke demanded.
"Does it say where we are?" Clay asked.
The words on the sign came into view as we drove past it. It said: SIGN FOR RENT.
We all let out disappointed groans.
"The Mad Pincher returns!" Luke cried. He gave Clay a hard pinch on the arm. Luke never knows when to quit.
"This road isn't going anywhere," Dad said, scowling. "I'll have to turn around and get back on the highway. If I can find it."
"I think you should ask someone for directions," Mom suggested.
"Ask someone? Ask someone?" Dad exploded. "Do you see anyone I can ask?" His face was bright red again. He drove with one hand so he could use the other to shake a fist.
"I meant if you see a gas station," Mom murmured.
"A gas station?" Dad screamed. "I don't even see a tree!"
Dad was right. I stared out the window and saw nothing but white sand on both sides of the road. The sun beamed down on it, making it gleam. The sand was so bright, it nearly looked like snow.
"I meant to go north," Dad muttered. "The desert is south. We must have gone south."
"You'd better turn around," Mom urged.
"Are we lost?" Clay asked. I could hear some fear in his voice.
Clay isn't the bravest kid in the world. In fact, he is pretty easy to scare. Once I crept up behind him in our back yard at night and whispered his name — and he almost jumped right out of his shoes!
"Dad, are we lost?" Luke repeated the question.
"Yeah, we're lost," Dad replied quietly. "Hopelessly lost."
Clay let out a soft cry and slumped in the seat. He looked a little like a balloon deflating.
"Don't tell him that!" Mom cried sharply.
"What should I tell him?" Dad snapped back. "We're nowhere near Zoo Gardens. We're nowhere near civilization! We're in the desert, going nowhere!"
"Just turn around. I'm sure we'll find someone we can ask," Mom said softly. "And stop being so dramatic."
"We're all going to die in the desert," Luke said, with a gruesome grin on his face. "And buzzards will peck out our eyeballs and eat our flesh."
My brother has a great sense of humor, doesn't he?
You can't imagine what it's like having to live with a total ghoul!
"Luke, stop scaring Clay," Mom said, turning in her seat to glare at Luke.
"I'm not scared," Clay insisted. But he looked scared. His round face was kind of pale. And his eyes were blinking a lot behind his glasses. With his short, feathery blond hair and round eyeglasses, Clay looked a lot like a frightened owl.
Muttering to himself, Dad slowed the car to a stop. Then he turned it around, and we headed back in the direction we had come. "Great vacation," he said through clenched teeth.
"It's still early," Mom told him, checking her watch.
The late morning sun was nearly straight overhead. I could feel its warmth on my face through the open sunroof.
We drove for nearly half an hour. Luke wanted to play Twenty Questions or Geography with Clay. But Clay moodily said no. He just stared out the window, watching the desert roll by. Every few minutes, he'd ask, "Are we still lost?"
"Pretty lost," my dad would reply unhappily.
"We're okay," Mom kept reassuring us.
As we drove, the scraggly trees reappeared. Then, after a while, the sand gave way to darker fields, dotted with trees and low shrubs.
I sat silently, my hands clasped in my lap, staring out the window. I wasn't really scared or worried. But I wished we would at least see a gas station or a store or one other human being!
"I'm getting hungry," Luke griped. "Is it lunchtime?"
With a long sigh that sounded like air escaping from a tire, Dad pulled the car to the side of the road. He reached across Mom to the glove compartment. "There's got to be some kind of map in there," he said.
"No. I already looked," Mom told him.
As they started to argue, I raised my eyes to the open sunroof above my head.
"Oh!" I let out a cry as I saw a hideous monster staring down at me, lowering its enormous head, about to crush the car.

2
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The monster glared down at me through the sunroof. It was as tall as a building, I realized. Its red eyes glowed with evil, and its mouth was twisted in a hungry grin.
"D-Dad!" I finally managed to stammer. Dad was bent over, fumbling through the papers in the glove compartment.
"Wow!" I heard Luke cry.
I turned and saw that Luke was staring up at it, too, his blue eyes wide with fright.
"Dad? Mom?" My heart was pounding so hard, I thought my chest might explode.
"Lizzy, what is it?" Mom asked impatiently.
The monster lowered its head over us. Its mouth opened wide, ready to swallow the whole car.
And then Luke started to laugh. "Wow! Cool!" he cried.
And I realized at the same time that the monster wasn't alive. It was a mechanical figure, part of a giant billboard display.
Ducking my head to get a better view through the side window, I saw that Dad had pulled the car up right beside the billboard. My parents were so busy arguing about maps, they hadn't even noticed it!
I stared up at the red-eyed monster. It lowered its head and opened its jaws. Then the jaws snapped shut, and the enormous head slid back up.
"It looks so real!" Clay exclaimed, staring up at it.
"Didn't fool me," I lied. I wasn't going to admit that I nearly leaped out through the sunroof. I'm supposed to be the calm one, after all.
I rolled down the window and stuck my head out to read the billboard in front of the mechanical monster. In huge red letters it said: WELCOME TO HORRORLAND WHERE NIGHTMARES COME TO LIFE!
There was a dark red arrow in the upper left-hand corner, with the words: ONE MILE.
"Can we go there?" Luke demanded eagerly. He leaned forward and grabbed the back of Dad's seat with both hands. "Can we, Dad? How about it?"
"It looks kind of scary," Clay said softly.
Dad slammed the glove compartment shut with a sigh. He was giving up on the map idea. "Luke, stop pulling my seat," he snapped. "Sit back."
"Can we go to HorrorLand?" Luke demanded.
"HorrorLand? What's HorrorLand?" Mom demanded.
"Never heard of it," Dad muttered.
"It's only a mile from here," Luke pleaded. "It looks great!"
The monster lowered its head over the car, staring in through the sunroof. Then it raised its head again.
"I don't think so," Mom said, staring out at the huge billboard. "Zoo Gardens is such a wonderful park. HorrorLand doesn't look very nice."
"It looks great!" Luke insisted, pulling at Dad's seat back again. "It looks really excellent!"
"Luke, sit back," Dad pleaded.
"Let's go," I urged. "We're never going to find Zoo Gardens."
Mom hesitated, chewing her lower lip. "I don't know," she said fretfully. "Some of these places aren't safe."
"It'll be safe!" Luke declared. "It'll be very safe!"
"Luke — sit back!" Dad growled.
"Can we go?" Luke demanded, ignoring Dad's request. "Can we?"
"It could be fun," Clay said quietly.
"Let's give it a try," I urged them. "If we hate it, we can always leave."
Dad rubbed his chin. He sighed. "Well, I guess it would be better than sitting here in the middle of nowhere arguing all day."
"YAAAAAY!" Luke screamed.
Luke and I reached over Clay to slap each other a high five. HorrorLand sounded like a pretty cool place to me, too. I love scary rides.
"If the rides are as scary as that monster," I said, pointing at the billboard, "this park will be awesome!"
"You don't think it's too scary — do you?" Clay asked. I saw that he had his hands clasped tightly in his lap. And he had that frightened owl look on his face again.
"No, it won't be too scary," I told him.
Oh, wow — was I wrong!
"I can't believe someone would build a big theme park out in the wilderness," Dad declared.
We were driving through what seemed like an endless forest. Tall, old trees leaned over the two-lane road, nearly blocking out the late morning sun.
"Maybe they haven't built the park yet," Mom suggested. "Maybe they're going to clear out these trees and build the park here."
All three of us in the back seat were hoping Mom was wrong. And she was.
The road curved sharply. And as we came out of the curve, we saw the tall gates to the park straight up ahead.
Behind a tall, purple fence, HorrorLand seemed to stretch for miles. Leaning forward in my seat, I could see the tops of rides and strange, colorful buildings. As we drove across the enormous parking lot, eerie chords of organ music invaded the car.
"YAAAAAY! This looks great!" Luke exclaimed.
Clay and I enthusiastically agreed. I couldn't wait to get out of the car and see everything.
"The parking lot is nearly empty," Dad said, glancing uneasily at Mom.
"That means we won't have to wait in long lines!" I quickly exclaimed.
"I think Lizzy is excited about this place," Mom commented, smiling.
"Me, too!" Luke cried. He punched Clay enthusiastically on the shoulder. Luke always has to be punching or pinching somebody.
We crossed the wide parking lot. I saw a few cars parked near the front gate. At the far side of the lot stood a row of purple-and-green buses with the word HorrorLand across the side.
As we rode closer, I got a good look at the front gate. The same monster we had seen behind the billboard rose up behind a big purple-and-green sign over the gate. The sign read: THE HORRORLAND HORRORS WELCOME YOU TO HORRORLAND!
"I don't get that sign," Mom said. "What are the HorrorLand Horrors?"
"We'll find out!" I exclaimed happily.
The solemn, eerie organ music floated heavily over the parking lot. Dad pulled into a space in an empty aisle to the right of the front gate.
Luke and I pushed open the back doors before the car had even stopped. "Let's go!" I cried.
Luke, Clay, and I started trotting toward the gate. As I ran, I stared up at the green monster over the sign. This one didn't move its head like the billboard monster. But it looked very real.
I glanced back and saw that Mom and Dad were hurrying to catch up with us. "This is going to be way cool!" I exclaimed.
And then I gasped as a deafening explosion made the ground shake.
And I stared back in horror as our car burst apart, exploding into a million pieces.

3
It took me a long while to stop screaming. Finally, I swallowed hard, choking back my cries.
We all stared in shock. Small chunks of twisted metal and a few burning cinders were all that was left of our car.
"How — ?" was all Dad managed to say.
"I — I d-don't believe it!" I stammered.
"Thank goodness we were all out of the car!" Mom cried. She gathered us up in a big hug. "Thank goodness we're all okay."
Luke and Clay still hadn't uttered a sound. They stood wide-eyed, staring at the spot where the car had stood.
"My car!" Dad choked out in a horrified whisper. "My car . . . How? How?"
"We're safe," Mom murmured. "We're all safe. What a terrifying explosion. I can't get the sound of it out of my ears."
"I — I've got to call the police!" Dad sputtered. He began trotting to the gate, shaking his head, muttering to himself.
"How could the car just blow up like that, dear?" Mom asked, hurrying after him. "What would make it do that?"
"How should I know?" Dad snapped angrily. "I — I don't get it! I really don't! And now what are we going to do?" He sounded really panicked.
I didn't blame him. The explosion was really scary.
And when I realized that we could have all been inside the car when it went off, I had cold chills down my back.
"Maybe there's a rental car place we can call," Mom suggested.
Mom is like me, calm in any emergency.
We followed Dad as he went running up to the ticket booth at the entrance. A green monster stood in the booth. He had bulging yellow eyes, and dark horns curled over his head. It was a really great costume.
"Welcome to HorrorLand," he said in a gruff, low voice. A loud stab of organ music rose up from inside the ticket booth. "I am a HorrorLand Horror. All of the Horrors and I hope you have a scary day."
"My car!" Dad cried frantically. "There was an explosion. I need a phone!"
"I'm sorry, sir. No phones," the guy in the monster costume replied.
"Huh?" Dad's face was bright red again. His forehead was drenched with sweat. "But I need a phone! Right away!" Dad insisted, glaring angrily at the green monster. "My car exploded! We're stuck here!"
"We'll take care of you," the Horror replied, lowering his gruff voice nearly to a whisper.
"You'll what?" Dad cried. "We need a car. I need to get to a phone! Don't you understand?"
"No phones," the monster repeated. "But, please, sir. Allow us to take care of you. I promise we will take care of everything. Don't let this spoil your visit to HorrorLand."
"Spoil my visit?!" Dad shrieked, his face growing even redder. "But my car — !"
Another loud stab of organ music made me jump. The creepy music made me feel as if I were actually in a horror movie!
"We will take care of you. I promise," the Horror said. A strange smile crossed his face. His yellow eyes lit up. "Please enjoy your stay, and do not worry about transportation. The other Horrors and I will see that you are properly taken care of."
"But — but — " Dad sputtered.
The Horror gestured toward the park. "Please enter as our guests. Free admission. I apologize for your car. But, please, do not worry. I promise you will have no need to worry about your car."
Dad turned back to us, sweat dripping down his forehead. I could see that he was really upset. "I — I can't enjoy an amusement park now," he said. "I can't believe this happened. I really can't. We've got to get a car somehow, and — "
"Oh, please, Dad!" Luke cried. "Please! Can't we go inside? He said he'll take care of it for us."
"Just for a little while?" I joined my brother in pleading.
"We've had such a long drive," Mom told Dad. "Let's go in for a short while. Let them blow off some steam."
Dad thought about it, frowning hard. "Okay. Just for a little while," he agreed finally.
The organ music grew louder as we stepped through the gate. "Wow! Look at this place!" I cried. "It really is like being in a horror movie."
We were standing on a brown, cobbled street. Strange, dark cottages tilted up on both sides of the street. Tall trees along the street nearly blocked out all the sunlight. The air carried a chill.
Low howls, like wolf howls, floated out from the cottages.
"Cool!" Luke declared.
A sign proclaimed: WELCOME TO WEREWOLF VILLAGE. DO NOT FEED THE WEREWOLVES. IF YOU CAN HELP IT.
The frightening howls grew louder.
Luke and I laughed at the sign.
I saw a green monster, one of the Horrors, staring out at us through a dark window in the cottage across the narrow street. Another Horror walked past carrying a very real-looking human head. He grasped it by its long, blond hair and bounced it up and down, sort of like a yo-yo, as he walked.
"Cool!" Luke proclaimed again. It seemed to be his word of the day.
We walked along the cobbled street. The sound of our thudding sneakers echoed off the cottage walls.
"Ohh!" We all let out cries of surprise as a long, low, gray wolf ran in front of us. It disappeared around the side of a cottage before we really got a good look at it.
"Was that a real wolf?" Clay asked, his voice shaking.
"Of course not," I told him. "It was probably a dog. Or else it was mechanical."
"Well, they certainly keep this park clean," Mom said, trying to sound cheerful. "There isn't a piece of trash or dirt anywhere. Of course, it isn't very crowded."
Dad lingered behind. "I — I've got to find a phone," he said fretfully. "I can't enjoy this until I know we have a way to get home."
"But, dear — " Mom started.
"There's got to be a phone somewhere," Dad interrupted. "Go on without me."
"No. I'll come with you," Mom said. "You're in such a frantic state. You'll need me to make the calls for you. The kids will have a better time without us hanging around anyway."
"Leave them?" Dad cried. "You mean, let them go on their own?"
"Of course," Mom said, hurrying back to him. "They'll be perfectly fine. This looks like a very nice place. What could happen?"
What could happen?
With those words, Mom and Dad rushed off to find a phone.
"Meet back here!" Mom called to us.
Luke, Clay, and I were suddenly on our own.
I turned to watch Mom and Dad hurry away.
I turned back in time to see a gray wolf edging out from behind the cottage. It lowered its head and let out a rumbling warning growl.
All three of us froze as we realized its hungry red eyes were locked on us.

4
I cried out and pulled Luke and Clay back.
The wolf slithered out, holding its head low, glaring up at us with wide red eyes, its mouth open hungrily.
"It — it's real!" Clay declared, swallowing hard. I had my hand on his shoulder. I could feel him trembling.
The wolf let out a low growl.
Then it slid back behind the cottage wall.
"I think it's some kind of robot or something," I told Clay.
"Let's go somewhere else," Clay replied, suddenly very pale.
"What does that sign up there say?" Luke asked. He went running over the dark cobblestones to the sign, and Clay and I followed.
The sign read: NO PINCHING.
Luke laughed. "That's stupid."
"What a dumb sign!" Clay agreed.
"That sign was meant just for you, Luke!" I exclaimed. I gave him a hard pinch on the arm.
"Hey! Can't you read?" he shouted angrily, pointing to the sign.
I saw a green Horror watching us from down the street. Then I saw a family making its way behind the row of cottages. There was a mother, a father, and a little girl. The little girl was crying, for some reason. The parents had their hands on her shoulders and looked very upset.
A wolf howl cut through the air.
"Let's find some rides!" Clay suggested.
"Some scary rides!" Luke added.
Walking side by side, keeping close together, we made our way out of the Werewolf Village. The street widened into a round plaza. Bright sunlight returned as soon as we stepped out of the village.
Several purple-and-green buildings surrounded the plaza. I saw a few more families and several green-costumed Horrors keeping an eye on everything. A pudgy Horror behind a purple-and-green cart was selling ice cream cones — black ice cream!
"Yuck!" Luke declared, making a face.
We hurried past the cart, past another NO PINCHING sign, and stopped in front of what appeared to be a tall purple mountain.
"It's a ride!" I told them.
A doorway was cut into the side of the mountain. And above the doorway was a sign: DOOM SLIDE. WILL YOU BE THE ONE TO SLIDE FOREVER?
"Cool!" Luke cried, slapping Clay a high five.
"I'll bet you climb to the top, then slide all the way down," I said, pointing to the top of the mountain-shaped building.
"Let's go!" Luke cried excitedly.
We ran to the building, then through the open doorway in its side. It was dark and cold inside. A wide ramp curved up toward the top.
I could hear kids squealing and laughing, but I couldn't see them. The three of us half-walked, half-ran up the ramp, eager to get to the top.
About halfway up, we stopped to read another sign: WARNING! — YOU MAY BE THE ONE TO SLIDE TO YOUR DOOM!
Now I could hear kids screaming as they slid down. But it was too dark to see anything. "Are you scared, Clay?" I asked, noticing his tight expression.
"No way!" he insisted, embarrassed by my question. "I've seen these things before. They're like really huge sliding boards. You just sit on them and slide down."
"Hurry!" Luke shouted, running ahead of us.
"Hey — wait up!" I called. I followed them to the top of the ramp. We found ourselves on a wide platform. A row of long, curving sliding boards stretched to the end of the platform. The sliding boards were numbered from one to ten.
In the dim light, I saw two Horrors watching us approach. They stood in front of the sliding boards. Their bulging yellow eyes lit up as we hurried over to them.
"Do you slide all the way down?" Luke asked one of them.
The Horror nodded.
"Do you go really fast?" Clay asked, lingering a few feet behind us.
The Horror nodded again. "It's a long way down," he rumbled.
"Be careful which slide you pick," the other Horror warned. "Don't pick the Doom Slide." He gestured to the number painted in black in front of each slide.
"Yes. Don't pick the Doom Slide," his partner repeated. "You'll slide down forever and ever."
I laughed.
He was just trying to scare us — wasn't he?

5
I chose slide number three because three is my lucky number. Luke sat down on top of the slide next to mine, slide number two. And Clay scrambled over to the far end and dropped down onto slide number ten.
I glanced back to see what the Horrors were doing. But before I could focus on them, I felt the bottom tilt underneath me.
I let out a long, high-pitched shriek as I began to slide.
I raised my arms over my head, leaned back, and screamed all the way down. My cries echoed in the enormous, dark canyon of the Doom Slide building.
It felt great. The slide curved and curved, and I swirled down in the darkness, faster and faster.
In the shadowy light, I could see Luke in the slide next to mine. He was lying on his back, staring straight up with his mouth wide open.
I tried to call out to him. But the slide curved away, and I curved with it.
Down, down.
I was sliding so fast, the darkness became a solid blur.
The slide curved up, then around, then down again. I'm a human roller coaster, I thought happily.
Down, down. Darker and darker.
I'm sliding faster than the speed of light, I thought.
I glanced from one side to the other, trying to see Luke and Clay. But it was too dark, and I was moving too fast.
Too fast.
And, then, bump.
A chute opened up. I hit the ground hard, landing on the seat of my jeans.
Outside. I was back outside.
Bump.
Luke bounced out beside me. He hit the ground, still lying on his back, and made no attempt to get up. He grinned up at me. "Where am I?"
"Back on the ground," I told him, climbing to my feet. I brushed off the back of my jeans, then reached behind my head to straighten my braid. "Great ride, huh?"
"Let's go again," Luke said, still lying there.
"We can't go again if you don't get up," I said.
"Help me." He reached up a hand.
I groaned as I tugged him to a sitting position. "Get up yourself," I said impatiently.
"You were screaming in there," he told me.
"I did it on purpose," I said. "I wanted to scream."
"Yeah. Sure." He rolled his eyes. Then he pulled himself to his feet. "Wow. I'm a little dizzy. How fast do you think we were going?"
I shrugged. "Pretty fast, I think. It's so dark in there, it's hard to know how fast you're going."
And then I realized we were missing a member of our sliding party. I stared at the closed chutes on the wall of the building. "Hey — where's Clay?"
"Huh?" Luke had forgotten about him, too.
We both stared at the side of the building, waiting for Clay to pop out.
"Where is he?" Luke demanded shrilly. "He couldn't be that much slower than us — could he?"
I shook my head. I was starting to feel really nervous. I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. And my hands were suddenly cold and clammy.
"Come on, Clay," I pleaded, staring at the wall. "Come on out."
Luke scratched his black hair. "Where'd he go?" he asked. "Why didn't Clay come out?"
"Maybe he came out the front," I said. "Maybe slide number ten dumps you out in front. Let's check it out."
As we ran around the building toward the front, I scolded myself for getting scared so easily. Of course Clay came out in a different chute. He was probably waiting for us in front of the building. He was probably worried about us.
As we rounded the purple building, the wide, circular plaza came into view. I searched for Mom and Dad, but they weren't there. I saw a couple of other families on the other side of the circle, and the pudgy green Horror leaning on his ice-cream cart.
No sign of Clay.
Luke and I kept running, up to the front entrance of the Doom Slide. We stopped a few feet from the dark opening.
"He isn't here!" Luke cried, struggling to catch his breath.
I was breathing hard, too. And the heavy feeling of dread in my stomach grew even heavier. "No. No Clay," I muttered.
"What are we going to do?" Luke asked. His blue eyes were wide with fear.
I saw a green Horror woman standing just inside the entrance. "Hey!" I called as I ran over to her. "Did you see a kid come out of there?" I asked breathlessly.
The yellow eyes on the Horror's mask bulged and appeared to light up. "No. This is the entrance. No one comes out here," she replied.
"He's blond and sort of chubby. He wears glasses," I told her. "He's wearing a blue T-shirt and denim shorts."
The Horror shook her head. "No. No one comes out this way. Did you check the back? Everyone comes out the back."
"He didn't!" Luke said shrilly. "We were there. He didn't come out." My brother's voice came out high and squeaky. He was breathing so hard, his chest was heaving up and down. He was in a panic.
I was frightened, too. But I knew I had to stay calm. For Luke's sake.
"He didn't come out the back," I told the Horror, "and he didn't come out the front. So what happened to him?"
The Horror was silent for a long moment. Then she said in a low voice just above a whisper, "Maybe your friend chose the Doom Slide."

6
I stared at the woman in the Horror costume. "You — you're joking, right?" I stammered. "I mean, the Doom Slide — that's just a joke."
She stared back with her bulging yellow eyes and didn't reply. "The signs give a warning," she said. "There's always a warning."
She turned and disappeared into the dark entrance. Luke and I goggled at each other. I swallowed hard. My throat suddenly felt very dry. My hands were cold as ice now.
"This is stupid," Luke muttered. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. "It's just a dumb slide. Why is she trying to scare us?"
"I guess that's her job," I told him.
"We've got to find Mom and Dad," Luke muttered.
"We've got to find Clay first," I told him. "If Mom and Dad find out we lost Clay, they'll get angry and make us go home as soon as we find him."
"If we find him," Luke said glumly.
I glanced back across the plaza. No Mom and Dad. Two teenagers were buying black ice-cream cones from the Horror at the cart. Two Horrors were sweeping the plaza with push brooms, working side by side.
Far in the distance, I could hear the howl of a wolf from the Werewolf Village.
The sun was high in the sky now. I could feel it beaming down on top of my head and on my shoulders. But I still felt cold all over.
"Clay — where are you?" I asked, thinking out loud.
"He's sliding forever," Luke said, shaking his head. "Sliding forever and ever on the Doom Slide."
"That's dumb," I replied. But Luke had given me an idea. "Come on," I said, tugging the sleeve of his T-shirt. I started pulling him to the dark entrance.
"Huh? Where?" Luke pulled back.
"We'll go on the slides again," I told him.
His mouth dropped open in protest. "Without Clay? We can't go on it again without Clay."
"We're going to find Clay," I said, grabbing his arm this time and pulling him to the dark, open doorway.
"You mean — ?" My brother was starting to catch on.
I nodded. "Yes. We'll follow him. We'll take the same slide he took."
"Slide number ten," Luke murmured. And then he added in a solemn whisper, "The Doom Slide."
"We'll take it, and it will lead us right to him," I said.
We climbed the ramp in silence. The rapid thud of our sneakers echoed in the vast, hollow mountain.
We ran past the sign about halfway up to the top. I read it again as I passed it by: WARNING! YOU MAY BE THE ONE TO SLIDE TO YOUR DOOM!
Clay — are you still sliding? I wondered.
I shook my head hard, shaking away the thought. Of course he wasn't still sliding. What a stupid idea!
The two Horrors were still standing at the top of the slides. "Be careful which slide you pick," one of them warned.
"We know which one we want," I said breathlessly. "Slide number ten. Both of us. Together."
The Horror nearest the slide motioned for us to sit down. I glanced at Luke, who stood right behind me, his features tight with fear.
He tugged me back a few steps. "Maybe we shouldn't," he whispered.
"Why not?" I demanded impatiently.
"What if the warning is true?" Luke demanded.
"Don't be dumb," I scolded him. "This is an amusement park — remember? They don't kill kids or send them sliding to their doom. It's all for fun!"
Luke swallowed hard. "You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," I replied. "Now do you want to find Clay or not?"
Luke nodded.
"Then let's go," I ordered.
I sat down at the top of slide number ten. Luke plopped down right behind me, stretching his legs outside of mine.
I felt the floor tilt up beneath us.
We started to slide.
"Clay, here we come!" I cried.

7
I didn't scream this time. I clasped my hands in my lap and gritted my teeth.
There was no way I was going to enjoy this ride. I just wanted to get to the end of it. I wanted to solve the mystery and find Clay.
As we slid down together, Luke grabbed onto me, his hands gripping my waist. He cried out when we slid over a big bump, and it felt as if we were going to go flying off the slide.
Then we both screamed as the slide took a steep dive — almost straight down — and we started to fall.
We landed hard, and then the slide curved sharply to the right. We were both screaming our lungs out now.
We were sliding faster and faster, in total darkness, blacker than black. I tried to see if we were moving alongside the other slides. But it was so dark, I couldn't even see my sneakers in front of me!
Luke squeezed my waist so hard, I could hardly breathe. I tried to tell him to loosen his grip, but he was screaming too loud to hear.
Down, down.
Darker and darker.
We hit another bump that sent us bouncing up into the air. Then the slide dipped and curved sharply to the left.
We should be at the bottom by now, I realized.
We'd been sliding a very long time.
I gritted my teeth harder and tried to brace myself to go flying out the chute and bumping onto the ground.
But no chute opened.
The ride didn't end.
We began to slide faster. I gasped in mouthfuls of the hot, damp air, struggling to catch my breath.
The slide dipped and curved, sending us down into the thick, heavy blackness.
We're going to slide forever.
The warning sign didn't lie.
I struggled to force those frightening thoughts from my mind.
Luke suddenly got very quiet. "Are you okay?" I called back to him.
"I don't know," he replied, holding on even tighter. "Why are we sliding so long?"
"You're hurting me!" I cried.
He loosened his hold a little. "I don't like this!" he shouted in my ear.
We hit another bump. His hands flew off me.
Another bump. Even harder. I thought I was going to fly off the slide and fall to the bottom — if there was a bottom.
Down, down.
Luke and I both cried out in disgust as something sticky covered our faces. I reached up with both hands and tried to pull it off.
"Yuck!" Luke screamed. "What is it? My face — !"
"It's like cobwebs," I shouted back at him. "Hot, sticky cobwebs."
My whole face itched. The sticky threads covered my face like a net. I pulled frantically at them.
"Oh!" I cried out as the slide took another sharp dip.
Tearing at the sticky cobwebs, I managed to pull most of them off. But my face still itched like crazy. It felt as if a thousand ants were crawling around on it.
"It's so gross!" Luke yelled behind me. "My face — it hurts!"
Down, down into the heavy darkness.
And then a flare of bright light made me shut my eyes.
Was it daylight? Were we heading outside?
No.
I forced my eyes open and squinted at the yellow light.
And realized I was staring at blazing flames.
The slide ahead of us was on fire!
The yellow-and-orange flames raged up, topped by a curtain of billowing black smoke.
I raised my hands to my face and started to shriek.
We were sliding right into the blazing flames.
"We're going to burn up!" Luke screamed. "Help — somebody! Help us!"

8
I shut my eyes and felt a powerful burst of heat, almost like an explosion.
I'm burning up! I thought.
Burning up!
A whoosh of cool air made me open my eyes.
The fire was behind us now. We had sailed right through it.
Curving gently, we slid through cool darkness. I could still see the orange flicker of flames reflected on the dark walls above us.
Luke and I were both silent. I was waiting for my heart to stop thudding in my chest.
"Great special effects!" Luke cried. He let out a wild laugh, a frantic laugh I'd never heard before.
The fire was fake, I realized. Some kind of projection or something.
I sucked in mouthfuls of the cool air. I had never been so terrified in my life.
"When does this ride end?" Luke cried. His voice had become high and frightened.
Never, I thought glumly. We really are going to slide forever.
And as that frightening thought lingered in my mind, a chute opened in front of us. Daylight streamed in.
Bump.
I landed hard on soft grass.
A few seconds later, Luke dropped out behind me.
I blinked several times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight.
Then I climbed slowly to my feet, my heart still pounding.
A yellow-and-green sign on a wooden pole stood directly in front of us. It read: WELCOME TO DOOM. POPULATION: 0 HUMANS.
Standing next to the sign was Clay. He came rushing over to greet us, a happy smile on his round, pink face. "Hey, guys — hey!" he called. "Where've you been?" He slapped Luke a high five. Then Luke gave him a playful punch in the stomach.
"Where've we been?" I asked. "Where've you been?"
"Right here," Clay replied. "I didn't know where I was. I think this is the other side of the park or something. So I just waited for you."
"We went back on the Doom Slide," Luke explained. "We took your slide. Number ten. What a ride! It was so cool!"
A few seconds ago, Luke had been shrieking in real terror. Now here he was, pretending he loved it, telling Clay how cool it was.
"You picked the good slide!" Luke told Clay. "Wow. It was excellent!"
"I was kind of scared," Clay confessed. "I mean, the fire — "
"Great special effects!" my brother exclaimed. "This park is awesome!"
Luke was such a phony. There was no way he would ever admit that he had been worried about Clay. And no way he'd admit that the long slide to Doom had terrified him.
But I was glad to see his old enthusiasm return. I really didn't like seeing my brother frightened and in a panic.
"It was kind of a long slide," Clay said, frowning. His feathery blond hair glowed in the bright sunlight. "A little too long, I think."
"I'd like to go on it again!" Luke boasted.
I turned and gazed around. We were definitely in another section of HorrorLand. Nothing looked familiar.
Across the wide walkway, I saw several kids in bathing suits heading down a sandy path. A sign over the path read: HORROR RAPIDS.
To our right, a square-shaped building made of glass reflected the bright sunlight. The glass walls shimmered brightly as if on fire. Squinting into the light, I could just barely make out the sign in front of it: HOUSE OF MIRRORS.
"Let's try the House of Mirrors!" Luke urged, pulling Clay by the arm.
"Whoa! Wait a minute!" I cried. "Don't you think we should try to find Mom and Dad?"
"They're way over on the other side of the park," Luke replied, tugging Clay along with him across the pavement. "Let's have some fun and then find them."
"They're probably looking for us," I said fretfully.
"The park isn't very crowded. They'll find us," Luke replied. "Come on, Lizzy — it looks like fun!"
I hesitated, thinking about Mom and Dad. I stared into the white glare of the glass building.
Suddenly, I felt someone tap my shoulder.
Startled, I cried out and spun around.
It was a green-costumed Horror. His bulging eyes stared into mine as he leaned close to me. "Get away while you can!" he whispered.
He turned his eyes quickly from side to side, as if making sure no one was watching him. "Please — I'm serious! Get away while you can!"

9
I was so stunned, I didn't say anything. I watched him run off, moving awkwardly in the bulky Horror costume, his purple tail dragging over the pavement behind him.
"What did he want?" Clay called. He and Luke were nearly up to the House of Mirrors entrance.
"He — he said we should get out while we can," I stammered, running over to them. I lost them for a moment in the blinding sunlight reflected off the glass building.
Luke laughed. "These Horror guys are great!" he declared. "They really try to scare you in this place!"
Behind his glasses, Clay's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He was kidding — right?" he asked quietly. "I mean, it was just a joke, wasn't it?"
"I don't know," I told him. "I guess so." I watched the Horror disappear quickly behind a tall, blue, pyramid-shaped building.
"That's his job," Luke insisted. "He goes around scaring people all day."
"Maybe he was really warning us," Clay murmured, staring at me.
"No way!" Luke declared. He gave Clay a hard slap on the back. "Stop looking so gloomy all the time. This is a great place! You like to be scared, don't you?"
Clay's expression remained worried. "I guess," he replied uncertainly.
I started to tell Clay I was sure it was just a joke, but Luke interrupted. "Hurry up! Let's check out the House of Mirrors. Let's have some fun before Mom and Dad show up and make us leave."
He dragged Clay toward the entrance, and I followed. We passed another NO PINCHING sign as we made our way to the shimmering glass building.
Outside the entrance, I stopped to read the yellow-and-green sign. It read: HOUSE OF MIRRORS. REFLECT BEFORE YOU ENTER. NO ONE MAY EVER SEE YOU AGAIN!
"Hey — wait up!" I called to the boys. They had already hurried inside.
I stepped in and found myself in a narrow, dark tunnel. My eyes were still filled with the bright glare from outside. I couldn't see a thing.
"Luke, Clay — wait up!" I shouted. My voice echoed through the low tunnel. I could hear them laughing up ahead.
I jogged blindly, ducking my head because the ceiling was so low. Finally, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The tunnel ended, and I found myself in a narrow corridor with mirrored walls and a mirrored ceiling.
"Oh!" I uttered a low cry. I could see my reflections — dozens of them. I seemed to surround myself!
I stopped for a moment and adjusted my long, black braid. It was always coming loose. Then I called again to the boys, "Where are you? Wait up!"
I could hear them giggling somewhere up ahead. "Try and find us!" Luke called. More giggling.
I made my way quickly through the mirrored walkway. The walls curved to the right, then the left. My reflections followed me, stretching deep into the mirrors, dozens and dozens of me, getting smaller and smaller, stretching to infinity!
"Hey — don't get too far ahead!" I cried.
I heard them giggling. Then I heard a rumble of footsteps that seemed to come from the other side of the mirrored wall.
I followed the corridor, walking slowly, carefully, until I saw a narrow opening up ahead.
"Wait right there. I'm coming through!" I called.
I started through the opening, and — BONK! — hit my forehead on solid glass.
"Ow!" I cried out as the pain jolted across my forehead, then down the back of my neck, all the way down my spine.
I raised my hands to the glass and waited for my dizziness to fade away.
"Lizzy, where are you? Try to find us!" I heard Luke call.
"I hit my head!" I shouted, rubbing my forehead.
I could hear him and Clay laughing. Their voices seemed to be behind me now. I turned back, but there were only mirrors behind me. No opening.
My head still ached a little, but the dizziness had gone away. I started walking again, more carefully this time. I kept both hands out in front of me so I wouldn't bump into anything again.
I turned a corner and stepped into a different room. To my surprise, the floor in this room was a mirror. The walls, the ceiling, the floor — were all mirrors. I felt as if I were standing inside a mirrored box.
I took a few careful steps. It felt so weird walking on my own reflection.
I could see the tops and the bottoms of my sneakers as I walked. It made it really hard to walk. I kept having the feeling that I was going to fall into myself!
"Hey, guys — where are you?" I called.
No reply.
I felt a sharp stab of fear in my stomach.
"Luke? Clay? Are you there?" I saw the mouths of my reflections move as I called out, dozens of mouths. But only one voice came out, my voice, tiny and shrill.
"Luke? Clay?"
Silence.
"Don't fool around, guys!" I shouted. "Where are you?"
Silence. No reply.
I stared at the dozens of reflections on all sides of me. They all looked very frightened.
"Luke? Clay?"
Where had they gone?

10
I stared at my reflections as horrifying thoughts swept over me.
Had the boys really disappeared?
Had they fallen into some kind of trap? Were they lost in the maze of glass and mirrors?
HorrorLand was too scary, I decided. It was fun to be scared. But it was too hard to tell whether the scares here were for fun — or for real. Were there dangers in this place? Or was it all a big, scary joke?
"Luke? Clay?" I called to them in a trembling voice, turning all around, searching for an exit.
Silence.
Then I heard a muffled giggle.
Then I heard whispering voices. Nearby.
Another giggle, louder this time. Luke's giggle.
They had been playing a little joke on me. "Hey, you're not funny!" I screamed angrily. "Really! Not funny!"
I could hear them both burst out laughing. "Come and find us, Lizzy!" Luke called.
"What's taking you so long?" Clay added.
More giggling. It seemed to come from just up ahead.
Sliding my hands along the mirrors, I followed the hallway around to the right. I had to duck my head to slip through a narrow opening between the mirrors.
I found myself in another small room surrounded by mirrors above and below and on all sides. The mirrors were tilted at strange angles so that my reflections appeared to bounce off each other as I moved.
"Where are you? Am I getting closer?" I called.
The light grew dim as I made my way through this room. My reflections darkened. The shadows grew longer.
"We can't see you!" Clay called.
"Hurry up!" Luke shouted impatiently.
"I'm going as fast as I can!" I screamed. "Just don't move, okay? Stay in one place."
"We are!" Luke called back.
"How will we ever get out of here?" I heard Clay ask him in a low voice.
"Ow!" I bumped my head again on a section of clear glass.
I pounded my fist angrily on the glass.
This wasn't any fun, I decided. It was too painful.
"Hurry up!" Luke called from somewhere nearby. "It's boring waiting here for you!"
"I'm coming," I muttered, rubbing my poor, aching forehead.
I turned a corner and stepped into a wider room. No mirrors here. The walls were all glass. I stopped to gaze around — and there was Luke.
"Finally!" he cried. "Why couldn't you find us?"
"I kept hitting my head," I told him. "Let's get out of here. Where's Clay?"
"Huh?" Luke's mouth dropped open in surprise. He spun around, searching for his friend. "He was standing right here," he said.
"Luke — I'm in no mood for any more dumb jokes," I said sharply. "Clay, where are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding. I'm over here," Clay called.
I took a few steps closer to my brother, and Clay came into view. He was standing in deep shadows behind a glass wall, his hands pressed against the pane.
"How'd you get over there?" Luke asked Clay.
Clay shrugged. "I can't find a way out."
I moved toward my brother, then stopped. I suddenly realized that he was behind a wall of glass. Luke and I were in different rooms.
"Hey — where's the opening?" I asked him.
Luke glanced around. "What do you mean, Lizzy?"
"You and I — we're not in the same room," I replied. I walked up to the glass wall and tapped on it with my fist.
"Huh?" Luke's face filled with surprise. He made his way over to me. Then he tapped on his side of the glass, as if making sure it really did exist.
"How'd that get there?" he murmured.
Clay started moving around his room, sliding his hands along the panes of glass, searching for the opening.
"Stand right there," I told Luke. "I'll find a way into your room."
I followed Clay's example. I moved slowly around the room, keeping a hand pressed against the glass. The light was dim. My shadow fell over the glass as I walked. I could see my face reflected darkly in the glass. My eyes stared back at me, dark and desperate.
Before I realized it, I had made a complete circle.
I was back where I had started. And there was no opening. No doorway.
No way out.
"Hey! I'm trapped in here!" Clay called shrilly.
"So am I," I told him.
"There's got to be an opening," Luke said. "How did we get in?"
"You're right," I replied fretfully. "We should be able to get out the way we came in." I began to search along the walls again, moving quickly.
My heart began to pound. I had a fluttering feeling in my chest. There had to be a way out. There had to be.
Luke pounded hard on the glass. In the other room, I could see Clay jogging frantically around his room, pushing on the walls as he moved.
I went all the way around twice, then stopped.
There was no way out.
"I — I'm trapped," I stammered. "It's like a box. A glass box."
"We're all trapped!" Clay cried.
Luke was still pounding frantically on the glass with his fists. "Luke — stop!" I cried shrilly. "That isn't helping!"
He lowered his fists to his sides. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "There's got to be a way out."
"Maybe there's a trapdoor or something," I suggested. I began to search the mirrored floor. It was too dark to see well. The floor appeared solid to me.
I returned to the glass wall. "This isn't much fun," I said glumly.
Luke and Clay nodded. I could see they were both really frightened. So was I. But I decided I was two years older than them, so I had to try to be the brave one.
I wasn't feeling very brave, though. Uttering a worried sigh, I leaned against the wall that separated Luke and me.
And as I leaned, the wall started to move.
I jumped back with a sharp cry.
The wall was sliding toward me, closing in on me.
I took another step back.
Glancing around frantically, I saw that all the walls were sliding in.
"Luke!" I cried. I turned to see him backing up, too.
"The walls!" Clay called. "Help me!"
"They're sliding in on me, too!" Luke screamed. "Each room must have its own glass walls!"
All three of us were trapped.
With a desperate groan, I threw myself against one of the walls and tried to push it back.
But I couldn't stop it.
The box was closing in, growing smaller. Smaller.
"We're going to be crushed!" I cried.

11
"Do something! Please — do something!" Clay was screaming.
Luke lowered his shoulder to the glass and struggled to stop it from moving. But he wasn't strong enough. The walls kept sliding in on him.
I backed up, my hands raised like a shield.
Closer, closer. The glass walls moved slowly, silently.
I backed up until my back hit the wall behind me.
There was nowhere to go.
"Do something! Somebody — do something!" Clay's terrified screams rang in my ears.
"The glass — it's squeezing me!" Luke shrieked. "Lizzy — !"
"I — I can't move!" I shouted to him.
The panes of glass began to press in on me from all sides. Above and below, too.
I suddenly pictured one of those crushed cars. You know. The cars that are crunched into a perfect square in those big compactor machines.
My entire body shuddered as I realized I was going to be crushed into a perfect square, too.
"Ow!" I cried out as the glass pressed down on me. "Somebody — help!" I tried to scream, but my voice came out a muffled yelp.
It was getting hard to breathe.
The glass panes moved in. Tighter. Tighter.
I gasped for air.
I tried to push with all my might against the glass.
But it was no use.
I was being crushed into a human square.

12
I couldn't hear Luke or Clay anymore.
I could only hear my gasping, choked breaths.
I shut my eyes.
And felt the floor drop away.
And before I realized what was happening, I was falling, falling rapidly down.
I opened my eyes in time to see the glass walls roll above me as I slid down, down, down through an open chute.
And in a few seconds, I was back outside. I landed sitting up on the grass with a gentle thud.
Luke and Clay came sliding out beside me.
For a long moment, we sat on the grass, blinking in the bright sunlight, staring at each other in disbelief.
"We're okay," Clay said uncertainly, finally breaking the silence. He slowly climbed to his feet. His round face was bright red, and his glasses were crooked and nearly falling off his nose. "We're okay!"
Luke let out a laugh. A gleeful laugh. He stood up and began jumping up and down for joy.
I didn't exactly feel like jumping up and down. I was still picturing the crushed car.
Luke reached down, grabbed both of my hands, and pulled me to my feet. "What should we do next?" he demanded, grinning.
"Huh? Next?" I cried. "Are you for real?"
"That was really scary," Clay said, his face still red. "I thought we were going to be scrunched flat."
"It was awesome!" Luke declared.
Once again, he was forgetting that a few seconds before, he'd been screaming in total panic.
"It was way too scary," Clay murmured, shaking his head.
"Clay's right," I agreed. "It was too scary to be fun. One more second, and . . ."
"Don't you see? That's the whole idea!" Luke cried. "That's how they scare you here. It's so awesome! They make you think that one more second and you're a goner. But it's all perfectly timed. They want you to be terrified — and, then — poof — you're okay!"
"I guess you're right," said Clay doubtfully. He pushed up his glasses, then rubbed his chin.
"We're not really going to get hurt or anything," Luke continued. "This is an amusement park, remember? They want you to come back again and again. So they're not going to really hurt anybody."
"Maybe," Clay said.
"But, Luke, what if they mess up?" I asked him. "What if the machines get goofed up? What if the timing gets off? Let's say the floor underneath us got stuck. Then what?"
Luke didn't reply. He stared back at me thoughtfully.
"What would have happened to us if the floor hadn't dropped away at the right moment?" I demanded.
Luke shrugged. "They make sure everything works okay," he answered finally.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Sure."
"Is it possible to really be scared to death?" Clay asked me, a solemn expression on his face. "I mean, I know it happens in books and movies. But does it happen in real life?"
"I don't know. Maybe," I replied.
"I'll bet people could get scared to death in that House of Mirrors," Clay continued seriously.
"No way!" Luke insisted. "Listen to me. This is just a place for fun. Scary fun."
He was watching something over my shoulder. I turned to see one of the guys in a green Horror costume walking by, carrying a huge bouquet of black balloons.
Luke hurried up beside the Horror. "Hey, has anyone ever died here in this park?" Luke asked.
The Horror kept walking. The black balloons bobbed above his head. "Only once," he told Luke.
"One person died here?" Luke asked.
The Horror shook his big green head. "No. Not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" Luke demanded.
"A person can only die once here," the Horror said. "No one has ever died twice."

13
"Do you mean people have really died here?" I shouted.
But the Horror walked quickly on, the black balloons bouncing against each other, floating darkly against the clear blue sky.
The Horror's answer made me shiver. It wasn't just his words. It was the cold tone of his voice, the way he made it sound like a warning.
"He was joking — right?" Clay asked in a trembling voice. He scratched his blond hair nervously.
"Yeah. I guess," I replied.
A family walked past us, heading toward the House of Mirrors. They had two little boys with them, both about five or six, and both of them were crying.
"I've seen so many crying kids in this park!" I commented.
"They're just wimps," Luke replied. "Scaredy-cats. Let's go find another ride or something."
"No. I really think we should find Mom and Dad," I told him.
"Yeah. Let's go find them," Clay said eagerly. The poor kid. I think he was really scared. But he was trying his best not to let my brother see how frightened he was.
"Aw, what's the hurry?" Luke protested. "Let them find us."
"But they're probably really worried," I insisted. I started walking toward the front gate.
"Dad will only make us leave," Luke grumbled. But he followed anyway. And Clay gratefully came along, keeping close to my side.
Following the trail, we passed by a rickety, old wooden roller coaster. It rose up as high as a four-story building, casting a wide, dark shadow over the walk. A sign in front read: OUT OF ORDER. DO YOU DARE TO RIDE IT ANYWAY?
The gate was open. There was no attendant.
"Hey, Lizzy, want to ride it?" Luke asked, staring at the beat-up old cars parked at the bottom of the tracks.
"No way!" Clay and I replied in unison. We kept on walking.
The trail curved under thick trees, and we were suddenly in the shade. A sign read: BEWARE OF TREE SNAKES.
Clay covered his head with his hands. All three of us raised our eyes to the trees.
Were there really snakes up there?
It was too dark to see anything. The leaves were so thick, no sunlight filtered through.
Suddenly, I heard a gentle hissing sound.
At first I thought it was just the rustle of the leaves.
But then the hissing grew louder — until all of the trees seemed to be hissing down at us.
"Run!" I cried.
The three of us started running along the trail, ducking low, our sneakers thudding hard on the pavement. The hissing in the trees above us grew louder, angrier.
I thought I saw a long, dark snake slithering in the grass beside the trail. But it might have just been a shadow.
We kept running even after the trees ended and we were in sunlight again. The trail curved past a row of evil-looking statues. They were made of stone. They were statues of grinning monsters, eyes narrowed menacingly, fangs lowered from their twisted mouths. Their arms were outstretched, ready to grab anyone who came close.
I slowed to a trot, my eyes on the ugly statues. Suddenly I heard low, evil laughter.
"It — it's coming from the statues!" Clay exclaimed. "Keep running!"
Did the statues move toward us? Did they raise their arms higher? Did they beckon to us to come closer?
I'm not sure. With their evil laughter in my ears, I lowered my head and turned on the speed.
All three of us were panting hard as we ran along the trail. I didn't see any other people. I didn't see anyone in a Horror costume, either.
We slowed as we came to another sign. This one had an arrow pointing in the direction we were running. It read: FRONT EXIT. DON'T BOTHER. YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE.
I caught the worried expression on Clay's face as he read the sign. "It's only a joke," I told him. "The signs are supposed to be funny."
"Ha-ha," he said weakly. He was panting hard, struggling to catch his breath.
Without warning, Luke jumped on Clay's shoulders. "Hey, Clay — how about a ride?"
Clay cried out angrily, "Get off!"
Luke laughed and hung on. Clay dropped to his knees, trying to throw Luke off.
"Come on, guys," I pleaded. "Luke, stop being such a goof. We're trying to find Mom and Dad."
But now they were laughing and wrestling on the ground.
"Come on, guys!" I shouted, rolling my eyes. "Let's go!" I tugged my brother to his feet.
Clay's glasses had flown off. He stopped to pick them up from the grass. Then we continued on our way.
The path led past a rectangular flower garden — filled with black flowers! Then it suddenly came to a stop in front of a large, red barn.
The boys walked up to the open doorway of the barn. I stayed back, searching for a path that led around the barn. I couldn't see one.
"The path goes right through the barn to the other side," Luke called to me. "Come on, Lizzy!" He motioned for me to join them.
I spotted a small sign painted to the right of the barn's double doors. It read: BAT BARN.
"Hey — are there bats in there?" I called, feeling a cold shudder run down my back. I like most animals. But bats really give me the creeps.
Luke stepped inside the barn. Clay hung back, standing just outside the door. "I don't see any," Luke called out to me. "It's kind of dark."
A strange odor invaded my nostrils. It was strong and sour. It came from the barn.
I didn't want to go in there.
"Come on, Lizzy!" Luke called. "The path goes right out the other side. Don't be chicken. You can run straight through."
I stepped up beside Clay at the doorway and peered inside the barn.
"It looks okay," Clay said quietly.
The sour odor was much stronger. "Yuck," I said, making a face. "It really stinks."
Luke stood inside the barn, his eyes raised to the rafters. "I don't see anything up there," he reported.
Doors on the opposite wall were wide open. It would only take ten seconds to run through the barn and out the other side, I realized.
"Let's go," I told Clay.
He and I stepped into the barn. The sour smell was overpowering. I held my breath and pinched my fingers over my nose.
We started running to the doors on the opposite wall — and they slammed shut.
With a gasp of surprise, I turned back to the doors we had entered. They slammed shut, too.
"Hey — !" I shouted angrily.
"What's going on?" Clay cried in a whisper.
We were in total darkness, blacker than black.
The sour odor swept over me. I started to feel sick.
And then I heard the rapid flutter of wings. Soft at first, then louder, closer.
I screamed as I felt something brush against the back of my neck.

14
"Go away!" I let out a low moan of horror and swung my hands wildly above my head.
The rapid fluttering retreated, then returned.
"Bats!" Clay cried in a terrified, tiny voice. I felt him grab my arm.
"I can't see!" Luke shouted. "It's so dark!"
"I — I hate bats!" I stammered.
I felt a cold whoosh of air as a bat flapped over my head.
I swung my hands wildly.
The flapping, fluttering sounds were all around us.
As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, I began to see shadowy shapes shooting past. Back and forth. Faster and faster.
I felt one brush my shoulder.
"Oh, help!" I cried.
Clay started to shriek. "Help us! Help us!"
"They're zooming right at me!" Luke wailed.
Something bumped into my shoulder. I screamed.
"Help us! Help us!" Clay continued to plead at the top of his lungs. His shouts were nearly drowned out by the flapping of wings.
I felt another bat brush against my shoulder. Covering my face, I tried to make my way blindly to the door.
The sour odor choked me. My terror made my legs shaky. I could barely walk.
And then I felt a hard tug in my hair.
Another tug. Loud flapping right on my head.
A shrill whistling hiss. So close, it could have been coming from me.
I screamed. I screamed again.
"It — it's caught in my hair!" I cried, falling to my knees.
Another shrill hiss. Another tug of my hair.
I swung my hands. I hit it. I felt a warm body, felt the brush of fluttering wings.
I shoved it hard — shoved it from my hair.
"Ohhh, help!" I cried.
The flapping wings and shrill whistles surrounded me. I could hear Luke and Clay shouting. But they seemed far, far away.
Another one brushed my cheek. Another one bumped my shoulder.
The shadows darted back and forth. The barn was alive with flying, chittering bats.
"Ohh, help! Help us, please!"
Another one brushed my face. I felt a rush of air, beating wings on the top of my head.
"Help us! Help us!"
But there was no one around to help.

15
I covered my eyes with one hand and thrashed out wildly with the other hand, trying to beat the bats away.
Choking and sobbing, I could barely breathe.
I heard Luke calling, far, far away. He seemed to be behind a curtain of flapping, chittering bats.
And then, suddenly, sunlight invaded the barn.
On my knees, I lowered my hand from my eyes and saw that the barn door had slid open.
Luke, standing at the door, his mouth open in shock, turned back to Clay and me. "I — I touched the door, and it opened," he explained.
Clay's glasses were hanging off one ear. His blond hair was totally messed up. His eyes darted around the barn. "Where are the bats?" he cried.
I raised my eyes to the rafters. "Hey — !" I cried out. No bats. No sign of any bats anywhere.
I climbed to my feet, pulling my hair back with both hands. "Let's get out of here!" I cried.
Clay and I followed Luke out of the barn. The warm sunshine felt so good!
I was still itchy from the bats. I rubbed my shoulders and the back of my neck. "I hate bats! I really do!" I exclaimed with a shudder.
"But there weren't any bats," Luke said, grinning at me. "It was all a fake."
"Huh? It was not!" Clay cried angrily. "Those were bats. I could hear them — and feel them!"
"All special effects," Luke claimed.
"It wasn't special effects when one got tangled in my hair!" I cried. Just thinking about it gave me cold shivers.
"Special effects," Luke repeated. "Really excellent special effects. I was almost scared, too."
"Almost?" I cried. I walked over, grabbed him, and pretended to wring his neck. "Almost? I heard you screaming your head off, Luke!"
He pulled out of my grasp, laughing. "I knew it wasn't real. I was just screaming like that to scare you!"
What a liar! I really didn't believe my brother. He was scared. He was plenty scared. I knew he was!
"They were bats, not special effects," I insisted angrily.
"Then where did they go when the door opened?" Luke demanded. "As soon as the door opened, the bats all vanished."
"Let's stop talking about it," Clay pleaded. "Let's find your parents — okay?"
"Yeah, okay," I agreed, glaring at Luke. "You really are nuts, you know that?" I told him.
He stuck his tongue out at me.
I wanted to punch his lights out. But I try to be a nonviolent person. So I just gave him one hard punch on the shoulder.
He howled in protest. "You're stupid, Lizzy. You're really stupid," he muttered. "And you're afraid of pretend bats!"
I ignored him and led the way down the path toward the front gate. Two people in Horror costumes appeared on the path, going the other way, chatting enthusiastically.
"Is this the way to the front gate?" I called to them.
They ignored my question and walked right past us.
"Hey — !" I called to them.
But they both kept jabbering away and didn't even seem to see or hear me.
The sun beamed down on us. The air had become hot and still, with no breeze at all.
I wiped sweat off my forehead with one hand. I could still smell the sour aroma of the Bat Barn. The odor was on my hands, on my clothes.
I saw four teenagers in bathing suits, two boys and two girls, hurrying over the grass toward a large, brown pond. A sign came into view near the shore. It read: ALLIGATOR POND. FEEL FREE TO SWIM HERE.
Luke laughed. "Are those guys crazy?"
We stopped to watch them step into the water.
"Do you think there are really alligators in there?" Clay asked, biting his lower lip.
I shrugged. "Who knows? I don't know what to think about this park!"
We continued along the path. A few minutes later, I recognized the mountain-shaped structure of the Doom Slide. The wide, circular plaza came into view. It was nearly deserted. Even the ice-cream-selling Horror had vanished from his cart.
"Where do you suppose Mom and Dad are?" I asked.
"They've probably been looking for us for hours, and now they're really mad," Luke said, frowning.
"Where are they?" Clay cried. He was starting to sound really stressed out. "We've got to find them."
"Is that them?" Luke asked. He was pointing to a man and a woman in the shade of a large stone fountain.
I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand. The woman was tall, with dark hair. The man was short and blond.
"Yes! That's them!" I cried happily. I started running to the fountain, calling to them, "Mom!
Dad!" The boys came racing after me.
"Mom! Dad! Hey — !" I shouted happily.
They both turned around, surprised expressions on their faces.
"Oh!" I cried out when I saw it wasn't them. I stopped short, and Luke bumped right into me.
"Sorry," I told the confused couple. "We thought you were someone else."
The three of us hurried across the plaza. I could hear the wail of wolf howls from the Werewolf Village. The ice-cream cart stood lonely and deserted near the entrance to the Doom Slide.
"Where are they?" Clay asked, whining. "I'm starting to get hungry."
"Yeah. It's way past lunchtime," I agreed.
"They could be anywhere," Luke said unhappily, kicking a pebble across the pavement. "They could be anywhere in this giant park."
I sighed. "Let's look for them in the shade. The sun is really getting hot."
We headed toward the shade of the Doom Slide building. Suddenly, two green-costumed Horrors came into view. Their big, yellow eyes bulged in front of their heads.
Without thinking, I went running up to them. "Have you seen our parents?" I asked breathlessly.
They stared at me in surprise. "Your parents?" one of them repeated.
"Yeah." I nodded. "My mom has black hair. My dad is kind of short and he has blond hair."
"Hmmmm." The two Horrors glanced at each other.
"Mom was wearing a bright yellow sundress," I told them.
"And Dad had a Chicago Cubs cap on his head," Luke added.
"Oh, yeah. Right," one of the Horrors, a woman, replied.
"You saw them?" I asked eagerly.
She nodded. "Yeah. I remember them. They left. They left about half an hour ago."
"Huh?" I gaped at her in disbelief.
"They asked me to give you a message," the Horror said.
"Message? What message?" I asked.
"Good-bye," the Horror replied.

16
"You're wrong!" I cried. "They wouldn't leave."
"About half an hour ago," the Horror repeated. She shrugged her shoulders under the bulky monster costume. "I was at the gate when they left."
"But — but — " I sputtered.
The two Horrors turned and began walking toward a small white shed at the edge of the plaza.
"Hey, wait!" I called, chasing after them. "You made a mistake. Our parents wouldn't leave without us."
They disappeared into the shed. The door slammed behind them.
I turned back to Luke and Clay. They stared at me blankly.
"She was wrong," I told them. "Mom and Dad are still here. I know it."
"Then why did she say — " Clay started, but his voice broke. I could see that he was very worried and upset. Beads of sweat ran down his pink forehead.
Luke tried to make a joke. "I guess that means we have the whole park to ourselves!" he exclaimed, forcing a smile.
"Very funny," I replied sarcastically. "We also have no money, and we're about three hundred miles from home."
"We could call somebody," Luke suggested.
"No phones," Clay muttered. He lowered his head, shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and turned away from us.
"Oh, right," Luke remembered. "They told Dad there are no phones in the park."
"That's crazy," I said heatedly. "They're liars. The Horrors are all liars."
"I guess that's their job," Luke said. "Telling us lies to scare us to death. That's why they call it HorrorLand."
"They should call it DumbLand," Clay muttered bitterly.
"But it's so cool!" Luke protested. "I love being scared out of my wits. Don't you?" He gave Clay a hard shove.
"No," Clay replied softly. He made no attempt to shove Luke back.
"Well, she was lying about Mom and Dad," I insisted, gazing at the white shed. "She was just trying to scare us. Mom and Dad are still here. We just have to find them."
"Come on, let's go," Luke urged. "I hope we find them soon. I'm getting really hungry."
We wandered through the park for what seemed like hours. We searched through dark, mysterious woods and strange monster villages. We passed through a carnival area with dozens of scary-looking rides.
On the other side of a Vampire Village, we passed a building marked Monster Zoo. It was closed. But we could hear the most terrifying grunts, howls, and moans coming from inside.
A long yellow building had a sign outside that proclaimed: GUILLOTINE MUSEUM. PLEASE HOLD ON TO YOUR HEAD. Luke wanted to go inside, but Clay and I talked him out of it.
HorrorLand was surprisingly empty. We passed several Horrors scurrying along the paths in their bright green costumes. And we saw a few families wandering around, always with crying kids.
The rides in the carnival area were all running empty. All of the food stands and restaurants were empty, too.
We walked clear across to the other end of the park. I was feeling more and more worried.
Why hadn't we run into Mom and Dad?
Surely we should have seen them by now.
Clay had become very quiet. I could tell he was really scared. Even Luke trudged along with his shoulders slumped and his head down.
By the time we found ourselves back at the Alligator Pond, I was feeling pretty bad. I crossed the grassy shore and walked up to the edge of the brown water.
"What do you think happened to those teenagers who went swimming here?" Luke asked, staring across the pond. "Think the alligators ate them?"
"Maybe," I replied. I wasn't really listening to him. I was thinking about Mom and Dad.
"Hey, look!" Clay cried, pointing to the water.
I saw two long, greenish-brown logs floating toward us on top of the water. It took me a while to realize that the logs were alligators.
"Big ones!" Clay declared in a hushed whisper.
"Better step back," I warned them.
All three of us were standing on the water's edge. The alligators floated silently just below the surface of the still water, hardly creating a ripple.
"Mom and Dad didn't leave without us," I repeated for the thousandth time.
"But we searched everywhere," Luke said quietly.
"They didn't leave without us," I said. "They would never leave without us. So . . ." I hesitated. I was thinking hard, and my thoughts were all frightening.
"So?" Clay asked eagerly.
"So if they're not in the park," I continued, "it means something happened to them. Something bad happened to them."
Clay gasped. Luke narrowed his blue eyes at me. "What do you mean, Lizzy?" he asked.
"I mean maybe this place really is evil," I said. "And maybe the Horrors or somebody did something bad to Mom and Dad."
I stared down at the brown alligator backs gliding so smoothly, so effortlessly toward us.
"That's crazy," Luke muttered.
I knew it was crazy. But I had no other explanation.
"I have such a bad feeling about this park," I told them. "A real bad feeling."
And as I said that, I felt strong hands grab me from behind and push me into the Alligator Pond.

17
I screamed.
Then I realized I wasn't being tossed into the water.
The hands were holding on to my shoulders.
I spun around. "Dad!" I cried.
"Lizzy!" he exclaimed, still holding on to me. "Where have you guys been?"
"We've searched this entire park twelve times!" Mom declared. She was standing behind us on the grass, hands pressed tensely on her waist.
"We were looking for you!" I cried.
"They told us you left!" Luke said.
"We were kind of scared," Clay added.
We all started talking at once. I was so happy to see them. And I could see that Luke and Clay were really happy, too.
I had imagined all sorts of terrible things happening to Mom and Dad. It wasn't like me to let my imagination run away like that.
But HorrorLand was such a scary place. It was impossible not to have scary thoughts here.
"I want to go home," I said.
"Did you find a phone?" Clay asked. "Did you find a car?"
Dad shook his head. "No. No phones. The guy in the monster costume didn't lie. There are no phones in the park."
"But the Horrors were very nice to us," Mom broke in. "They told us not to worry about a thing."
"They said to just come to the ticket booth when we were ready to leave," Dad reported.
Mom ran a hand tenderly through Luke's hair. "Did you go on any rides or anything?"
"We did a lot of scary stuff," Luke told her.
"Very scary," Clay added.
"I'm really hungry," Luke said.
Dad glanced at his watch. "It's way past lunchtime. I think we're all hungry."
"The restaurants and foodstands are all on the other side of the park," Mom said.
"Can we just eat lunch and then leave?" I asked eagerly. I still had a bad feeling about the place. I wanted to get away from HorrorLand, far away.
"Your mom and I have spent all our time searching for you," Dad said, wiping sweat off his sunburnt forehead with one hand. "We haven't had any fun at all."
"We should all at least go on one ride together before we leave," Mom said.
"I just want to go," I urged. "I really do."
"Lizzy, that's not like you," Mom scolded.
"She's scared," Luke told them. "She's a chicken."
"Maybe there's a ride that will take us to the front of the park," Dad suggested. "We could all take it, then have some lunch and leave."
"That sounds good," Mom said. She stared at me. "Okay with you?"
"I guess," I told her, sighing. "It's just that the rides here are all too scary. They aren't any fun."
Luke laughed. "They're too scary for Lizzy — but not for Clay and me," he said. "Right, Clay?"
"I was a little scared in the Bat Barn," Clay confessed.
We headed away from the Alligator Pond, across the grassy shore to the paved walkway. A couple of costumed Horrors walked past, chattering in low voices.
A girl's high-pitched shrieks of terror floated in the air from somewhere in the distance. The same frightening cry repeated over and over.
Wolf howls rose up in front of us. And from a speaker hidden somewhere in the trees, I heard evil laughter, a hideous cackle that repeated over and over.
"It's like being in a horror movie," Mom commented.
"Very clever," Dad added, walking with a hand on my shoulder. "It's strange that we never heard of this park."
"They should put some ads on TV," Mom said. "Then they'd get more people to come here."
We passed by a tall, narrow, green building with a sign in front that read: FREE FALL. THE ONLY BUNGEE JUMP WITHOUT A CORD.
"Want to try that?" Dad asked, squeezing my shoulder and grinning at me.
"I don't think so," I quickly replied.
Luke was way ahead of us. He turned around and walked backwards, waiting for us to catch up. "Mom and Dad should try the Doom Slide," he said, grinning. "It's awesome!"
Had he really forgotten how terrified he was?
"I don't think they'd like it," I said quietly.
"Maybe we could find something that's just a little scary," Clay suggested.
Dad laughed. "Are you having a good time, Clay?"
Clay hesitated. "A little," he replied finally.
"I'm having a great time!" Luke declared.
The path curved along a narrow, brown river. Millions of tiny white insects flitted over the surface of the water. Catching the bright sunlight, they looked like little, sparkling diamonds.
A small, brown boathouse came into view. Behind it, I could see slender canoes bobbing beneath a wooden dock.
A sign beside the boathouse read: COFFIN CRUISE. A RELAXING FLOAT TO THE GRAVE.
"This might be fun," Mom said, her eyes on the small boats.
"I think the river flows toward the front of the park," Dad said. "Let's take it!"
Luke cheered and went running to the dock.
I lingered behind the others. When I finally stepped out onto the dock, it took me a while to realize that the objects bobbing in the brown water weren't canoes — they were coffins!
They were made of black, polished wood. The lids were pulled back, revealing red satin interiors. Each coffin was big enough for one person.
I felt a cold chill run down my back. "We're really going to climb into coffins?" I asked.
"They look comfy," Mom said, smiling at me. "The water is flat and gentle, Lizzy. It won't be a scary ride."
"Me first!" Luke cried, running to the end of the wooden dock.
Two costumed Horrors appeared to help us into the coffins. "Lie back. Enjoy the ride," one of them said.
"It will be your last," the other Horror added with a low chuckle.
When we were all inside coffins, the Horrors untied them and gave us a hard push away from the dock.
Here I am, I thought, lying in my coffin.
Here we all are, my entire family, on our backs in our coffins.
The coffin floated gently, bobbing in the water. I stared up at the bright blue sky. Trees shimmered on both banks as I floated past.
It was so pretty, so relaxing.
Why did I think something terrible was about to happen?

18
Lying on my back, I couldn't see the others over the coffin sides. But I could hear the splash of their coffins around mine.
"This is nice," Mom said. "Very relaxing."
"It's boring!" Luke declared from up ahead of me. "Where's the scary part?"
"It's just a nice ride in a coffin," Dad said. "Do you think we're really floating? Or do you think the coffin is on some kind of track?"
"I could float like this for hours," Mom said.
"The rides here are pretty long," Clay told her.
"Is that a hawk up in the sky?" Dad asked. "Can everyone see it?"
Shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand, I searched the sky. Directly above, a dark shadow hovered high in the sky, a little bigger than a dot.
"It's not a hawk. I'll bet it's a vulture!" Luke declared. "It sees the coffins, and it's waiting to eat our flesh!" He laughed.
"Luke — where do you get these hideous ideas?" Mom demanded.
"Maybe Luke should live in HorrorLand!" Dad exclaimed. "We could get him one of those green monster costumes, and he'd fit right in perfectly!"
"He doesn't need a costume!" I joked. I was starting to feel a little better. The ride was gentle and relaxing. And I figured nothing terrible could happen with my whole family around.
I settled back on the coffin bottom, my hands resting at my sides, and stared up dreamily at the bird circling high in the clear sky. The coffin bobbed gently, making soft splashing sounds.
So pleasant . . .
So quiet . . .
And then, before I could utter a sound, the coffin lid slammed shut over me. And I was trapped in total darkness.

19
"Hey — !" I shouted. My voice was muffled by the heavy lid over me.
I could heard the dull thud of the other coffin lids slamming shut.
"Hey — let me out!"
I pushed against the lid with both hands. But it wouldn't budge.
I took a deep breath and tried again. This time, I pushed with my hands and my feet. The heavy lid still didn't move.
My heart was pounding so hard, I thought my chest would explode. The air inside the closed coffin was already getting hot and stuffy.
"Open up! Open up!" I screamed.
I tried pushing the lid again. I could hear Clay's muffled cries in the coffin next to mine. The poor guy was screaming his head off.
I let out a loud groan as I pushed up with all my strength. The lid wouldn't give an inch.
Calm down, Lizzy. Calm down, I instructed myself. It's just a stupid ride. The coffin lid will open any second.
Breathing hard, I waited.
I counted to ten.
I counted to ten again.
The lid didn't snap open.
I tried shutting my eyes and counting to fifty. When I reach fifty, I told myself, I'll open my eyes, and the lid will be open.
". . . twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four . . ." I counted out loud. My voice sounded tiny and choked. It was getting hard to breathe. The air began to feel really stale.
I stopped counting at twenty-five and opened my eyes. The lid hadn't popped open.
It's so hot in here, I thought. The sun is beating down on the lid. There's no air, and I'm going to fry!
I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
I gasped for air.
Outside, I could hear muffled shouts and cries.
Was that my mother screaming like that?
"It's just a ride," I said out loud. "Just a stupid ride. The lid is going to pop — now!"
But it didn't.
The air was so hot, so hot and stale.
Why didn't the lid open?
Why?
I tried to force back my panic, but I couldn't. My entire body was shaking and shivering. I felt cold perspiration drip down my forehead.
"Something has gone wrong!" I cried out loud. "The lid is supposed to open — but it doesn't!"
Frantically, I pushed up with both hands. My arms ached from pushing so hard. But the lid didn't move.
The coffin bobbed and rocked in the water.
I lowered my hands in defeat. I sucked in a mouthful of the hot, stale air. My chest was heaving. My body trembled.
And then I felt my legs start to itch. A tingly feeling down near my ankles.
Moving up my legs.
An itchy, crawly feeling.
Something was crawling slowly up my legs.
Something small and prickly.
"Ohh." I let out a low, terrified groan.
Spiders!

20
I tried to scratch my legs, but my arms weren't long enough. Unable to move or bend in the cramped coffin, I couldn't reach down to them.
The tingling moved higher.
I wanted to scream, but I started to cough.
And then the coffin lid popped open. Bright sunlight made me shut my eyes.
"Oh!" I pulled myself up to a sitting position. Blinking against the light, I saw the others already scrambling up out of their coffins.
I scratched my legs furiously. To my surprise, there were no spiders. No bugs of any kind.
The coffin had pulled up to a small dock. I braced both hands against the sides of the coffin and heaved myself to my feet.
"Let's get out of here!" I heard Clay cry.
"That was horrible!" my mom shrieked.
Luke didn't say anything. His face was pale, and his black hair was matted to his forehead with sweat.
"They really went too far!" Dad said angrily. "I'm going to complain."
"Let's just go!" Mom told him.
We all scrambled onto the dock. I helped pull Clay up. Then I took several deep breaths of fresh air.
Dad ran off the dock toward the open plaza, and the rest of us hurried after him. "To the ticket booth!" he called back to us. "Right up there!" He pointed.
The coffin ride had taken us to the front of the park. I could see the front gate and the row of green ticket booths to the right.
"That ride was really gross!" Clay said, shaking his head.
"My legs got all itchy. I thought it was ants!" Luke declared.
"I thought it was spiders!" I told him.
"I wonder how they did that," Luke said thoughtfully.
"I don't care," I replied. "I just want to get out of here. I hate this place!"
"So do I," Clay agreed.
"They just go too far," Mom said breathlessly, jogging to keep up with us as we followed Dad. "It isn't any fun when a ride is that scary. I really had trouble breathing."
"So did I," I told her.
"Hey, how do we get home?" Luke suddenly demanded, staring at Mom. "Our car blew up."
"I think those people in the monster costumes will lend us a car," Mom replied. "They told your father just to come to the ticket booth."
"Can we stop and get pizza?" Luke asked.
"Let's get out of this place and then worry about lunch," Mom told him.
The main plaza was totally empty. Not another living person.
We followed Dad to the first ticket booth. He turned back to us, making a disappointed face. "Closed," he said. A metal grate had been pulled over the window.
Dad was breathing hard from running all the way. He pushed his blond hair off his sweaty forehead with both hands. "Over here," he said.
We followed him to the next ticket booth. Also closed.
Then the next. Closed.
It didn't take us long to discover that all of the ticket booths were closed.
"Weird," Luke said, shaking his head.
"Don't they expect any more visitors today?" Mom asked Dad. "How can they just close up like that?"
Dad shrugged. "We'll have to ask someone." His eyes searched the empty grounds.
I turned and checked out the plaza along with him. Still no one in sight. No visitors. No Horrors.
"Let's try over there," Dad said. He started walking to a low, green building that stood beyond the ticket booths. It looked like some kind of office.
It was closed, too. Dad tried the door. It was locked.
Dad scratched his head. "What's going on here? Where'd everyone disappear to?" he demanded.
Mom took his arm. "It's very strange," she said softly.
I glanced at Luke and Clay. They were standing tensely side by side on the walk in front of the office. Neither of them spoke.
"Are you sure these are the right ticket booths?" I asked.
"Yes," Dad replied wearily. "This is the front entrance."
"So where can everyone be?" Mom asked, chewing her lower lip.
"Maybe we can find someone in the parking lot," I suggested. "You know. A parking attendant or something. They'll be able to tell us how to get a car to go home."
"Good idea, Lizzy," Dad said. He patted the top of my head, the way he used to when I was a little girl.
I waited for Luke to make fun of me. But he didn't say a word. I guess he was too worried and upset.
"Come on," I urged. I turned and ran past the empty ticket booths. The tall, metal front gate to HorrorLand stood just beyond the booths.
I stopped for a second to read a sign on the side of one of the ticket booths. It said: NO EXIT. NO ONE LEAVES HORRORLAND ALIVE!
"Ha-ha," I said sarcastically. "These signs are a riot, aren't they?"
I jogged the rest of the way and reached the gate first. I pulled it, and it wouldn't open. So I tried pushing it.
It didn't move.
Then I saw the heavy chain and the large steel padlock on the gate.
Swallowing hard, I turned back to the others.
"We're locked in!" I told them.

21
"What?" Dad stared at me, his face twisted in confusion. I don't think he believed me.
"We're locked in!" I repeated. I lifted the heavy metal padlock with both hands and then let it fall back with a loud clang against the bars of the gate.
"But that's impossible!" Mom cried, raising her hands to her cheeks. "They can't lock people inside an amusement park!"
"Maybe it's another joke," Luke suggested. "Everything in this place turns out to be a joke. Maybe this is one, too."
I lifted the heavy padlock again. "It doesn't look like a joke, Luke," I said unhappily.
"Then there must be another gate where they want us to exit," Mom suggested.
"Maybe," Dad said doubtfully. "Maybe there's a side exit. But I haven't seen one."
"What are we going to do?" Clay asked, whining. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.
"Where is everyone?" Luke demanded, whining, too. "They've got to let us leave. They've got to!"
"Let's try to stay calm," Dad said, putting a hand on Luke's shoulder. "There's no reason to panic. This is a strange place, but we're not in any danger."
"He's right," Mom broke in. "There's no reason to be afraid. We'll be out of here and on our way home in no time." She forced a smile.
"As soon as we get out, I'll buy you guys pizzas and big, cold drinks," Dad promised. "And we'll all have a good laugh about our terrifying adventures today in HorrorLand."
"But how do we get out?" Luke demanded shrilly.
"Well . . ." Dad rubbed his chin.
"Do you think we could climb the fence?" I asked.
We all raised our eyes to the top of the iron fence. It was way over our heads. It must have been about twenty feet tall.
"I can't climb that!" Clay cried. "I'd fall!"
"It's too high," Mom said quickly.
"Bad idea," I murmured.
A large white cloud drifted over the sun. Our shadows grew longer over the pavement. The air quickly grew cooler.
I felt a chill run down my back.
"There's got to be a way out of this stupid park!" I cried angrily. I hoisted up the padlock and slammed it against the bars of the gate.
"Hold on, Lizzy," Dad said soothingly. "We just have to find one of those costumed park workers. They'll tell us how to get out."
"Uh . . . Dad . . ." I turned and saw Luke grab Dad's arm. "Here they come."
We all uttered astonished cries as we saw the Horrors crossing the plaza. Dozens of them. They moved quickly, with a steady rhythm. Silently.
A few seconds before, the plaza had been empty. Now it was filled with green-costumed Horrors marching toward us, spreading out, preparing to surround us.
I could feel the panic rise up from my stomach. My knees began to shake. I stared in horror at them as they drew closer, closer. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
"What are they going to do?" Clay cried, his features twisted in terror. He slipped behind Dad. "What are they going to do to us?" he cried.

22
We huddled together as the Horrors marched silently toward us. The only sound was the soft thud of their monster feet on the pavement, and their long purple tails dragging on the ground.
"There are hundreds of them!" Mom murmured. She grabbed Dad's arm with one hand. She slipped her other arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.
We had our backs against the iron fence. We stared helplessly at the grinning, green faces, the bulging yellow eyes, which appeared to be laughing cruelly at us.
Finally, they stopped a few feet in front of us.
The plaza was still and silent. Terrifyingly silent.
The sun was still hidden behind the big cloud. Two large, black birds swooped low in the gray sky.
We stared at the Horrors, and they stared back at us.
I swallowed hard, leaning against my mother. I could feel her entire body trembling.
I took a deep breath and then cried out: "What do you want?" The sound of my own voice startled me.
One of the Horrors, a young woman, stepped forward.
Frightened, I tried to back up. But my back was already pressed against the fence.
"What do you want?" I repeated in a trembling voice.
The costumed Horror stared at us one by one. "I want to thank you," she said in a cheery voice.
"Huh?" I uttered.
"I'm the HorrorLand MC. We all want to thank you for being our guests today." She flashed us a warm smile.
"You mean we can go?" Luke demanded, half-hidden behind my dad.
"Of course," the Horror said, grinning warmly. "But first we all want to thank you for appearing on HorrorLand Hidden Camera."
The dozens of Horrors behind her broke into applause and loud cheers.
"Huh? You mean this is some kind of show?" Dad demanded, frowning.
"See the cameras?" the MC asked. She gestured up to two tall poles in the plaza.
Raising my eyes to the top, I saw two TV cameras.
"You mean we were on TV?" Luke cried.
"Since the moment you arrived," the MC replied. "Our hidden cameras followed you everywhere. From the hilarious scene where we blew up your car, our cameras were with you. And I know our home audience loved the terrified expressions on your faces and all of your horrified screams as you took our HorrorLand rides!"
"Now, wait a minute," Dad said angrily. He took a step forward. His hands were balled into tense fists at his sides. "You say this is a TV show? How come I've never seen it?"
"We're seen every weekend on The Monster Channel," the Horror replied.
"Oh," Dad replied quickly, lowering his eyes. "We don't have cable."
"You should get it," the Horror told him. "You're missing a lot of great, scary shows on The Monster Channel."
The Horrors all clapped and cheered.
"Well, you've been very good sports," the MC continued, her yellow eyes bouncing in front of her head as she talked. "We've enjoyed having you. And to show our appreciation, we have a brand-new car waiting for you in the parking lot!"
More cheers and applause from the Horrors.
"A new car? That's excellent!" Luke exclaimed.
"Does that mean we can leave?" Clay asked timidly.
The Horror nodded. "Yes, it's time for you to leave. The real exit is right over there, through that doorway."
She pointed to a tall, green building near the end of the fence. I saw a yellow door on the side.
"Take the yellow door," the Horror instructed. "And thanks again for appearing on HorrorLand Hidden Camera!"
As all the Horrors clapped their big, green hands, we stepped away from the fence and hurried toward the exit. "I can't believe we were on TV the whole time!" Mom declared.
"And we're getting a new car!" Luke exclaimed happily. He started jumping up and down. Then he leaped onto Clay's back, nearly knocking him over.
I laughed. It was good to see the old Luke back with us.
"We've got to get cable!" Luke told Dad. "I want to see The Monster Channel. It's got to be awesome!"
"We'll have to order it so we can see ourselves," Mom said.
I reached the yellow door first and pulled it open. I stepped into an enormous room, with white walls that shone under the bright white lights from the ceiling.
"Is this the exit?" I cried.
As soon as we were all inside, the door slammed shut with a bang that made my heart skip.
Then all the lights went out.
"Welcome to the HorrorLand Challenge!" boomed a deep, frightening voice over a loudspeaker.
"Huh?" I gazed blindly around, trying to see something — anything — in the total darkness.
"You have one minute to go through the Monster Obstacle Course," the voice thundered. "Please keep in mind that the games are now over. This is real. You're playing for your life!"

23
"We've been tricked!" I heard Dad cry angrily. And then he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Let's get out of here!"
"Run!" the deep voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "You have fifty-six seconds."
Dad started to shout again. But we stopped when a dim light came up, and a disgusting four-armed creature stepped toward us.
"Ohhh!" I cried out without even realizing it.
The size of a gorilla, the monster had huge green eyes surrounded by thick red fur over its face. Saliva drooled from its mouth. And as it opened its jaws wider, two rows of long fangs slid over its thin purple lips.
"Don't just stand there! Run! This is an obstacle course!" the voice boomed impatiently. "You have fifty seconds to live! At least make a good race of it!"
The monster uttered a low growl and lumbered toward us in the dim light. Its jaws were opened wide as if preparing to bite. Its four enormous, clawed hands swiped at the air in front of it.
I was too stunned to move, too frightened to run.
But, suddenly, I felt a hand grab mine and tug me hard.
It was Dad, I realized, trying to pull me to safety.
I heard the boys screaming in fear. I felt Mom brush beside me as we started to stumble forward.
"Run! Run!" the deep voice urged over the shrieks of the two boys.
I couldn't see where I was running. The light was so dim, so shadowy. I saw only a blur now, a blur of running feet, of moving shadows.
The monster let out a deafening roar. I covered my ears and kept running.
Its four clawed hands swiped at Dad. Missed.
We hurtled past it.
Only to face two giant birds, at least ten feet tall. They looked like cranes. They squawked and flapped their enormous wings. It sounded like canvas tents flapping in a strong wind.
"Ohh! Help!"
Was that me shrieking like that?
Was I really being wrapped in their hot, flapping wings? Smothered? Choked?
"No — please!"
How did I break away?
Was I being chased now by six growling piglike creatures with sharp, pointed teeth curling from their twisted mouths?
The screams and terrified shrieks of my family rose over the beating birds' wings, the monstrous growls and grunts.
I heard Dad cry out. And in the dim light, I saw him struggling to free himself from the four-armed creature.
"No!" I screamed as I felt something warm wrap around my ankle. A fur-covered snake!
I screamed again and kicked wildly, sending it flying into the darkness.
But before I could move away, another furry snake spun around my leg, tightening quickly.
I bent and pulled at it as it hissed in protest.
I tossed it aside.
"Run! Run!" the voice on the loudspeaker boomed. "Twenty seconds to live!"
More monsters loomed in front of us. Disgusting yellow lizardlike creatures with dark, flicking tongues like bullwhips. A hopping furry ball that roared as it hopped, sharp teeth poking out of three mouths.
Hissing snakes, enormous, buzzing insects with glowing red eyes, more grunting pig monsters. Then a giant bearlike creature came at us on two legs. It tossed its dark, round head back, and laughed like a hyena as its paws punched the air.
"Help me!" I heard Luke shriek. And then I saw him disappear, wrapped inside the beating wings of one of the giant birds.
The bird cawed in triumph as its wings tightened around my brother.
"Ten seconds!" the voice boomed.
"No!" I cried. I lunged toward the bird, grasped the beating wing, and pulled it open.
Luke slid out, and we both began to run.
Monsters growled, and flapped, and grunted, and roared.
"Are we . . . going to make it?" Luke asked in a tiny voice.
I didn't have a chance to answer.
Two powerful paws grabbed me around the waist, hoisted me high in the air, then slammed me to the floor.
I landed hard on my stomach. My forehead hit the floor.
Dizzy and hurt, I looked up in time to see an enormous, elephantlike creature about to flatten me with its huge, furry back foot.
I'm not going to make it, I realized.
I'm not going to make it.

24
The enormous, flat foot lowered over me slowly, steadily. The monster was taking its time.
It all seemed to be happening in slow motion.
I wanted to move. I wanted to roll out from under it.
But the fall had taken my breath away. I lay there gasping, watching the monster foot coming down to crush me.
"Ohhh." I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't squirm away.
I could feel the heat of the monster foot. I could smell its putrid sweat.
The foot pressed down on my stomach.
I shut my eyes and waited for the pain.
The jarring blast of a buzzer made my eyes shoot open.
The buzz echoed through the vast room.
The monster raised its heavy foot from my body. The floor shook under its weight as it began to lumber away.
Am I alive? I wondered.
Or am I only dreaming that I'm still alive?
Is that creature really leaving without crushing me?
The buzzer echoed in my ear. Then it abruptly stopped. The loudspeaker crackled on.
"Time's up!" a woman's voice said. The voice of the HorrorLand MC who had led us to this terrifying obstacle course.
"Time is up. What a thrilling race!" she gushed.
I groaned and started to pull myself up. In the dim light, I saw that all of the monsters had vanished.
"That was a tough battle," the MC continued over the loudspeaker. "Do we have any survivors?"
"Yes, we do," the deep, booming voice replied.
"How many survivors do we have in there?" the woman asked.
"Three," the booming voice replied. "Three survivors out of five."

25
A cold chill ran down my body.
I opened my mouth in a silent cry of shock and leaped to my feet.
Three out of five?
Did that mean that two of us were dead?
My chest still ached. My knees were trembling. I squinted into the dim light, searching desperately for the others.
Halfway across the room, I saw Luke and Clay. They were huddled together, walking as if in a daze toward the far wall.
"Hey — !" I tried to call to them. But my voice came out a choked whisper.
Where were Mom and Dad?
Were they both killed by the monsters?
Three out of five. Three out of five.
"Nooooooooo!" I finally found my voice and let out a horrified wail that echoed off the walls.
"Excuse me. A slight mistake," the deep voice boomed. "Make that five out of five survivors."
"Five out of five!" the HorrorLand MC exclaimed. "A new record. We've never had a perfect score before. Let's give them a round of applause, everyone!"
I took a deep breath and held it, trying to stop my trembling.
They're okay! I thought happily. Mom and Dad are okay.
And then I saw them. They had their arms around Luke and Clay and were making their way toward me.
"We're okay!" I cried, rushing to them, my arms outstretched. "We're okay!"
All five of us huddled in the center of the dark room, hugging each other and sobbing.
Dad's arm was bleeding from a deep gash. One of the monsters had clawed him.
Aside from that, we were shaken but not hurt.
"Now what?" Luke asked in a trembling voice. "Are they going to let us go?"
"They can't get away with this," Dad said angrily. "They can't do this to people and get away with it. I don't care if it is TV!"
"Those monsters were real!" I exclaimed with a shudder. "It wasn't a fake. They were really trying to kill us."
"How do we get out?" Luke demanded. "Will they let us out?"
We all started chattering at once, our voices high and frightened.
Suddenly, the ceiling lights flashed on, flooding the room with bright light. And the MC's voice broke through our frightened conversation. "Let's bring our winners out with a round of applause!" she announced cheerfully.
We all cried out as the floor began to tilt beneath us. I grabbed on to Dad, and we started to slide.
The floor tilted down like a sliding board. And we slid out of the room — and landed in the plaza outside.
Still feeling dazed, I jumped quickly to my feet as the HorrorLand MC hurried to greet us. The big crowd of Horrors behind her was clapping and cheering.
"You can't do this to us!" I screeched.
I was so angry, I didn't know what I was doing. I just totally freaked.
I leaped at the woman, grabbed the top of her mask, and started to pull it off with both hands.
"You can't do this! You can't!" I shrieked. "Let me see your face! Let me see who you really are!"
Using all of my strength, I gave the mask a hard tug.
Then I screamed and let go as I realized the truth.

26
She wasn't wearing a mask!
The monstrous green face was her face.
She wasn't wearing a monster costume. None of the Horrors were wearing costumes, I realized.
I stepped back, raising my hands in horror as if trying to shield myself. "You — you're really monsters!" I stammered.
They nodded back at me, pleased grins on their ugly faces. Their yellow eyes bobbed gleefully.
"You — you're all monsters!" I screamed. "But — but you said this was a TV show," I stammered to the Horror MC.
Her bulging yellow eyes gazed at me. "We're happy to say it is the top-rated show on The Monster Channel," she said cheerily. "Thanks to great contestants like you and your family. The Monster Channel is watched by nearly two million monsters all over the world."
"But — but — " I stammered, taking another step back.
"People don't always take us seriously," she continued. "People come to HorrorLand and think it's all a big joke. People laugh at the signs around the park. They laugh at the rides and attractions. But it's all very serious to us. All of it."
My father stepped up beside me, shaking a fist angrily. "But you can't do this to innocent people!" he shouted. "You can't bring people into this park to torture them, and — and — "
"Oh, I'm sorry. Our time is up for this week," the MC interrupted, shaking her enormous green head. "I'm sad to say it's time to say good-bye to our special guests for this week."
"Now, wait — " Dad shouted, raising both hands for quiet.
The crowd of Horrors silently pushed forward. We had no choice but to start moving with them.
"Let me show you people the way we say goodbye on The HorrorLand Hidden Camera Show," the MC said.
Dad tried to hold back, to resist, but several Horrors bumped against him. They were bumping all of us now, pushing us toward what appeared to be a round, purple pond just beyond the plaza.
We couldn't fight back. There were too many of them.
We couldn't run. They had us surrounded.
They drove us like sheepdogs herding cattle. In a few seconds, we were standing on the edge of the purple pond.
A foul smell rose up from the pond. The purple liquid bubbled and gurgled, making a sick sucking sound.
"Let us go!" Luke cried shrilly. "We want to go home!"
The HorrorLand MC ignored his frantic pleas and stepped to the edge of the gurgling pond. "Saying good-bye is always sad," she said. "So we try to have a little fun with our farewells."
"Just let us go!" Luke insisted. Dad put a hand on his shoulder to try to comfort him.
We all stared at the MC as she raised a large rock in one hand and held it over the disgusting, bubbling pond. "Watch," she instructed us with a smile.
She let the rock drop into the pond.
As soon as it touched the thick surface, it was pulled down with a loud sucking sound.
"See how easy it is to say good-bye?" the Horror said, turning to us. "Now, will you jump in — or do you want to be pushed?"

27
Silently, the Horrors began moving in on us. Closer. Closer.
Backing up, Clay tripped over my foot and nearly fell into the gurgling purple pit. I grabbed him and held on to him until he regained his balance.
All five of us were standing on the edge of the pit.
The sour odor swept over me. I felt sick. The thick, purple slime lapped up at my ankles as if reaching out to grab me.
"Mom! Dad — !" I cried. I didn't know what I expected them to do. We were all helpless.
I knew we weren't going to escape this time.
Without realizing it, we were all holding hands.
"Will you jump in — or do you want to be pushed?" The MC repeated her question.
"I'm real sorry," Dad murmured to us, ignoring her. "I'm real sorry I brought you here. I — I didn't know . . ." His voice broke. He lowered his eyes.
"Dad, it's not your fault!" I told him, squeezing his hand.
And as I squeezed his hand, I had an idea.
A wild idea. A stupid idea. A really crazy idea.
I knew I had to try it. It was the only idea I had.
"People laugh at everything in the park," the HorrorLand MC had told us. "But it's all very serious to us," she'd said.
All very serious . . .
Very serious . . .
She stood right in front of me now, waiting for us to jump to our deaths, eager for us to get sucked down into the purple slime.
I knew this was my last chance. I knew it was crazy.
But I knew I had to try it.
I stepped up to the MC, reached out, and pinched her arm as hard as I could.

28
Her mouth opened wide, and she let out a startled gasp.
She tried to pull her arm away. But I held on and pinched harder. "The Mad Pincher strikes again!" I shouted, remembering Luke's annoying cry.
Her yellow eyes rolled around crazily. "No!" she pleaded.
Harder. Harder.
And then I was the one to cry out as her mouth opened wide, and, with a loud whoosh, a rush of air escaped her lips.
I leaped back.
As the air rushed from her mouth, she appeared to deflate, just like a balloon.
I gaped in amazement as she folded helplessly to the ground.
An angry cry rose up from the crowd of Horrors. "Inflate her!" one of them yelled. "Inflate her immediately!"
They began moving in on us, growling and grumbling menacingly.
"Pinch them!" I shouted to my family. "Pinch them! The 'No Pinching' signs that we thought were so stupid — they were serious! The Horrors deflate if they're pinched!"
A Horror stepped up, arms outstretched to push me into the pond. I pinched his arm hard, and a few seconds later, he deflated.
I heard the whoosh of air escaping to my right, and saw that Luke had deflated one, too.
Whoosh! Another one deflated and folded to the pavement.
That's all it took.
The plaza filled with frightened cries and gasps of horror.
The alarmed Horrors turned and ran. Stampeded is a better word. They scattered through the park, screaming as they ran.
Taking a long, deep breath, I happily watched them flee. "See? I always come through in a pinch!" I said, amazing myself by making a joke.
I don't think anyone else in my family heard me. They were shouting for joy, hugging each other, jumping up and down.
"Let's get out of here!" I shouted. I started running toward the front gate. The others followed close behind.
The gate was open now. I guess the Horrors had opened it, figuring the only place we were heading was to the bottom of the purple pond.
Without looking back, we ran out onto the empty parking lot.
And stopped.
"No car," I murmured.
In all the excitement, I had forgotten that our car had been blown up.
I let out a weary sigh. I felt as if I were deflating, just like the Horrors. "Now what?" I asked, staring across the enormous, flat parking lot.
"It's too far to walk!" Luke wailed. "How do we get out of here?"
"The buses!" Mom cried, pointing. I turned my eyes to the row of purple-and-green buses parked on the side of the lot. They glowed under the bright afternoon sun.
"Yeah!" Dad cried excitedly. "Maybe we can start one up and get away from here!"
We started jogging over the pavement to the buses. "Cross your fingers," Dad called, leading the way. "Maybe they leave the keys in them. It's our only chance!"
"Hurry!" Luke shouted suddenly. "They're coming!"
My heart leaped in my chest. I turned back toward the gate.
Sure enough, the Horrors were pouring out of the park, chasing after us. "Give up! You cannot escape!" one of them screamed.
"No one ever escapes!" another Horror shouted.
"Hurry!" Luke cried. "Hurry! They're going to catch us!"

29
With the Horrors close behind, shouting and threatening us, we ran full speed toward the row of buses.
My heart was pounding almost as loud as my sneakers against the pavement. My throat ached, and I had a sharp pain in my side.
But I kept running.
"You cannot escape!"
"Stop now!"
"Give up!"
The angry cries of the Horrors sounded even closer. But I didn't turn back to see if they were catching up.
The door to the first bus was open. Dad got there first and scrambled up the steps and inside.
Mom stepped in, followed by the two boys.
The engine coughed, then started up with a roar as I pulled myself inside. The bus door slid shut behind me. "Dad — the keys!" I choked out.
"Yes! They're here!" he cried happily. "Hold on! We're getting away!"
He lowered his foot on the gas pedal, and the bus shot forward. I stumbled down the aisle and fell into a seat behind Luke and Clay.
"Hurry! They're coming! They're coming!" Luke and Clay were screaming in unison.
I could hear the angry shouts of the Horrors through the closed bus windows.
"We're okay!" Dad cried, leaning over the big steering wheel. "We're okay! We're outta here!"
"Yes!" I shouted happily. "Yes!"
We all started to cheer. We kept cheering until we were out of the parking lot and back on the highway.
We laughed and celebrated all the way home.
The drive took hours and hours, but we didn't care. We were safe! We had escaped!
It was night when Dad pulled the bus up our driveway. "Home, sweet home!" I cried joyfully.
We all piled eagerly out of the bus. I took a deep breath and stretched. The air smelled so sweet and fresh. A full moon made the front lawn shine.
Then I saw him. It was a Horror, and he was clinging to the back of our bus. "Oh, no!" I cried out.
"What are you doing there?" Dad demanded.
"Did you ride back there the whole way home?" Luke asked in disbelief.
I shrank back as the Horror let go of the bus and slid to the ground. His yellow eyes studied us menacingly. He moved toward us quickly.
Clay and Luke hid behind Dad. Mom's mouth dropped open in fright.
"What do you want?" I cried.
He reached out his green hand. "Here," he said. "We forgot to give you your free passes for next year!"

MONSTER BLOOD IV

2014-03-12T02:09:00.000-07:00

MONSTER BLOOD IV

Goosebumps - 62

R.L. Stine

1

Evan Ross was thinking about Monster Blood. He thought about Monster Blood a lot.

Evan wished he had never discovered Monster Blood. The sticky, slimy green goo had to be the most dangerous substance on Earth.

Evan knew that as soon as you open a can of Monster Blood, you are doomed. The Monster Blood will grow and grow—and suck up everything in its path.

And if you accidentally eat some of the green goo—look out! A tiny chunk of Monster Blood had turned Cuddles, the classroom hamster, into a growling monster as big as a gorilla!

And when Evan accidentally swallowed a little bit of it, he shot up taller than his house. It was not the happiest day of Evan’s life. It was a day he kept trying to forget.

So why was he thinking about Monster Blood today?

His green sweater reminded him of Monster Blood. He had begged his mom not to make the sweater green. But she had already started knitting it. Too late to change colors.

“You look good in green,” she told him. “It brings out your eyes.”

“I don’t want to bring out my eyes,” Evan told her.

He wanted to scream. The yarn she used was greener than the Jolly Green Giant! He pictured himself trapped inside a giant green blob of Monster Blood.

“Wear it to your cousin Kermit’s,” Mrs. Ross instructed him.

“I don’t need a sweater,” he protested. “Just put it in my suitcase.”

“Wear it. It’s winter,” she insisted. “It gets cold, even here in Atlanta.”

“I don’t want to stay at Kermit’s,” Evan grumbled, pulling the sweater over his head. Yuck. Green—and itchy. “How long are you and Dad going to be out West?”

“Only nine or ten days,” his mother replied.

“‘Only’?” Evan cried, struggling into the tight wool sleeves. “I’ll die! Aunt Dee’s food is so horrible! She puts that hot sauce on everything. Even brownies!”

“Your aunt does not put hot sauce on brownies,” Mrs. Ross replied sternly. “She likes to make spicy food, but—”

“I’ll explode!” Evan insisted. “And that geeky little creep, Kermit—”

“Don’t call your cousin a geeky little creep,” Mrs. Ross scolded.

“Well, he is one—isn’t he?” Evan demanded.

“That’s beside the point,” his mom said. She pulled the green sweater down over Evan’s waist and admired it. “It fits perfectly. And I like that shade of green.”

“I look like a ripe watermelon,” Evan grumbled.

“Don’t forget, Aunt Dee is paying you to babysit Kermit,” his mom reminded him. She handed him his suitcase. “You want to go to sleepaway camp this summer, right? Well, you can’t go to camp unless you earn the money to pay for it.”

“I know, I know.” He kissed his mom good-bye.

“Your dad and I will call you when we get to Tucson,” Mrs. Ross said. “Take good care of Kermit. And don’t give Aunt Dee a hard time.”

“I won’t eat till you get back,” Evan told her. “I’ll probably weigh ten pounds.”

His mom laughed.

She thinks I’m joking, Evan thought bitterly.

He hoisted up his backpack and his suitcase and headed for the back door. He passed a mirror in the hall and caught a glimpse of himself in the sweater. “Sick,” he muttered. “I look like a pickle.”

“Evan—what did you say?” his mom called.

“I said, ‘Thanks for the cool sweater!’” he called back to her.

A few seconds later, he was walking through backyards, making his way to Kermit’s house at the end of the block. Maybe I can hide this sweater somewhere, he thought. Maybe I can give it to Kermit as a Christmas present.

No. Kermit is such a shrimp, the sweater would be down to his knees.

It was a sunny, crisp winter day. The sweater glowed under the bright sunlight. It really did remind Evan of Monster Blood.

He pictured the slimy green gunk. He pictured heaps and heaps of it, oozing over the backyards he passed, bubbling and pulsing.

As he walked along, Evan had no idea that he was about to have another Monster Blood adventure.

He had no idea that he was about to discover a whole new kind of Monster Blood.

He had no idea that the green Monster Blood was silly kid stuff compared to the Monster Blood he was about to find.

2

He was nearly to Kermit’s backyard, still thinking about Monster Blood, when a dark shadow swept over him.

He raised his eyes. “Conan—!” he gasped.

A big hulk of a boy loomed in front of him, hands clenched into big fists, blocking Evan’s path. He lived in the house behind Kermit’s.

His name was Conan Barber. But everyone called him Conan the Barbarian. That’s because he was the biggest, meanest kid in Atlanta.

Conan placed the heel of his size-twelve sneaker on top of Evan’s shoe and stomped down hard.

Evan yelped in pain. “Conan—why’d you do that?” he squealed.

“Do what?” Conan grunted. He narrowed his cold blue eyes at Evan.

“You—you crushed my foot!” Evan gasped.

“Accidents happen,” Conan replied. He snickered. Despite the winter cold, he wore a gray muscle shirt and tight black spandex bike shorts. “Here. Let me fix it,” he offered.

And he stomped down with all his might on Evan’s other shoe.

“Owwwwwww.” Evan took a few painful hops, holding his throbbing foot. “What’s the big idea?”

“Breaking in my new sneakers,” Conan replied, snickering again.

Evan wanted to wipe the smile off Conan’s face. But how do you wipe the smile off a kid who’s built like a Monster Truck?

“I’ve got to go,” Evan said quietly. He picked up his suitcase and motioned with his head toward Kermit’s house.

“Hey—!” Conan stared down at the ground. Then he raised his eyes to Evan. “Not so fast. You got the bottoms of my sneakers dirty.”

“Excuse me?” Evan tried to step around Conan. But Conan blocked his path.

“Brand-new sneakers,” Conan grumbled. “And you got the bottoms dirty.”

“But—but—” Evan sputtered.

“Oh, well.” Conan sighed. “I’ll let you go this time.”

Evan’s heart pounded. He breathed a loud sigh of relief. “You will? You’ll let me go?”

Conan nodded. He swept a beefy hand back through his wavy blond hair. “Yeah. You caught me in a good mood. Get going.”

“Th-thanks,” Evan stammered.

Conan stepped aside. Evan started past him.

He stopped when he heard a high, shrill voice ring out: “Leave my cousin alone!”

“Oh, noooo,” Evan moaned. He turned to see Kermit running across the grass.

“Leave Evan alone!” Kermit called. He waved a tiny fist at Conan. “Pick on somebody your own size!”

“Kermit—stay out of this!” Evan shouted.

Kermit stepped up beside Evan. He was tiny and skinny. He had a pile of white-blond hair, a serious face, and round black eyes behind red plastic-framed glasses.

Standing next to Conan, he reminded Evan of a little ant. A bug that Conan could easily crush with one tromp of his heavy-duty size twelves.

“Take a walk, Conan!” Kermit squeaked. “Give Evan a break!”

Conan’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “I was going to give Evan a break,” he growled. “Until you came along. But now I guess I have to teach you both a lesson.”

He turned and grabbed the front of Evan’s sweater.

3

“Evan—what happened to your sweater?” Aunt Dee demanded.

Evan set his suitcase down on the kitchen floor. “Well…”

The left sleeve of his new sweater was normal length. Conan had taken the right sleeve and pulled it… pulled… pulled… until the sleeve dragged on the ground.

“Mom made one sleeve a little too long,” Evan explained. He didn’t want to tell his aunt about Conan.

Why look for trouble?

Conan promised that next time he’d pull Evan’s right arm until it fit the sleeve!

“Evan picked a fight with Conan,” Kermit reported.

Aunt Dee’s mouth dropped open. “You shouldn’t start fights, Evan.”

Evan glared at Kermit. Why was the little creep always trying to get Evan in trouble?

“That boy Conan is big,” Aunt Dee commented. “You really shouldn’t pick on him.”

Good advice, Evan thought bitterly. He lifted the mile-long sweater sleeve, then let it drop back to the floor.

“I’m going to fix Conan,” Kermit declared. “I mixed up a formula that grows hair. I’m going to give it to Conan to drink—and he’ll grow hair on his tongue. Whenever he tries to talk, he’ll just go, ‘Woffff woffff.’”

Aunt Dee laughed. “Kermit, stop!” she scolded. “You’re starting to sound like a mad scientist!”

“I am a mad scientist!” Kermit declared proudly.

He and his mother laughed. But Evan couldn’t even force a smile.

It’s no joke, Evan thought. Kermit really is a mad scientist. He spends all his time down in his lab in the basement mixing bottles of green stuff with bottles of blue stuff.

One afternoon down in the lab, Evan asked Kermit what he was trying to discover. “I’m searching for a secret formula,” Kermit replied, pouring a red liquid into a test tube.

“A secret formula that will do what?” Evan had asked.

“How should I know?” Kermit exclaimed. “It’s secret!”

Now Evan had to spend the next ten days watching Kermit do his mad scientist act. And somehow he had to keep Kermit out of trouble.

“I’m so glad you’re staying with us,” Aunt Dee told Evan. “I just think it’s great that you two cousins are so close.”

“Yeah. Great,” Evan muttered.

“Wofff wofff!” Kermit declared, giggling.

Aunt Dee led the two of them to Kermit’s room at the back of the house. Kermit had a foldout bed where Evan would sleep.

Books and computer disks and papers and science magazines cluttered the floor. Evan had to step around a giant plastic model of the solar system to get to the dresser.

Aunt Dee helped him unpack his suitcase. Then she said, “You two run along. Go outside or something. I’m going into the kitchen to make dinner.”

Dinner. The word sent a chill down Evan’s back.

“What are we having?” he asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Aunt Dee told him.

Another chill.

“I brought my Super-Soaker,” Evan told Kermit. “Let’s go outside and have a water fight.”

Kermit shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He led the way down the basement stairs to his science lab. “I want to show you something.”

Evan stared at the shelves of jars and bottles and test tubes, all brimming with mysterious, dangerous materials. “I really don’t feel safe—” he started.

Something bumped him hard from behind.

Evan spun around and gazed down at Dogface, Kermit’s huge sheepdog. “Stop bumping me!” Evan snapped.

The dog stuck out his fat tongue and licked Evan’s hand. It left a sticky gob of dog drool in his palm.

“Dogface likes you,” Kermit said.

“Yuck,” Evan groaned. He searched the lab table for a paper towel to wipe off the gunk.

“I want to try a little test,” Kermit told him.

“No way!” Evan protested. “No little tests! The last time you tried a little test, you turned my nose blue.”

“That was a mistake,” Kermit replied. “This test is different. This test isn’t dangerous.” He raised his right hand. “I swear.”

“What do I have to do?” Evan asked warily. “Drink something and have my tongue grow hair?”

Kermit shook his head. “No. I’m not ready to test that on a human yet.”

“Good,” Evan said, relieved. “Let’s get our Super-Soakers and go outside.” Evan really wanted to have a water fight. It was the only time he was allowed to attack Kermit and get away with it!

“After the test,” Kermit replied. “The test only takes a minute. I promise.”

Evan sighed. “Okay. What do I have to do?”

Kermit held up a black bandanna. “A blindfold,” he said. “Put it on.”

“Excuse me?” Evan cried, backing away. “Do you really think I’m going to let you blindfold me?”

“It isn’t dangerous!” Kermit insisted in his high, shrill voice. “I just want to see if you can identify something. That’s all. It will take a second.”

Evan argued with his cousin for a while longer. But he ended up slipping on the blindfold. “Promise we’ll go outside after this?”

“Promise,” Kermit replied. He checked to make sure Evan’s blindfold was tight. Then he took Evan’s hand and lifted it to a big glass jar.

He pushed Evan’s hand into the jar. “Tell me what’s in the jar,” Kermit instructed.

Staring at total blackness, Evan wrapped his hand around something warm and prickly.

“Hmmmm…” What is it? he wondered. What could it be?

As he tried to identify it, he felt something crawl up the back of his hand. It slipped under his shirt cuff and crawled up his arm.

“Huh?”

He felt a soft, pinching sensation on his hand.

Something prickled his wrist.

What is it? What is it?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He ripped away the blindfold.

Gazed into the jar.

And then let out a horrified scream.

4

“Tarantulas?” Evan shrieked.

One of the hairy creatures clung to his arm underneath his shirtsleeve. Another inched its way across the back of his hand.

“Don’t scream like that,” Kermit warned, his eyes locked on Evan’s arm.

“What kind of test is this?” Evan shrieked. “What are you trying to prove?”

Kermit didn’t look up from the crawling tarantulas. “Someone told me that tarantulas won’t bite you,” he explained. “Unless they sense your fear.”

“Are you kidding me?” Evan cried. “Sense my fear?”

“Ssshhhh.” Kermit raised a finger to his lips. “Be very calm. Calm… calm…” He grinned at Evan. “This is an interesting experiment—isn’t it?”

“I’ll kill you!” Evan screamed. “I’ll kill you for this, Kermit! When I’m finished with you, you’ll go ‘woffff woffff’ for the rest of your life!”

“Careful,” Kermit warned softly. “Your arm is shaking. Don’t let them see your fear.”

Evan struggled to steady his arm. One tarantula prickled his wrist. Another one stood on the back of his hand.

“Get these off!” Evan demanded in a frantic whisper. “I’m warning you—HEEEEY!”

Evan felt a hard bump from behind.

Dogface again!

Startled, Evan’s hands shot up—and two tarantulas went flying.

One landed with a soft THUD on the lab table.

The other landed on Evan’s head.

Evan gasped. He felt eight pointy tarantula legs scrambling through his hair.

“Don’t upset it,” Kermit instructed. “Be very calm. Don’t let it know you’re afraid. A tarantula bite can be very painful.”

“Hey, guys—what’s going on down there?” Aunt Dee’s voice rang through the basement.

“Evan is playing with my tarantulas,” Kermit reported.

Playing?

Evan wanted to scream. He pictured Kermit eating a tarantula sandwich.

No. That’s not a good enough punishment, he decided.

“Well, it’s too nice a day to stay down in the basement playing with spiders,” Aunt Dee scolded.

“My tarantulas aren’t just any old spiders!” Kermit fumed.

“Evan, your friend Andy is here,” Aunt Dee called down. “I think all three of you should go outside and get some fresh air.”

“Andy?” Evan called. Without thinking, he started toward the stairs.

“Don’t move!” Kermit warned. “Don’t get them excited!”

Evan froze. The tarantula prickled the top of his head. He watched in horror as the other one made its way across the lab table and began crawling up his arm.

Andy burst down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her short brown hair bobbed behind her as she hurried across the basement to them.

Andy didn’t dress like most sixth graders. She didn’t care what other kids wore. She liked bright colors.

Today she wore a shiny magenta windbreaker over yellow tights. Her bright orange backpack hung over one shoulder.

“Hey, guys!” she greeted them breathlessly. “What are you doing?”

“An experiment,” Kermit replied solemnly.

“So what else is new!” Andy said, rolling her eyes. But then her mouth dropped open in shock. She pointed at Evan with a trembling finger. “Evan! You have a tarantula on your head!”

Evan felt the creature dig into his hair.

“It’s part of the experiment,” Kermit told Andy. “There’s another tarantula crawling on his arm.”

“Get… them… off….” Evan ordered Kermit through gritted teeth.

Andy laughed. “This is an awesome experiment!”

Evan let out a growl and raised his fists.

“Calm,” Kermit warned. “If they sense your fear, you’re dead meat.”

Evan turned to Andy for help. But she had unzipped her backpack and was digging inside.

The tarantula prickled his scalp as it moved toward his left ear. “Kermit…” he begged.

Evan gasped as Andy pulled a blue plastic can from her backpack.

“Evan, look what I found!” Her dark eyes lit up. An evil grin spread across her face.

“Monster Blood!” Evan cried. “Where’d you get that?”

“Somewhere,” Andy teased. She raised her hand to the lid and started to twist it off.

“No—!” Evan shrieked. He dove toward her, grabbing for the can. “Don’t open it! Andy—don’t!”

5

Andy pulled the can from Evan’s reach.

And twisted it open.

“NOOOO!” Evan shrieked.

She tilted the can so that he could see inside.

Empty.

She laughed and tossed the can aside. “April Fools’!”

“But it isn’t April!” Kermit declared.

Evan gulped—and felt something pinch his ear. The tarantula! The Monster Blood can had frightened him so much, he’d forgotten about the creatures crawling over his body.

“Uh-oh. Now you’ve excited them!” Kermit warned. “I think we’re going to learn how painful a tarantula bite can be.”

Evan froze. He signaled frantically with his eyes for Andy to help him.

“Okay, okay,” she said finally. She stepped up to Evan and plucked the tarantula off his head.

“You’re ruining the experiment!” Kermit protested.

Andy pulled the other tarantula off Evan’s arm. She handed them to Kermit.

Grumbling to himself, Kermit dropped them into the glass jar. Then he scribbled some notes in a notebook.

Evan glared angrily at his cousin, clenching his hands into tight fists. The tarantulas were gone, but his skin still prickled. “Let’s get the Super-Soakers,” he growled.

He couldn’t wait to drench Kermit. He wanted to soak the little freak, to make him sputter and choke and shiver and shake until he begged for mercy.

And then Evan would really let him have it!

“It’s kind of cold out for a water fight,” Kermit said.

“I don’t care,” Evan growled. “Let’s go.”

He turned to Andy. She swung her backpack away and zipped it before he could see what was inside.

“What else have you got in there?” Evan demanded. “More dumb jokes?”

She sneered. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Do you have more Monster Blood in there?” His voice cracked. “Do you have real Monster Blood?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she repeated, hugging the backpack to her side.

Maybe I’ll soak her too, Evan thought. She’s asking for it. “Come on outside,” he told her. “You can just watch.”

“Like I believe you,” she replied, rolling her eyes again. “I’ll wait in here and do my homework. No way am I getting wet.”

Evan eyed the backpack intently. Did she have a real can of Monster Blood in there? Did she?

Please—let the answer be no! he prayed as he led Kermit to the backyard.

They filled their squirt-gun canisters from the garden hose behind the garage. And the chase was on.

Kermit ran. Evan fired first. The Super-Soaker sprayed a stream of water over Kermit’s head.

Evan lowered the squirt gun, and the water stream bounced off the back of Kermit’s down jacket.

Evan pumped hard and kept the water flowing, squeezing the trigger again. Again. He raised the spray and caught Kermit in the back of the neck.

Kermit let out a yipe as the cold water ran down his back.

He spun around. And shot a stream of water in Evan’s direction.

Evan dropped to his knees on the grass. The water stream flew over him.

He pulled the trigger and sent water splashing down the front of Kermit’s jacket.

“Yo! Hey—!” A booming voice made Evan spin around.

“Conan—!” Evan cried.

Kermit sent a spray of icy water into the back of Evan’s head.

Evan jumped up and staggered forward. “Kermit—stop!” He caught his balance before he bumped into Conan.

“You trying to get my new sneakers wet?” Conan snarled.

“No. No way,” Evan replied. He lowered his Super-Soaker to his side.

Kermit stepped up beside Evan. “Give us a break, Conan,” Kermit said. “Evan isn’t afraid of you!”

“Oh, yeah?” Conan replied menacingly.

“Evan says he can take you down any day,” Kermit boasted.

“I did not say that!” Evan cried. “Kermit—what is your problem?”

He turned to Conan. “I didn’t say that. Really. My cousin is a little mixed up. You know. From the fumes. All those chemicals he fools around with.”

Conan shook his beefy head. “You guys are really asking for it,” he muttered angrily. He took a step toward Evan.

Evan gulped. He felt his Super-Soaker move.

He turned—and saw that Kermit had reached behind him.

Kermit was pushing up Evan’s squirt gun.

Before Evan could jerk it away, Kermit pulled the trigger.

And a stream of water poured out over Conan’s new sneakers.

6

Conan let out an angry cry. And grabbed the front of Evan’s coat.

“I—I didn’t do it!” Evan sputtered.

“It came out of your squirt gun,” Conan replied. His big hands tightened on the coat. He tugged, lifting Evan off the ground.

“What are you going to do?” Evan shrieked.

“Hey—what’s up?” Andy came trotting out from the house.

Conan let Evan drop to the ground.

Evan stumbled but quickly caught his balance.

“Evan is teaching Conan a lesson,” Kermit reported.

Evan gave his cousin a hard shove. “I’m warning you, Kermit….”

Conan eyed Andy suspiciously. “What’s in your hand?” he demanded.

Evan turned as Andy held up her hand. She gripped a small blue plastic can.

“No—!” Evan gasped. “Andy—is that the empty one?”

She shook her head, an evil grin on her face. “Not empty. This one is full.”

Evan took a step back. “Get rid of it, Andy.”

Kermit reached for the can. “It’s the real stuff? Let me see it,” he demanded eagerly.

“Are you crazy?” Evan cried. “Why did you bring that here, Andy? You know how dangerous it is.”

Andy’s brown eyes flashed excitedly. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she raised the blue can and started to pull off the lid.

“Nooo!” Evan wailed. “Have you totally lost it?”

Andy grinned at him.

“Don’t open it!” Evan pleaded. “Please—don’t open it!”

With a grunt, Conan stepped forward and swiped the can from Andy. “Let me see this stuff,” he growled.

He raised the can in front of his face—and pulled off the lid.

7

Conan pulled open the lid—and three cloth snakes sprung out and hit him in the face.

He let out a startled yelp and let the can fall from his hand.

Andy tossed back her head and roared with laughter. Kermit laughed too, a high, shrill whinny.

Evan swallowed hard. Too shaken to laugh.

No one ever played jokes on Conan. No one.

Evan stared hard at Conan, frozen in terror. Conan’s face was bright red. He was actually blushing!

Now he’s going to pound us, Evan thought. When Conan is finished with us, we’re going to look just like those three fake snakes on the ground.

But to Evan’s surprise, Conan spun around and stomped off without saying a word.

“That was a close one,” Evan murmured.

“It was funny!” Andy exclaimed. “What’s your problem? Lose your sense of humor?”

“Yes,” Evan told her. “I don’t think Monster Blood is funny. It turned my dog, Trigger, into a giant. It turned our classroom hamster into a roaring monster. And it turned me into a twelve-foot-tall freak! That was the worst day of my life!”

“I saved you—remember? I shrank you back to your real size,” Kermit bragged.

“Yes, you did,” Evan had to admit. “That was the last good thing you ever did.”

Kermit pouted. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Evan. I shared my tarantulas with you—didn’t I?”

Evan groaned in reply.

Kermit’s expression suddenly changed. Behind his glasses, his eyes flashed. “Wait right here,” he told them. He took off, running to his house.

“Where are you going now?” Evan called after him.

“I almost forgot what I wanted to show you,” Kermit called back. “It’s the coolest thing!”

He disappeared into the house.

Evan turned to Andy. “How am I going to survive ten days with him?” he wailed. “I just got here. And I’ve already had tarantulas climbing on my head!”

Andy laughed. “It could have been worse.”

“How could it be worse?”

“Well… it could have been head lice,” she said. “Remember when Kermit was collecting head lice?”

“You’re not cheering me up, Annnnndrea,” Evan groaned.

“Don’t call me Andrea,” she grumbled. “Wow. You’re in a bad mood. Just think of all the money you are earning. Your aunt is paying you five dollars an hour to keep an eye on him—right?”

“If I survive,” Evan moaned.

He turned to the house. Kermit came running across the grass, carrying a glass case between his hands.

“Now what is he bringing?” Evan cried.

“Maybe this is the head lice,” Andy said.

“Will you please stop talking about head lice?” Evan pleaded. “You’re making my head itch!”

“Check this out!” Kermit cried, holding the glass case up to them.

Evan squinted into the case. He saw white mice inside. Six or eight of them. With tiny black eyes and twitching pink noses. Crawling all over each other.

“Kermit—why did you bring your white mice outside?” he demanded.

“Watch,” Kermit replied.

He pulled off the lid and dumped all the mice onto the grass.

The mice didn’t hesitate. They scampered off in all directions. One of them ran right between Andy’s legs. She cried out in surprise and leaped out of the way.

“Are you crazy?” Evan shrieked. “Your mice are all getting away!”

“No, they’re not,” Kermit replied calmly. He pulled a small gray control unit from the back pocket of his baggy jeans. It looked a lot like a TV remote control.

“This is so cool!” Kermit exclaimed. “See? I built an electric fence all the way around the backyard.”

“I don’t see any fence,” Andy said.

“Of course not. It’s electric,” Kermit told her. “It’s like the invisible fences people use to keep their dogs in the yard.”

Evan squinted to the back of the yard. “I can’t even see your mice anymore,” he told Kermit. “They’ve all run away.”

“No way,” Kermit insisted. He raised the slender control unit. “I have electric current going all around the yard. If a mouse tries to go through it, he gets a mild shock.”

“But they’re gone!” Andy laughed. “The mice are all gone!”

Kermit gazed around the backyard.

His mouth dropped open. He slapped his forehead. “Oh, wow! I forgot to turn the fence on! I forgot to throw the switch!”

He raised the control unit and pushed a red button.

“YAAAIIIIII!” Evan let out a scream as a jolt of electricity shot through his body.

8

Evan’s arms waved wildly. His legs wiggled and bent.

Kermit pushed the red button again. The buzzing stopped.

Kermit stared at Evan. “Sorry. Guess you shouldn’t be standing there.”

Evan took a deep breath and held it. He waited for his skin to stop tingling.

“You looked like you were dancing!” Andy exclaimed. She threw her arms up and wiggled her body, imitating Evan.

“Am I supposed to think that’s funny?” Evan asked weakly.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Your hair is standing straight up on end!”

Evan pushed his hair down with both hands. But it popped right back up.

He glared at Kermit. “Any other great inventions?”

“Not right now,” Kermit replied. “You have to help me.”

“Help you do what?” Evan growled.

“Round up my mice,” Kermit said. He began crawling across the grass on his hands and knees. “Hurry! They are expensive lab mice. Mom will kill me if I lose them.”

Evan and Andy saw they had no choice. They dropped to their hands and knees and began crawling like Kermit.

“I don’t see any mice,” Evan whispered to Andy. “I think Kermit is in major trouble.”

He heard a heavy thumping sound behind him. He turned and saw Dogface, the big sheepdog, bouncing across the yard.

“No, Dogface!” Kermit cried. “No! Go home! Go home!”

Furiously wagging his stubby tail, the big dog leaped onto Evan, sending him sprawling on the grass.

“Dogface—you’re scaring the mice away!” Kermit wailed.

Ignoring Kermit’s desperate pleas, the dog made a wide circle, excitedly running round and round the yard, barking and wagging his tail.

“Hey—what’s going on?” an angry voice called. “Can’t you keep that dog quiet?”

Conan came leaping over the low bushes that separated the two yards. Then he ran about three steps—and stopped.

Evan heard a crackling sound. Then a loud BUZZ.

Conan’s eyes bulged. His hands shot up. His body twisted in a wild dance.

“Oh, wow,” Kermit murmured. “Didn’t I shut that off?”

He fumbled with the control unit. The buzzing stopped.

Conan took a few seconds to catch his breath.

Then he let out a furious roar. And dove at Evan.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” Evan stammered.

9

Evan leaned his elbows on the dinner table and stared down at the pile of spaghetti on his plate. Aunt Dee couldn’t mess up spaghetti—could she? he wondered.

“Evan—what happened to your ear?” Aunt Dee asked.

Evan sighed. His left ear was normal. But his right ear throbbed and burned. He knew it must look like a red cabbage!

“What on earth happened to you?” his aunt demanded.

Evan didn’t want to describe how Conan had won a tug-of-war with his ear. He mumbled something into his plate.

“Evan got into another fight with Conan,” Kermit told his mom.

She lowered her fork. “Evan—is that true?”

Evan nodded. “It wasn’t exactly a fight.”

“I warned you to stay away from that boy,” his aunt scolded. “You really should be smart enough not to pick a fight with someone so big.”

“And Evan lost all my white mice too,” Kermit whined.

His mother’s mouth dropped open. “Those mice cost a lot of money!” She narrowed her eyes at Evan.

Evan swallowed hard. “I’m not the one who brought them outside,” he choked out.

“I left you in charge,” Kermit’s mom said sternly. “You are responsible for what goes on here when I’m away.” She scowled and waved her fork at him. “If it’s too big a job for you, Evan, I can find a grownup to come stay with Kermit.”

“No!” Evan cried.

Being responsible for Kermit was impossible. But he didn’t want to lose the job. If he didn’t earn money, he couldn’t go to sleepaway camp.

“I can handle the job,” he told his aunt.

Across from him, Kermit gobbled down mouthful after mouthful of spaghetti. The orange sauce ran down his chin.

Evan rolled several spaghetti strands on his fork, then took a big bite.

He chewed for about three seconds. Then he let out a scream. “YAAAAAAIIIII!”

His mouth was on fire! His head felt about to explode!

“Is it spicy enough?” Aunt Dee asked. “Did I put in enough hot sauce?”

Later, as Evan changed into his pajamas, Kermit typed away on his computer. Evan’s lips were swollen from the spicy spaghetti. They looked like two big salamis hanging from his face.

He gazed at himself in the dresser mirror. His ear resembled a red cabbage.

He shook his head unhappily, thinking about Conan. “I have to do something about him,” he mumbled.

Kermit spun around from his keyboard. “What did you say?”

“Conan went too far this time,” Evan grumbled bitterly. “He’s making me look like a freak.”

“Yes, you do,” Kermit agreed.

“Shut up. I didn’t ask you,” Evan snapped. “You’re not exactly Brad Pitt!”

“Who’s that?” Kermit asked.

Evan ignored him. He climbed into bed. He hit the pillow a few times, fluffing it up. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

He was too angry.

“This time Conan went too far,” he repeated, muttering to himself. “This time I have to find a way to pay him back.”

Behind his red-framed glasses, Kermit’s round black eyes lit up. “You mean revenge?” he asked excitedly.

“Yeah. I guess,” Evan replied, settling his huge ear on the pillow. His hands were clenched into tight fists. His whole body felt tense.

“Revenge.” He repeated the word a few times. “That’s what I want. Someone has to show Conan that he cannot keep pushing everyone around and beating everyone up. Revenge…”

Kermit shut off his computer. When he turned back to Evan, he had a wide grin on his face. “I think I can help you,” he said.

10

“Let me show you something,” Kermit said eagerly, lowering his voice to a whisper. He pulled something out of his bottom desk drawer and brought it over to Evan’s foldout bed.

“Look.” Kermit’s grin grew wider. He handed the object to Evan.

“Hey—!” Evan cried out. “It’s so hairy!”

Evan stared at the small object. Some kind of ball, covered in thick, greasy black hair. “This is totally gross,” he told Kermit. “What is this? Why are you showing it to me?”

“It’s an egg,” Kermit said, giggling.

“Huh?” Evan nearly dropped it. He turned the hairy thing between his hands. “What kind of egg?” he asked suspiciously.

“Just an egg,” Kermit replied. “I took it from the refrigerator.”

“But—” Evan started.

“Remember, I told you about my hair-growing formula?” Kermit asked. “I said it wasn’t ready yet. But it is.”

Evan handed the hairy egg back to his cousin. It was too creepy. It was making him sick.

He swallowed. “You really can grow thick hair like that on an egg?”

Kermit nodded, grinning. He cradled the egg in his hands as if it were a precious jewel. “My hair mixture works, Evan. We can use it to pay Conan back.”

“Whoa!” Evan cried. “We can’t make him drink it and turn his mouth all hairy. That’s too horrible—even for Conan.”

“I know,” Kermit agreed. “But we can pour it on his hands, can’t we? We can give him werewolf hands! That would be pretty funny—wouldn’t it?”

Evan laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, it sure would! Let’s do it!”

Kermit carried the hairy egg back to his desk drawer. “I was going to test my hair mixture out on Dogface next,” he told Evan. “But Dogface is already hairy enough. Conan is better.”

“Much better,” Evan agreed, smiling for the first time that night. “Where is your hair mixture?”

“Don’t worry. I have it hidden safe and sound,” Kermit replied. “It will be ready when we need it.”

* * *

It took Evan hours to fall asleep. Partly because he couldn’t stop thinking of his revenge against Conan. And partly because Kermit was snoring his head off.

Evan stared up at the ceiling with his hands over his ears, unable to shut out the awful sound. A throaty gluggg glugggg, followed by a whistle.

Kermit is obnoxious even when he’s asleep, Evan thought bitterly.

When he finally fell asleep, Evan dreamed he was standing in his pajamas in Kermit’s backyard. It was night. Long shadows fell over the grass.

Peering into the back of the yard, Evan saw Kermit’s white mice. At least half a dozen of them. They had clustered around something hidden in the grass.

In the dream, Evan moved closer. And saw what had interested the lab mice.

A blue can. An open can of Monster Blood!

Evan’s mouth dropped open in horror.

The green gunk had bubbled out of the can. And the white mice were silently gobbling it. Gobbling down chunk after chunk. Their teeth gnashing up and down. Their furry bodies quivering with excitement as they ate.

As they swallowed down the sticky green goo, they grew. Evan stared in shock. The mice inflated until they were as big as dogs. Then bigger. The giant mice rose up on their hind legs.

They’re taller than me! Evan saw, stumbling back. And so fat! They must weigh two hundred pounds!

They turned to him, gnashing their teeth hungrily. As tall as the house, the mice lurched heavily toward Evan.

One of them tossed back its head, opened its jaws wide, and let out a roar. Evan saw rows of jagged gray teeth.

And then the mice lurched heavily toward him. Their feet thudded the ground. Their dark eyes glinted in the silvery glow from the moon.

“Nooooooooo!” He opened his mouth in a long, high howl.

He raised his hands to protect himself.

The mice rose over him now. One of them lowered its head. Its jagged teeth slid around Evan’s waist. Its jaw tightened.

Evan felt its hot, sour breath stream over him.

Felt the teeth dig into his side.

And then he was being lifted up. Lifted in the giant jaws of the white mouse. The mouse clamped its jaws shut. Bit down hard.

Evan knew it was chewing him. Chewing him to pieces.

He opened his eyes. Began to lift himself from the frightening dream. Lift himself… lift himself…

And heard a tapping at Kermit’s bedroom window.

Evan squinted through the darkness. To the window. And saw a giant mouse!

11

No.

No. The mouse was part of the dream.

I’m still half in my dream, half awake, Evan realized, blinking his eyes.

He shook himself hard. Shook himself awake.

The mouse faded slowly, then vanished. And Evan stared at the window, stared at Andy outside in the darkness. Tapping on the glass. Tapping so urgently.

Evan jumped from the small foldout bed. His legs were tangled in the blanket. He stumbled and had to grab the edge of Kermit’s dresser to catch his balance.

One foot had fallen asleep. He dragged it, limping to the window. He silently pushed open the window, careful not to wake Kermit.

Kermit snored away, glugging and whistling. He had kicked his blanket to the floor. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on.

Evan leaned out into the darkness. A gust of cold wind made him shiver.

“Andy—what are you doing here?” he cried out.

“Get dressed,” Andy ordered. “Hurry, Evan. I have to show you something.”

“Huh?” He glanced back at Kermit’s clock radio. “It’s almost midnight!”

Andy raised a finger to her lips. “Sssshhhh. Hurry. Get dressed. I think you’ll want to see this.”

She held up a can. A blue plastic can.

Evan groaned. “You really came here in the middle of the night for another joke? Give me a break, Andy. What’s going to spring out at me this time?”

But then he saw the serious expression on Andy’s face.

“It isn’t a joke—is it?” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“It’s Monster Blood—right?” Evan demanded.

Andy nodded. “I think so. The can—it looks the same.”

Evan spun away from the window. He pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt right over his pajamas. His hands trembled as he tied his shoes.

He grabbed his down jacket from the closet. And climbed out the window.

“I was dreaming about Monster Blood,” he told Andy.

She bit her bottom lip. “This isn’t a dream,” she replied quietly.

Evan shivered. It was a cold, clear night.

Andy wore her magenta windbreaker and a pair of silvery leggings. She had a red wool ski cap pulled down over her short brown hair.

She raised the plastic can to Evan. “I think it’s the real thing. I hurried over as soon as I was sure my parents were asleep.”

“Where did you get it?” he whispered.

“Behind the lab on Peachtree where my dad works. We were picking him up before dinner. I was waiting in the parking lot behind the lab. I found this in a whole pile of stuff.”

“You didn’t open it—did you?” Evan demanded.

“No way,” she replied. She tried to hand him the can. But he waved it away.

“I don’t want it,” Evan told her. “Why did you bring it over here?”

Andy shrugged. “I thought after this afternoon, you might want to pay Conan back for being such a big jerk.”

“Yes, I do want to pay Conan back,” Evan admitted.

“So use the Monster Blood,” Andy urged. “You can put a little of it in his lunch at school. You can—”

“No way!” Evan cried. “Conan is already a mountain! I don’t want to make him any BIGGER!”

The light faded from Andy’s dark eyes. “I guess you’re right. But we could put Monster Blood in his bed. Or—”

“Stop!” Evan ordered. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want to use Monster Blood on Conan. Kermit and I have another plan for Conan. A really good plan.”

“What is it?” Andy demanded eagerly.

“I’ll tell you as soon as you get rid of the Monster Blood,” Evan told her. “I really don’t want that stuff around. Go hide it someplace where no one will ever find it.”

“But, Evan—” Andy protested.

Evan didn’t let her finish. “You know what will happen if that can gets opened,” he said firmly. “It will bubble up. And it will grow and grow, and we won’t be able to stop it.”

“Okay, okay.” Andy rolled her eyes. “I’ll take it home. I’ll find a good hiding place.”

“Promise?” Evan demanded, eyeing her sharply.

“Promise,” she repeated, raising her right hand.

“Hey—what’s that?” a voice called from behind them.

Evan spun around and saw Kermit scramble out the open window.

Kermit grabbed the blue can from Andy’s hand.

“Cool!” he cried. “Monster Blood! Is it real?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He gripped the can tightly—and pulled off the lid.

12

“No! Don’t do that!” Evan screamed.

Too late.

“Close it up!” Evan cried frantically. “Close the can—quick!”

Kermit stood staring into the open can. “It’s too dark. I can’t see anything.”

“Give me that!” Evan ordered. He leaped forward and tried to swipe the can away.

He grabbed the can—but knocked the lid from Kermit’s hand.

Kermit made a wild grab for the lid. But a gust of wind blew it out of his reach.

As Evan gaped in horror, the wind lifted the plastic lid… lifted it over their heads.

“Noooooo!” He let out a long wail as the lid spun crazily above them. He made a wild grab. Another. Missed.

The wind carried the lid up to the slanted roof of the house. It hit the shingles. Slid down a few feet. And came to a rest in the metal rain gutter.

“I don’t believe this,” Evan muttered.

“I’ll get the ladder from the garage,” Kermit offered. He took off across the dew-wet grass.

“Hurry!” Evan cried.

“The Monster Blood—it’s moving!” Andy exclaimed, pointing with a trembling finger.

Evan gazed down at the can gripped tightly in his hand. He couldn’t really see inside. Dark clouds had drifted over the moon, blocking out the light.

Evan brought the can close to his face. And gasped.

“Andy—it’s blue!”

“Huh?” She pressed close to him. Their heads banged as they both eagerly stared into the can.

Yes. The thick glop inside the can was blue—not green.

It made a sick plopping sound as it rolled from side to side, like an ocean wave.

“It—it’s trying to get out!” Andy stammered.

“Hurry, Kermit!” Evan called.

Kermit came running from the garage, an aluminum ladder tilted over one shoulder.

“Why is it blue?” Andy asked.

The thick goo lapped at the side of the can. As Evan stared in horror, it splashed up over the top.

“Kermit—please hurry! Get the lid!” he cried.

Kermit propped the ladder against the side of the house. Then he turned back to them. “Someone else has to climb up,” he called.

“Just do it!” Evan screamed frantically. “The stuff is spilling out over the top!”

“But I’m afraid of heights!” Kermit declared.

Evan rolled his eyes. “It isn’t that high. Just climb up, and—”

“I can’t!” Kermit whined. “Really!”

“I’ll do it.” Andy ran to the ladder. Kermit held it steady for her.

Evan watched her scramble up. The Monster Blood bobbed and plopped in the can. The clouds rolled away from the moon. It was definitely bright blue, Evan saw.

And definitely trying to raise itself out of the can.

Andy climbed up to the gutter. Holding the ladder with her right hand, she reached out to the lid with her free hand.

Reached… reached…

And the wind blew the lid from the gutter.

“Noooo—!” Andy screamed. She grabbed for it.

Lost her balance.

Grabbed the sides of the ladder with both hands.

The lid spun crazily in the air. Then it swooped down to the grass.

“I’ve got it!” Kermit cried. He dove for it and grabbed it in one hand.

“Yes!” Evan cried happily. “Put it on the can—quick!”

Andy carefully lowered herself rung by rung.

She reached the ground, turned, breathing hard, and hurried back to Evan.

Kermit came running over with the lid.

But before he reached Evan, a voice rang out from the yard across from his.

“Hey—what’s going on?”

Evan looked up to see Conan running across the grass.

“Oh, no!” Evan moaned, and the Monster Blood can fell out of his hand.

13

With a gasp, Evan bent to pick up the can.

Had the blue Monster Blood spilled out?

No.

He lifted it carefully, holding one hand over the open top.

Conan stopped at the edge of the yard. “What are you three babies doing out so late?” he demanded. “I’ll tell your mommies!”

“Give us a break, Conan,” Andy called. “We’re not bothering you!”

“Your face is bothering me!” Conan shot back. Then his eyes fell on the can in Evan’s hand. “What’s that?”

Evan nearly dropped the can again. “This? Uh… nothing…. It’s…”

Evan’s mind went blank. He couldn’t think of a good lie to tell Conan.

Kermit grabbed the can away from Evan. “It’s candy,” he told Conan. “Blue Fruit Roll in a Barrel! We saw it on TV, and it’s awesome.”

“Give me some!” Conan ordered. He reached out his big hand.

“No way!” Kermit teased him, pulling the can back. “We’re not sharing with you!”

He pretended to lick the blue candy. “Wow. That’s really excellent!”

“Guess I’m going to have to take it from you,” Conan declared menacingly. He took a step toward them, his hand outstretched. “Give it.”

“Are you crazy?” Evan whispered to Kermit. “Why did you tease him? Now he’s going to take it and—”

“No problem,” Kermit whispered back. A sly grin spread over his face. “Watch.”

“Give it,” Conan thundered, waving his outstretched hand. He took another step toward them. Another.

Evan heard the crackle of electricity before he saw the white spark.

Conan’s eyes bulged. His hands shot up. His knees buckled.

“Urg. Urg.” He uttered two strange cries as Kermit’s invisible electric fence zapped him again.

Conan staggered back, gasping for breath. His broad chest heaved up and down. He reminded Evan of a bull about to charge.

Kermit raised the can and pretended to eat the Monster Blood again. “Wow. That is excellent!” he declared.

Conan glared at the three of them. Even across the dark yard, Evan could see the fury on his face.

But the bull couldn’t charge. Couldn’t get to them. Not as long as the electric fence was turned on.

Conan balled his hands into fists. “You’re history,” he called to them. “All three of you. You’re roadkill.”

He spun around. Swinging his fists hard at his sides, he stomped into his house.

Andy let out a sigh of relief. “That was pretty good!” she told Kermit.

A high, shrill giggle escaped Kermit’s throat. “Yeah. Not bad!”

“There’s just one problem,” Evan murmured. “We’re roadkill if we ever leave this backyard!”

He turned to Kermit. “Give me back the can. We’d better close it—”

Evan gasped.

The can in Kermit’s hand! He was holding it upside down!

Evan grabbed for it.

Too late.

With a sick PLOP, the blue gunk dropped out of the can.

It landed on the grass in front of Evan’s feet. He stared down at it as it quivered. Quivered and shook, like blue Jell-O.

It glowed in the light from the moon. Glowed bright blue.

Bobbed and trembled.

And grew.

“It’s… changing shape!” Andy cried. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees, and gazed down wide-eyed at it.

The blue blob wiggled. It rolled over once, moving away from Evan.

And grew some more.

It rolled again. Wiggled from side to side.

And then rose up. Up… as if trying to stand.

“I don’t believe this!” Evan choked out. “It’s some kind of creature!”

“You’re right!” Kermit agreed. “It’s ALIVE!”

14

Evan squatted on the grass, watching the blue Monster Blood intently. Andy and Kermit stood openmouthed as the creature bounced, and grew, and took shape.

A sleek blue head popped up from the body. A curved gash in the head became a mouth. It turned up in a goofy grin.

Two big, round eyes appeared above the mouth.

The creature was about the size of a chipmunk. It made a squeaking sound as it bounced over the grass. Its rubbery body throbbed rapidly, like a heart.

“It’s so cute!” Andy declared, raising her hands to the sides of her face. “It’s like a lovable little blob creature.”

“It looks friendly,” Kermit added. “It keeps staring up at us and smiling.”

Evan didn’t say a word. As he studied the creature, a heavy feeling of dread formed in the pit of his stomach.

I don’t care how cute the little guy looks, he thought. This is Monster Blood. And Monster Blood is always evil.

“Let’s try to push it back in the can,” he suggested.

The creature bounced and squeaked.

“Do you think it will fit?” Kermit asked.

Evan stared at the grinning blob. “We have to squeeze it back in,” he told them.

“But it’s so cute!” Andy protested. She bent down close to the little creature. “You’re a cute guy, aren’t you?” she said to it. “Do you like to be petted?”

Andy reached for it with both hands.

It slid right through her fingers and bounced away, squeaking loudly.

“Oooh! It’s so cold and wet!” Andy declared. “Look! It’s like a little seal!”

She made another grab for it. But again the blobby creature bounced away from her.

Kermit stepped in front of it. “I’d like to get it under a microscope,” he said. “Maybe take a few tissue samples.”

“You have to catch it first,” Evan told him.

Kermit dove for it. Grabbed.

The creature bounced over his hands and escaped.

“Hey—he licked me!” Kermit exclaimed. “I think he licked me.”

“He seems to be friendly,” Andy said. She dropped to her knees. “Here, Blobby. Here, Blobby,” she called. She held out her hands to it.

To everyone’s surprise, the creature bounced over to her.

Andy trapped it gently between her hands. She giggled. “It’s so cold!”

She ran her hand tenderly over the back of its quivering body. “Do you like to be petted?” she asked it again softly.

The creature purred.

Evan and Kermit both let out cries of surprise.

Andy petted the blue blob some more. It purred louder.

“He likes it!” Andy declared, laughing.

“Weird,” Kermit murmured. “See if you can pull off a hunk so I can study it.”

“No way!” Andy cried. “You’re not hurting my little Blobby.” She petted it tenderly.

“Be careful,” Evan warned. “This is Monster Blood—remember?”

“It can’t be,” Andy argued. “Monster Blood is green. This cute thing is something else.”

“It might be a different kind of Monster Blood,” Kermit suggested. “You know. A different flavor.”

“Whoa!” Andy cried out as the creature bounced out of her hands. Throbbing wetly, it began bouncing and rolling toward the garage.

“Catch it!” Evan cried.

All three of them chased after the creature. It moved surprisingly fast.

Kermit made a grab for it—and it slid through his hands.

Evan ran in front of it and tried to block its path. But it rolled around him and kept bouncing.

“Don’t let it get away!” Andy cried.

Evan made another frantic grab—and lifted the wet blob off the ground. “Got it!” Evan cried.

But the creature changed shape. Squeaking loudly, it pulled itself in until it resembled a giant worm. And then it slid easily from Evan’s hands.

“Whoa—it’s cold!” Evan exclaimed. He examined his hands. The creature had left a coating of wet blue slime on Evan’s palms.

Evan glanced up in time to see the creature roll to the back of the yard. “Stop it!” he cried. “Don’t let it go over to Conan’s yard!”

He ran to catch up to it. Kermit reached it first. “Hey—what’s it doing?” Kermit demanded. “It’s turning on the garden hose.”

The hose was coiled against the back of the garage. A long end of it stretched along the ground.

Evan stopped and stared as the creature perched on top of the nozzle. Its body began to bounce up and down in a steady rhythm. It stopped squeaking and began to make loud gulping sounds.

“Is it drinking?” Andy asked.

“Huh? I think it is!” Evan cried, staring in amazement.

The creature bobbed on top of the hose nozzle. Drinking. And as it drank, it grew.

“It’s inflating—like a water balloon!” Kermit declared.

“We’d better stop it before it gets too big,” Evan warned.

Evan tried to turn the water off, but the spigot wouldn’t budge. “It’s stuck!” he cried. “I can’t turn it! It’s stuck!”

The creature gulped more water. It was as big as a basketball now, and still growing.

Evan grabbed it with both hands and tugged. His hands slid off the slippery, wet body.

The creature was as big as a beach ball.

“Help me!” Evan cried, grabbing the creature again. “We’ve got to pull it off the hose.”

He gave a hard tug. But the gulping creature held on to the hose.

Andy stepped up beside Evan. They both wrapped their arms around the inflating creature and struggled to pull it loose.

“It—it’s attached itself!” Evan gasped.

The creature bulged, bigger, bigger, until Evan and Andy couldn’t get their arms around it.

“Now what?” Evan groaned.

And the creature exploded.

Evan heard a deafening POP. A wave of cold water and slime hurtled over him, knocking him over.

Evan landed in a sitting position.

“Ohhhhh.” He let out a groan as he wiped the thick blanket of slime off his eyes and face.

“Sick,” he heard Andy mutter.

He turned and saw that Kermit and Andy were also drenched. Thick gobs of slime clung to Kermit’s glasses. Andy’s hair was soaked, matted flat on her head.

“Sick,” Andy repeated, staring down at her slime-covered hands. “Oh, yuck. This is sick.”

Evan wiped more goo from his eyes. Then he turned to where the creature had stood—and gasped in shock. “Oh, noooo!” he cried. “Am I seeing things?”

15

Two blue creatures bobbed beside the garage.

Two creatures about the size of chipmunks.

Squeaking softly, they grinned at Evan, Kermit, and Andy. Their big black eyes rolled in their heads.

“It multiplied!” Kermit exclaimed.

Evan swallowed hard. He scooped a gob of slime off his shoulder. “I don’t like this,” he murmured. “I don’t like this one bit.”

“But they’re so cute!” Andy protested.

Evan shivered. The night air suddenly felt much colder. He turned to the house. It was covered in darkness.

What if Aunt Dee wakes up and catches us out here? he wondered. I’ll be in major trouble. My baby-sitting job will be over. No sleepaway camp…

“It’s getting late,” he told them. “We’ve got to go in.”

“But we can’t just leave these little guys out here!” Andy protested.

Evan sighed. He knew Andy was right. “Okay,” he agreed, “let’s round them up quickly. We’ll get a bag or a bucket or something.”

The two blue blobs began bouncing in different directions.

“No! Don’t let them get away!” Evan cried. “If they split up, we’ll never catch them.”

“I have an idea,” Kermit said. He darted across the grass and picked up the garden hose. He turned the nozzle, and a hard spray shot out.

“I’ll keep them against the back of the garage,” he announced. “You go find something to put them in.”

Evan watched as Kermit raised the hose and aimed the spray at the two creatures.

The hard spray sent them both flying against the garage wall.

“It’s working!” Kermit cried. “I’ve trapped them!”

He kept the spray on them. The water pushed them back, pressing the two creatures against the garage.

“Hurry—!” Kermit cried.

But Evan hesitated. He watched as the two creatures opened their mouths wide. Wider. And began to gulp.

“Kermit—turn off the hose!” Evan shouted. “It’s a bad idea. They’re drinking it!”

As the stream of water shot into their gaping mouths, the creatures inflated rapidly. They gulped the water hungrily, blowing up bigger and bigger.

“Kermit—shut off the hose!” Evan ordered.

Too late.

Another loud explosion. Another burst of water and slime.

And now Evan stared across the lawn at FOUR blue blobs!

Startled, Kermit dropped the hose. Water shot across the lawn.

Evan dove for the garage and frantically turned the water spigot. The water dribbled to a stop.

But the four blue creatures were already lapping up water from the grass. And growing bigger.

“We have to stop them,” Evan gasped. “We have to pick them up before they explode again.”

He and Andy ran together, frantically reaching down to grab two of them. But Andy stopped suddenly—and Evan ran right into her.

“Whoa!” he cried. “Why did you stop?”

“Look at them.” Andy pointed.

Evan gazed down at the bobbing creatures. They were lapping the night dew off the grass. “What about them?” he asked impatiently.

“These four look different,” Andy replied. “Check out their faces. They’re not smiling.”

“Who cares?” Evan shrieked. “They’re drinking! Why do we care if they’re smiling or not? Do we want eight of them? No! So let’s get them!”

Evan leaped forward and grabbed one in each hand. One blue blob slipped out and bounced away, squeaking loudly.

Evan wrapped both hands around the other one, determined to hold it tight. “Get a bucket!” he told Andy. “Or a garbage bag or something!”

Then Evan let out a scream as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm.

He looked down. The blue creature had clamped its jaws around his wrist.

“H-help!” Evan stammered. “Owwwww! It—it’s biting me! It’s biting my hand off!”

16

Evan tugged at the creature with his free hand. “Help me! Ow! It—it’s sucking my skin!” he wailed.

Kermit and Andy dove to his side. They both grabbed at the wet blue blob. Andy’s hands slipped off, and she stumbled backwards.

But Kermit held on, held on with both hands. And tugged. Tugged until they all heard a loud POP.

Kermit pulled the creature off and tossed it across the yard.

Evan rubbed his arm. “It was sucking my skin,” he moaned. “Sucking the water out, I guess.”

Kermit started running to the house. “I’m telling Mom,” he cried. “This is too dangerous!”

“No!” Evan grabbed Kermit around the waist. “I can’t get in any more trouble with your mom. Let’s get them all rounded up first. If we don’t, there will be hundreds of them!”

Evan turned to Andy. Her teeth were chattering. “This is getting scary,” she murmured. “Listen to them.”

The blue blobs weren’t grinning anymore. Low growls came out of their scowling mouths.

“They were so cute,” Andy said softly. “But now they’re turning mean.”

Two of the creatures were rolling in the grass, sucking up moisture. Two others were bouncing toward the garden hose.

Evan turned away. He glanced quickly to the house. “Where is Kermit?” he asked.

Andy shrugged. “Did he go inside to tell his mother?”

“I hope not,” Evan moaned. “I’m going to be in such bad trouble!”

The blue blobs were inflating, getting ready to explode and multiply.

“I’m already in big trouble,” Evan told himself. He started to the house. But halfway there, he saw Kermit running from the garage.

“I’ll catch them!” Kermit cried. He waved a long-handled net in the air. Evan recognized it—the net Kermit used to collect butterflies.

Kermit ran across the grass, swinging the net.

Evan heard a loud, wet explosion. His eyes swept over the dark lawn. How many were there now?

Eight?

Yes.

His throat tightened in panic. We can’t catch them all! he thought.

Kermit lowered the net to the grass. Swung hard. And captured one of the blue blobs.

It uttered a sharp growl. The net bounced and shook at the end of its pole.

“Got one! Where do I dump it?” Kermit called excitedly.

Evan spotted a bucket at the side of the garage. He ran across the grass toward it, waving to Kermit to follow him.

Kermit saw the bucket too. He began to lower the net into it. “In you go!” he cried.

But they both heard a ripping sound.

The creature hurtled out from the net—and bounced away.

“He—he chewed through the net!” Kermit exclaimed. He tossed the net aside.

Evan picked up the bucket and chased after the bouncing creature. “Just pick them up and toss them in,” he cried. “If we can keep them from drinking, they won’t multiply.”

Andy dove for one. It slipped out of her hands. “We need gloves,” she suggested. “We could hold them better if—”

“We don’t have time to find gloves!” Evan cried. “If we don’t catch them fast, there will be a hundred of them!”

“But what if they grab on to you?” Andy cried. “What if they start sucking your skin?”

Evan didn’t know how to answer that question. He swallowed hard. “Just be careful,” he told her.

Hearing low grunts, he raised his eyes to Aunt Dee’s flower garden. “Oh, noooo!” he moaned.

“Mom’s flowers!” Kermit cried.

Three or four of the creatures were sucking the water from the flowers. The blobs were already huge, ready to explode. A wide path of flowers lay dead and wilted behind them.

Kermit’s mother took such pride in her flower garden; she struggled to keep it blooming all through the winter. And now it’s a mess, Evan saw.

And she’s going to blame me.

“Get them!” he shouted. “Get them out of the flowers!”

But he heard a muffled scream. And spun around.

“Help me… help…” Andy struggled as a big blue blob wrapped around her face.

It pulsed and throbbed.

She hit it with both fists. Pounded it.

She dropped to her knees, struggling to remove it.

Evan froze in horror as the creature grunted and growled, spreading wetly over Andy’s face.

“Help…” she moaned. “Can’t breathe… can’t breathe…”

17

Evan gasped in horror as Andy struggled with the blue creature. She pounded it with her fists. Pulled at its slippery skin. Shoved it with her open palms.

Evan took a deep breath. Ran over to her. And grasped the creature in both hands.

It’s so slippery and cold! he thought.

He dug his fingers into its wet flesh, tightening his grip.

Then he heaved up with all his strength.

The creature lifted off Andy’s face with a loud POP. Evan lost his balance and nearly fell.

The blob slipped out of his hands, bounced over the grass, and landed in a large puddle near the driveway.

“Ohhhhhh, sick!” Andy moaned. She wiped thick slime off her face. Still on her knees, her whole body trembled.

Evan raised his eyes to the blob. Facedown, it gulped the puddle noisily. Its shimmery blue body bulged bigger, bigger…

Until it exploded—sending a wave of water and slime over Evan and Andy. Evan staggered back as the cold gunk washed over him.

Wiping it off his eyes, he helped Andy to her feet.

“The flowers!” Kermit cried. “They’ve ruined them all!”

Evan turned to the garden. In time to see two more inflated blue blobs explode into four.

The four new blobs bounced up and down furiously, gnashing their pointed teeth.

“The new ones have teeth!” Andy declared. “Each time they explode, they get meaner!”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Evan exclaimed. He grabbed a shovel on the ground beside the flower garden. “Kermit, Andy—hurry! Get big trash bags!”

Kermit darted into the garage. A few seconds later, he came out carrying two plastic trash bags. He handed one to Andy. They swung them open and ran to catch up with Evan.

“Let’s get these guys!” Evan declared.

He lowered the shovel blade to the ground and scooped up a blue blob.

Andy held out her trash bag. Evan dropped the creature into the bag. It plopped in heavily. Andy gripped the top of the bag and held on.

Working feverishly, Evan scooped up another one and dropped it into Andy’s bag.

Another explosion sent a wave of slime flying. Evan ducked under it—and caught two blue blobs on his shovel blade. With a groan, he swung the blade hard into Kermit’s trash bag.

In minutes, the two trash bags bulged.

“Only a few left,” Evan said, catching his breath. Despite the cool night air, sweat poured down his forehead.

Beside the garage, two creatures gulped water hungrily from a puddle on the grass. Another creature bounced over the wilted flower garden, uttering low, angry growls.

“These guys are trying to get out,” Kermit complained. He had hoisted his bag over his slender shoulder.

The bag throbbed. Inside it, the creatures grunted and growled.

“What are we going to do with these bags?” Andy demanded. “These blue things are alive! We can’t just throw them in trash cans.”

“They wouldn’t fit, anyway,” Kermit said.

Evan wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Let’s get them all collected first,” he sighed. “Then we can decide what to do.”

It took several minutes to round up the final three. They kept bouncing away and sliding off the shovel.

Finally, all of the grunting, growling creatures were caught. Evan helped Kermit and Andy tie up the bulging trash bags.

“Now what?” Andy demanded.

Evan blinked as a bright yellow light flashed on.

Another light.

The lawn shimmered green, nearly as bright as day. The colors all came into focus.

Evan spun toward the house. The porch light had been turned on. And all the lights around the yard.

“It’s Mom!” Kermit gasped. “We’re caught!”

18

Evan could see Aunt Dee in the kitchen, moving to the back door. “Quick—don’t let her see! Hide the trash bags!” he cried.

“But where?” Kermit demanded.

“Just hide them!” Evan ordered.

Kermit and Andy grabbed up their bulging trash bags. Kermit led the way around the side of the house. “We’ll drag them to the basement,” he said. “I’ll lock them in a storage closet or something. We can figure out what to do with them in the morning.”

The back door swung open, and Aunt Dee stepped out onto the back stoop. She tightened her bathrobe belt and squinted around the yard.

“My garden!” she shrieked in horror, raising her hands to her face.

And then her eyes stopped on Evan.

“Huh?” she gasped. “Evan—what on earth are you doing out at this time of night?”

“Well…”

Evan’s mind raced. He knew there was no way he could come up with a good explanation.

“My flowers—!” Aunt Dee cried.

“I… uh… I heard someone out here,” Evan started. “But…”

I’m a terrible liar, he told himself. I’d better not even try to make up a story.

“Get in the house—this instant!” his aunt growled. “I’m going to have a long talk with your parents when they get back. I’m very disappointed in you, Evan. Very disappointed.”

“Sorry,” Evan gulped. He obediently slunk into the house.

Aunt Dee was talking angrily, scolding him, asking him what he was doing outside.

But he didn’t hear her. He was thinking about the two bulging, throbbing bags of blue Monster Blood creatures in the basement.

We’ll get rid of them in the morning, he told himself. Then everything will be okay. Right?

Right?

Right. He answered his own question.

Aunt Dee scolded Evan for a few minutes more. Kermit was already tucked into bed when Evan finally entered the darkened bedroom.

Evan stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Did you lock up the bags somewhere?” he whispered.

“No problem,” Kermit replied sleepily. He yawned. “All safe and sound.”

Evan got undressed quickly, letting his clothes fall to the floor. He began to feel sleepy too. The battle against the blue blobs had worn him out.

He sighed.

Tomorrow will be better, he thought. I’ll be able to think more clearly in the morning. I’ll figure out a way to get rid of all the Monster Blood creatures.

He pulled the covers down a few inches and slid into the foldout bed. He settled in. Rested his head on the pillow.

Then he felt the cold, wet creature on his back.

And he started to scream.

19

The dampness spread over the back of Evan’s pajamas. The cold chilled him until his skin prickled.

He leaped up. Whirled around. Let out another cry as the lights flashed on.

He stared down at a wet washcloth on his sheet.

And heard Kermit’s high-pitched giggle.

“Kermit—you jerk!” Evan cried.

His cousin stood by the light switch, shaking with laughter.

“Kermit—do you really think this was the best time to play such a mean joke?” Evan demanded, his heart still pounding.

Kermit shrugged. “Guess not.” Then he started giggling all over again.

Evan angrily grabbed up the cold, wet washcloth and heaved it at his cousin. “Let’s get some sleep,” he growled. “We have a lot to do tomorrow. And it’s no joke.”

* * *

Evan dreamed about blue balloons. There were dozens of them in the dream, and they grew bigger and bigger.

The balloons floated above him, their long strings hanging down. Evan tried to capture the balloons by grabbing the strings.

But as he held on, the strings turned into wriggling snakes.

Evan tried to let go, but the snakes wrapped around his hands. And the huge blue balloons lifted him off the ground and carried him higher and higher—until they popped.

And he woke up.

Morning sunlight washed into the bedroom. Evan felt tired and shaky, as if he hadn’t slept at all. He glanced across the room at his cousin.

Kermit had kicked all his blankets off onto the floor. He slept at the foot of his bed, twisted like a pretzel.

He probably had bad dreams too, Evan thought.

He spotted the wet washcloth on the floor.

Good! Evan said to himself. Kermit deserves bad dreams!

But as he pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, a heavy feeling of dread swept over Evan.

The Monster Blood creatures. They were down in the basement. Waiting.

How can we get rid of them? Evan asked himself. Should we tell Aunt Dee? Should we call the police?

He stared at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. His eyes were bloodshot. He had dark circles around them.

He shook Kermit’s shoulders and woke him up. “Huh?” Kermit groaned. He squinted hard at Evan, as if he didn’t recognize him.

“Wake up,” Evan ordered. “We have a job to do—remember?”

Kermit blinked several times. Without his big red glasses, his eyes looked tiny.

“We have to dump those trash bags somewhere,” Evan reminded him.

“I have an idea,” Kermit replied.

They hurried to the kitchen. Aunt Dee had left a note on the refrigerator. She went early to the garden store to buy new flowers for her garden. She told the boys to make cereal for breakfast.

But Evan didn’t feel like eating. His stomach felt as if it were filled with lead.

“We’ll eat after we take care of the blobs,” he told Kermit.

Kermit nodded solemnly. He led the way to the basement stairs.

“Where did you hide the trash bags?” Evan asked as they started down the steps.

“I locked them in the little bathroom,” Kermit replied.

“Huh?” Evan let out a gasp. He grabbed Kermit and spun him around. “Isn’t there a sink in that bathroom? And a toilet? And water pipes?”

“Well… yeah,” Kermit replied. “But the creatures are in bags—remember?”

“Plastic bags!” Evan reminded him. “They probably chewed through those bags in seconds!”

Kermit’s mouth dropped open. “Do you think so?”

They stopped outside the bathroom door. Evan pressed his ear to the door, listening hard. “Uh-oh,” he murmured. “I think I hear running water.”

“Oh, wow.” Kermit shook his head. “Oh, wow. Oh, wow. I just remembered something else.”

“Something else?” Evan narrowed his eyes on his cousin. “What else did you just remember?”

Kermit swallowed. “Uh… well… I just remembered that this bathroom is where I hid the bottle that has my hair-growing formula.”

“Oh, nooooo,” Evan moaned.

“I didn’t want anyone to find it,” Kermit explained. “No one ever uses this bathroom. So I hid it in here.”

Evan pressed his ear to the bathroom door again. He reached for the knob.

“No—don’t!” Kermit cried.

“We have no choice,” Evan told him.

He pulled open the door.

20

“Oh, nooooo!” Evan screamed.

He tried to slam the door shut. But Monster Blood creatures bounced into the doorway, blocking the door.

“There are hundreds of them!” Kermit shrieked. “And—and they’re all hairy!”

As the big blobs bounced past the two boys into the basement, Evan gaped into the little bathroom in shock.

Dozens and dozens of the blobs bounced and drank and growled and chomped their pointy teeth. Their sleek blue skin was now covered in thick tufts of long black hair.

Water poured from the sink faucets. The hairy blue creatures bobbed over the sink, gulping thirstily. Others hovered over the toilet, drinking their fill.

Evan gripped the doorknob so hard, his hand ached. He stared into the room, too horrified to move.

“The walls…” he murmured in a trembling whisper. “Oh, no. The walls…”

The walls and ceiling and floor were covered with a layer of oozing blue slime. The pipe under the sink had been chewed clear through. Creatures bobbed beneath it, sucking up water. Others drank from puddles on the slime-covered floor.

“What are we going to—” Kermit started.

He didn’t finish his sentence. A deafening POP rocked the little room as two Monster Blood creatures exploded to become four. A wave of cold, wet slime washed over Evan and Kermit.

Evan staggered back as several growling creatures bounced out of the bathroom. He saw three others pushing their way out through the basement window. Two were bouncing on the stairs.

“We’ve got to stop them!” he cried as another explosion and another flying wave of slime shook the room.

“But how?” Kermit whined.

Evan didn’t have a chance to answer. A wet blue blob leaped onto his shoulder. With an angry snarl, it sank its teeth into Evan’s sweatshirt.

Evan uttered a groan of pain. “It—it’s sucking…” he stammered.

He ducked, swung around. And batted it away with a hard punch.

The creature roared furiously—and dove for Kermit.

Kermit dodged away—and fell over a hairy blue blob. “Help me—!” he cried out as he landed on his back in a thick slime puddle. “They’re totally fierce now!”

Kermit is right, Evan realized. There’s nothing cute about these creatures now. They are ferocious—and deadly.

POP! POP!

And there are more of them every second!

Evan ducked away from another attacking creature. He reached both hands out and pulled Kermit to his feet.

“They’re all getting away!” Evan declared.

“Maybe we should let them!” Kermit declared.

Evan glared at his cousin. “Do you want to be responsible for wrecking the whole town? OWWWW!” He cried out as a hairy blob bit into his ankle.

Evan kicked the creature away.

Kermit shook his head. “They drank up all my hair-growing formula. I’ll never be able to mix it right again.”

We were going to use it for my revenge against Conan, Evan thought bitterly. Well… forget that idea.

“We don’t have time to worry about your hair formula,” Evan told his cousin.

POP!

Another wave of slime slapped the bathroom wall.

“If they keep multiplying and multiplying,” Evan said, “they could outnumber the people in this town. They could drink up the whole water supply. Drain all the flowers and plants. They could keep spreading and spreading—and drink up the entire country!”

Kermit gulped. “And it would be all my fault. I opened the can.”

The growls and snarls and chomps of jagged teeth were deafening. Hairy blue creatures bounced out the window, up the steps, all around the basement.

“We have to get rid of them somehow,” Evan moaned. “No. We can’t just get rid of them. We have to kill them!”

“Oh, wow,” Kermit muttered. Then his expression brightened. “I have an idea!” he declared.

21

“My electric fence!” he cried. “If we can herd them to the backyard, we can zap them with the electricity. Maybe it will dry them up!”

“Hey—!” Evan exclaimed. “Maybe it will. It’s worth a try.” Then he hesitated. “How do we get them to the backyard?”

Kermit shrugged.

POP! Another blob exploded into two.

Evan covered his ears to block out the angry growls and roars. He glanced frantically around the basement. And spotted several brooms and mops leaning against the wall near the laundry room.

“Come on—let’s round them up!” he told Kermit.

He grabbed a broom and handed another one to his cousin. The two of them began swinging the brooms, batting the hairy blobs, poking them, moving them out.

The creatures squealed in protest. But their balloonlike shape made them easy to bat and shove along.

It seemed to Evan to take hours. By the time they herded the last of the stragglers into the backyard, his arms ached and his sweatshirt was drenched with sweat.

“What’s going on? What on earth are you doing?” Andy came running across the yard. She wore bright green leggings and a purple sweater. She goggled as she saw how many bouncing blobs the boys were herding.

“Yuck!” she groaned. “They’re all hairy! Sick!”

“They’re out of control!” Kermit declared. “And it’s all my fault!”

Weird, Evan thought. Kermit never takes the blame for anything. Maybe he’s growing up.

“That’s why I came up with a brilliant plan to kill them!” Kermit declared.

Same old Kermit, Evan thought.

“We’re going to zap them,” Evan told Andy breathlessly. “On the invisible fence!”

“You’re going to shock them to death?” she cried, staring at the bouncing, growling monsters.

“It’s worth a try,” Evan gasped. He slapped a blob into line with a swing of his broom. The black hair over its body stiffened and stood straight up. It tried to bite the broom handle. But Evan slapped it away with another swing.

“Get ready!” Kermit cried. He swung his broom back and forth, frantically trying to keep the angry creatures in line.

“Okay! Push them! Push them forward—into the invisible fence!”

Evan swung his broom hard.

The blobs bounced forward, squealing and growling, snapping their teeth.

Forward. Forward. Toward the edge of the yard.

Will it work? Evan wondered. Will the jolt of electricity destroy the ugly, destructive things?

22

He swung the broom hard, batting the monsters forward.

Swung it again.

They bobbed and bounced over the low shrubs that divided the yards.

On into Conan Barber’s backyard.

“Nooooooo!” Kermit let out a cry and slapped his forehead. “The switch! I forgot to turn it on again!”

Creatures bounced into the next yard. Beneath the tufts of black hair, their skin glowed bright blue in the morning sunlight.

“You jerk!” Evan shrieked at his cousin. “How could you forget again? How could you?”

Andy plopped down on the grass, lowering her head and uttering an unhappy sigh.

Kermit fumbled in his back pocket for the fence control. He finally tugged it out and pressed the red button to turn on the power.

ZZZAAAAAP!

Evan shrieked and leaped into the air as a powerful shock jolted through him.

“I told you not to stand there!” Kermit cried.

Evan jumped aside.

“I turned it up all the way!” Kermit declared.

“Too late,” Evan muttered.

The Monster Blood creatures had all bounced and rolled into the next backyard.

Conan’s yard.

“Oh, no,” Evan moaned softly. “Here comes more trouble.”

All three of them gasped as Conan came lumbering across his yard, a can of Coke in one hand, his other hand balled into a tight, angry fist.

23

“Conan—go back!” Evan warned. But his voice came out tiny and weak. He knew that Conan couldn’t hear him over the growls and snarls of the Monster Blood creatures.

“What’s the big idea?” Conan boomed. “It’s not my birthday! Get these balloons out of my yard!”

“Get back! Get back!” Evan tried to warn him.

Kermit and Andy stood frozen, watching Conan storm toward the bouncing, evil blobs.

Evan waved frantically with both hands. “Get back—!”

Conan scowled at him. “Are you ordering me around in my own yard?”

“But—but—” Evan sputtered.

Conan kicked at one of the creatures. “Whoa. This balloon has hair on it!”

He bent to pick the creature up—and it jumped onto his arm. With a growl, it swallowed Conan’s Coke can.

“Hey—!” Conan protested.

The creature started to swell up from the liquid.

Conan struggled to shake it off. But it clung tightly to his arm.

And then, with a loud, wet POP, it exploded.

Thick slime splashed over Conan’s face. He spluttered, thrashed his arms out in surprise. Wiped the slimy goo from his eyes.

And blinked at two hairy, round creatures clinging to his arm.

“Get these off me!” he shrieked.

With a furious cry, he swung his free arm—and batted the two blobs together. They made a loud SQUISH as they collided with each other. And they dropped to the ground.

Another creature bit into Conan’s leg. Conan stumbled and tripped over another one.

He pulled himself up quickly, glaring furiously at Kermit. “You invented these hairy things—didn’t you!” he accused. “Don’t even answer. It’s some kind of lab experiment—right? I know this is your kind of thing.”

“No. Listen—” Kermit started weakly.

Another Monster Blood creature exploded, sending a wave of cold slime over Conan.

He spluttered again and tried to wipe it away. Then he shook a fist at them. “It’ll be payback time—real soon,” he threatened. “Payback time!”

And he slunk back toward his house, covered in slime.

Evan breathed a sigh of relief. We have enough problems without having Conan in our face, he thought.

Of course, Conan will be back. But we can’t worry about that now.

He gazed over the backyards. The Monster Blood creatures were spreading out over the entire block.

What are we going to do? Evan wondered.

He turned back to the house. “Hey—Aunt Dee is home!” he cried.

“When did she get back?” Kermit wondered.

“We have to tell her what’s happened,” Andy urged. “We need help. We can’t round these creatures up on our own.”

The three of them took off, running across the slime-puddled grass to the back door. A few seconds later, they burst breathlessly into the kitchen.

Kermit’s mom had her back to them. She was stirring a long spoon in a big aluminum pot on the stove. She turned as the storm door slammed.

“What’s up, guys?” She smiled at them.

“We need help!” Kermit blurted out.

Aunt Dee’s smile faded. “Help? What’s wrong?” She turned back to the stove. “Keep talking. I just have to stir this. I’m mixing up a new batch of spaghetti with hot sauce for my reading club tonight.”

“We have a real problem. Andy found a can of Monster Blood, and Kermit opened it,” Evan told her, all in one breath.

“That’s nice,” Aunt Dee replied, frowning at her hot sauce. She sniffed and peered down into the steaming pot. “I think it needs more peppers.”

“Mom—you’ve got to listen!” Kermit pleaded.

“I am listening,” she insisted, stirring harder. “Go on with your story.”

“It’s not a story. It’s real,” Evan told her.

Still stirring, she glanced back at him. “I hope there isn’t any serious trouble, Evan. You are in charge, you know. Being out in the middle of the night and ruining my flower garden is enough trouble for one visit. When I tell your parents—”

“Mom, please!” Kermit begged.

“I’m afraid we do have more trouble,” Andy told her.

“The Monster Blood poured out and formed a little blob creature,” Evan continued, his voice trembling. “It was cute at first. But it drank a lot of water and exploded into two. Then the two exploded into four.”

Evan glanced out the kitchen window. The creatures were rolling and bouncing all over the backyard. Some of them had discovered the garden hose and were soaking up water, inflating rapidly.

Several of them were forcing their way into the big wooden doghouse in a corner of the yard.

Oh, no, Evan thought. That’s where I stashed the Super-Soakers. Plenty of water for them in Dogface’s house.

“Now there are hundreds of them, Mom,” Kermit continued the story. “And they’re not cute anymore. They’ve grown hair, and they’ve turned really fierce. They’re spreading out all over the neighborhood, and—”

“That’s nice,” Aunt Dee said absently, frowning at her hot sauce.

“Mom—just take a look at them!” Kermit pleaded. “Look out the window. Now!”

“I can’t right now,” she replied. “I have to stir—”

The phone rang.

She handed the long wooden spoon to Evan. “I’ve been waiting for that call. Stir for me till I get back, okay?”

Before Evan could reply, she ran from the kitchen.

“I don’t think she heard us,” Kermit said, shaking his head unhappily. “If only she would take one look out the window. Then maybe…” His voice drifted off.

Evan sighed and stirred the sauce. The steam rising up from the pot burned his eyes. “This stuff is deadly!” he declared.

And that gave him an idea.

He glanced out the window in time to see a wet explosion of slime from the doghouse. The creatures had found the Super-Soakers. More of them had clustered around the little wooden structure.

He turned to Kermit and Andy. “Let’s try Aunt Dee’s hot sauce,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?” Kermit and Andy stared at him, confused.

“You want to eat now?” Kermit asked. “I thought you hated Mom’s hot sauce.”

“I do,” Evan admitted, still whispering. “Because it kills!”

“I get it!” Andy declared, her dark eyes widening in excitement. “You think maybe the hot sauce will kill the Monster Blood creatures.”

Evan nodded. “It’s liquid. So they’ll try to drink it. And maybe it will be too hot for them to handle.”

“Maybe it will blow them up for good!” Andy exclaimed.

“Worth a try, I guess,” Kermit said softly.

Evan glanced to the door. No sign of Aunt Dee.

“Quick—” he whispered. “Help me carry the pot outside.”

24

Evan grabbed two pot holders off the counter and handed one to Andy. Then they each grabbed a handle on the top of the big stew pot and lifted it carefully off the stove.

“It weighs a ton,” Andy groaned.

“Mom likes to make a lot of hot sauce,” Kermit explained. “She keeps the extra sauce in the freezer. For emergencies, I guess.”

He held the back door open. Evan and Andy, hoisting the steaming pot between them, carried it out the door.

Evan raised his eyes to the backyard and let out a cry. “We may be too late,” he moaned. “There are so many of them!”

Squinting into the sunlight, he thought he saw thousands of them! They bounced and rolled over the backyards. They growled and grunted.

They gulped water from the garden hose. Dozens of them were bouncing through a neighbor’s flower bed, drinking the plants dry.

Two houses down, Monster Blood creatures had gathered in a small, backyard goldfish pond. They were busily drinking the pond dry. Some of them were sucking the liquid out of the goldfish!

“Too late,” Evan murmured. “We’re just too late.”

“It might work,” Andy said, not very enthusiastically. “If we can get them to drink it.”

“I—I have to set it down,” Evan told her. “The handle is hot. My hand is burning.”

“Mine too,” Andy replied.

They set the steaming stew pot down on the grass in the center of the yard.

“Now how do we get them to try it?” Kermit asked. Without waiting for an answer, he cupped his hands around his mouth and began shouting, “Come and get it! Come and get it!”

Evan grabbed him and pulled him back. “I don’t think they speak English,” he told Kermit, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s back away from the pot and let them discover it on their own,” Andy suggested.

“Good idea,” Evan replied. He tugged Kermit back some more. “They haven’t had any trouble finding liquid everywhere. If we step back a bit, they’ll discover the hot sauce.”

The three of them backed toward the garage, keeping their eyes on the pot of hot sauce.

Monster Blood creatures bounced over three or four backyards, sucking up any liquid they could find. Flower beds lay wilted and dead. Large patches of grass were brown and dry.

Will they find the hot sauce? Evan wondered.

Will they try it? Will it destroy them?

It nearly destroyed me! he remembered. It burned my lips and took all the skin off the roof of my mouth!

Will it burn up the hairy blue blobs?

The spicy aroma of the hot sauce drifted to Evan’s nose. You can probably smell it all over the backyards, he guessed.

He stared without blinking at the aluminum pot gleaming in the sunlight. And he crossed his fingers, hoping his idea would work.

As he watched, a few Monster Blood creatures turned toward the pot. Their round eyes bulged. They began bobbing up and down, as if excited.

Then they started to bounce toward the hot sauce.

“Yesssss!” Evan whispered. “Yessss!”

But before the creatures could reach the pot, another figure came bounding into the backyard.

Evan was concentrating so hard, at first he didn’t recognize the big sheepdog. But Kermit’s cries made Evan realize what was happening.

“Dogface—get away!” Kermit cried frantically. “Dogface—no! Go home, boy! Dogface—go home!”

But the big dog ignored Kermit’s cries. Wagging his stub of a tail furiously, he trotted toward the shining hot sauce pot.

25

“Dogface—get away!” Kermit cried, frantically waving the big sheepdog back.

Panting hard, his pink tongue hanging down from his furry face, Dogface bounded up to the hot sauce pot. Ignoring Kermit’s desperate cries, he lowered his head to the pot and sniffed it.

“No! Go away! Go away!” Evan joined in on Kermit’s cries. “Get him away from there!”

They couldn’t move fast enough.

The big dog bumped the pot over. The orange hot sauce poured out over the grass.

Dogface lowered his head and licked up a few tastes.

Blue Monster Blood creatures bounced closer. A few began hungrily drinking up the spilled hot sauce.

Evan waited and watched, his fingers crossed so hard, they hurt.

No. No.

The hot sauce didn’t bother the hairy blue blobs a bit.

But Dogface raised his head from the ground. Behind his thick fur, his black eyes rolled crazily. The big dog opened his jaws in a long howl of pain.

And as he howled, a growling blue blob leaped onto the dog’s back.

Stunned and in pain, Dogface shook himself hard. But the creature clung to the fur on his back.

“No! Get away!” Evan shrieked as another blob leaped onto Kermit’s dog.

With another howl, the big dog took off. His big paws pounded the grass. He shook himself as he ran, trying to throw off the two creatures.

Kermit stood openmouthed in shock.

“The blobs are drinking up all the hot sauce!” Andy declared. “And now they’re biting and snapping at each other! It’s turning them even meaner!”

“Come on!” Evan cried, running after the dog. “We’ve got to save Dogface! Those creatures will kill him!”

Evan took a deep breath and started running full speed, following the howling dog. Kermit and Andy ran right behind him.

“Dogface—whoa!” Kermit called. “Dogface—stop! Stop!”

But, as always, the dog ignored Kermit.

Shaking his back, he ran in crazy zigzags.

Through backyards. And then across a street. And onto the sidewalk.

The dog barked and howled in protest. But the two blobs hung on, appearing to enjoy the ride.

“Dogface—wait!” Kermit pleaded.

The three kids ran as fast as they could, zigzagging across streets and yards, following the barking, frightened dog.

As they neared the school, Evan glanced back. And saw that the Monster Blood creatures were following them. Dozens of them, bouncing and rolling over the front yards.

They were growling and snapping at everything in their path. One of them exploded, sending a spray of slime over someone’s front yard.

“They’re all following us!” Evan cried breathlessly.

Kermit and Andy turned back. “Oh, wow!” Kermit muttered. “It’s like a parade!”

“Hey—what’s that?” Evan heard a woman shout. “What are you kids doing?”

“Hey—get off my grass!” He heard a man’s angry cry.

He heard startled voices. And saw people bursting out of their houses. Two kids jumped off their bikes and stared. A man on a ladder cried out in surprise and nearly toppled to the ground.

“Dogface—please stop!” Kermit wailed.

But the big dog galloped across the street, heading to the playground behind the school. Just past the sidewalk, he stopped and began rubbing his back against a wide tree trunk.

The hairy blobs on the dog’s back bounced and scraped against the rough tree bark. But they held on tight.

With another howl, Dogface took off, running wildly across the softball field, kicking up dust in the infield, bucking his head, shaking his whole body.

And then the big dog slumped to the ground.

The three kids gasped as Dogface toppled onto his side.

The two blobs had their mouths buried in the dog’s thick fur.

Dogface kicked out once with all four legs.

And then didn’t move.

26

“They killed him! They killed him!” Kermit screamed.

“No!” Evan cried. “He’s still breathing!”

Sprawled on his side, the big dog’s chest heaved. The ugly creatures gulped hard, bobbing on top of the dog’s thick fur.

Evan and Andy dove for the dog. Evan grabbed one of the drinking creatures in both hands. He twisted it hard—then tugged it off.

The blob opened its wet mouth in an angry roar. It snapped its blue jaws at Evan.

Evan raised it up and heaved it into the sea of bobbing blue creatures that swarmed over the playground.

Then he turned to Andy. She struggled to pull off the remaining blob.

She gave a hard pull. “Yuck! This hair is so gross!” she wailed. Her hands slid off, and she stumbled back.

Dogface uttered a weak groan. The dog’s big eyes rolled crazily in his head.

Evan grabbed the hairy blob. He twisted it hard, the way he twisted the first one. He pulled up with all his strength.

The creature lifted off Dogface with a loud POP. It snarled furiously and snapped its jaws over Evan’s wrist.

“OWWW!” Evan howled in pain.

He turned and heaved the ugly creature as high and far as he could. It bounced off a tree limb, then fell into the crowd of bobbing Monster Blood creatures.

Dogface climbed quickly to his feet. He shook himself hard. He seemed to be okay.

Kermit squatted down to hug him.

Evan gazed over the playground. Monster Blood creatures swarmed over the softball field, over the volleyball courts, over the whole block!

People came out of houses and came running to the playground. Evan heard the wail of a siren—and saw a black-and-white police cruiser turn the corner. It squealed to a halt, and two dark-uniformed officers came scrambling out.

Andy bumped up against Evan. “Bad news,” she said, frowning. “I don’t think we can keep this a secret anymore.”

Evan shook his head. He knew Andy was making a joke. But this was no time to be funny.

He had been in trouble before. He had the whole town chasing him last year, when Monster Blood had turned him into a giant.

And now, Monster Blood had gotten him in major trouble once again. How could he ever explain this? What could the police do against these horrible, frightening creatures?

POP! A fat blob exploded into two.

Across the playground, people pushed closer to get a better view.

The creatures were roaring now, roaring like angry tigers. They bit at each other and chewed the ground.

The two police officers were struggling to force their way through the angry, bouncing creatures. One of the officers had a phone to his ear. Probably calling for more officers, Evan thought.

Behind him, he heard a weak cry.

Evan spun around—and gasped. Hairy blobs had leaped onto Kermit. One sat on top of Kermit’s blond hair. Two more had climbed to his shoulders. Another perched on his back.

“Help…” Kermit choked out. He thrashed his arms and tried to squirm out from under the creatures.

But they spread out over him, digging their mouths into his skin.

“Ohhhh.” Kermit uttered a groan and fell to his knees.

And several more creatures leaped onto him. They made wet sucking noises as they covered his body. Kermit disappeared beneath them.

“YAAAIIII!”

Evan heard another shrill cry. He turned to see Andy covered in hairy creatures too. She swung her fists furiously, trying to bat them away.

She ducked and squirmed and shook herself.

But they spread over her shoulders, down her arms. One of them leaped up and grabbed on to her hair. It spread itself wetly over her face.

Evan dove for Kermit. He slipped and landed hard on his knees. He grabbed at a blob on Kermit’s shoulder and tugged it.

It came off with a wet POP.

Evan grabbed for another one.

But before he could pull it off, he felt a cold, wet slap on the back of his neck.

Then he felt a heavy, wet blob thump onto his head. Cold slime ran down Evan’s face.

He reached up. Tried to grab the evil thing.

Too late.

Two more blobs leaped onto him and attached themselves to his back.

“Can’t… breathe…” Evan gasped.

The weight of the creatures pushed him down.

Down…

Facedown in the wet grass.

He dug his elbows into the ground. Tried to push up. Tried to struggle to his knees.

I’ve got to get up, he told himself. I can’t let them cover me like a blanket.

Like a smothering blanket…

But the creatures were too heavy. There were too many of them on him.

He let out a whimper of pain as he felt mouths biting at him. Drinking…

Choking off his air. Smothering him…

I’m doomed, Evan realized.

This time, the Monster Blood got me. This time, the Monster Blood wins.

27

The creatures covered Evan. Darkness swept over him.

He struggled to breathe.

He wondered if Kermit and Andy were being smothered beside him.

He sucked in a mouthful of air. A cold, wet blob pressed over his face. Evan couldn’t let the air out.

He heard a rush, a buzz in his ears.

The sound of my own blood, he thought. My own blood pulsing through my veins.

He suddenly felt lighter.

I’m fading, he thought.

He let out the mouthful of air.

Hey—the creature moved away from my face! Evan realized.

What’s going on?

He raised his head—and saw an amazing sight.

Kermit and Andy were climbing to their feet. The blobs had moved away from them. They had moved away—to fight the other blobs.

They’re all fighting each other! Evan saw.

Furious growls rose over the playground as the creatures bit each other, tugged at hair, at slimy blue flesh, dug their pointy teeth into each other.

With a groan, Evan climbed to his knees. He shook off his dizziness and gazed at the incredible scene.

“They’re swallowing each other!” Andy gasped. “They turned so mean, they’re going after each other!”

She’s right, Evan realized. They’re getting meaner and meaner. So mean, they’re destroying each other!

Kermit picked up his glasses from the ground. He wiped off some blades of grass, then slid them over his face. “I don’t believe it!” he cried, watching the creatures devour each other.

In minutes, the blobs had eaten each other. They had completely vanished.

The grass was covered with slime and wet tufts of black hair.

The last blob left rolled over and died, its blue flesh ripped to shreds. But nothing else remained of the hundreds of creatures.

Not a trace.

Evan stood up shakily. He dusted himself off. Squinting into the sunlight, he looked around.

Groups of neighborhood people talked excitedly. They shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders as they talked, trying to make sense of the whole thing.

I could make sense of it for them, Evan thought. But they’d never believe me.

He turned to Kermit and Andy. “Are you okay?”

They nodded. Andy pulled a chunk of slime from her dark hair.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kermit said.

But before Evan could move, a shadow fell over him.

He turned and stared up at the two grim-faced police officers. “You again,” one of them accused, narrowing his dark eyes at Evan.

“I… I…” Evan stammered.

“I think you three kids are in big trouble,” the other officer said softly.

“Trouble?” Evan choked out. “Why? What did we do?”

The officers gazed around the playground.

“What did we do?” Kermit repeated shrilly. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t commit any crime.”

“There’s nothing here,” Andy added. “Look around. There’s nothing here to blame us for.”

“Well…” The officers hesitated.

One of them picked up a slimy wad of black hair from the grass. “How about littering?” he asked his partner. “I think we can charge them with littering.”

“Let’s forget about it,” the other officer muttered. He turned to the three kids. “Go on. Go home. Let’s forget any of this ever happened.”

I hope I can, Evan thought as he turned and started jogging away with the others.

I hope I can forget about it.

“That was a close one,” Kermit said softly as they jogged across the street.

“Yeah. A close one,” Andy repeated.

“I just feel bad I never got to look at one of those guys under a microscope,” Kermit said.

“Yuck,” Andy murmured. Her whole body shivered. “I keep thinking about that disgusting hair on their bodies. It felt so wet and slimy when it brushed against your skin.”

“What a waste of good hair-growing formula!” Kermit grumbled.

“Let’s stop talking about it,” Evan suggested. “That policeman is right. We should try to forget the whole thing.”

They didn’t say a word for the rest of the way back. Evan started to feel better as Kermit’s house came into view.

Maybe this horrible adventure is over, he told himself.

But his heart sank, and a heavy feeling of dread swept over him when he saw Aunt Dee waiting for them on the front stoop.

“Evan, you are responsible,” she said sternly, narrowing her eyes angrily at him. “I want a full explanation.”

“Well…” Evan didn’t know where to begin.

“I shouldn’t have opened the can of Monster Blood,” Kermit told her.

“That’s what started it,” Evan said. “Then the blue creatures started exploding, and—”

“Stop right now!” Aunt Dee ordered, raising her hand in a halt sign. “I don’t want to hear about your silly blue creatures. If you want to waste your time on fantasy games, that’s your business.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and glared at Evan angrily. “I want to know what happened to my pot of hot sauce!”

“Huh?” Evan gasped.

The whole town was nearly overrun by gross, water-sucking monsters. And all she cares about is her precious hot sauce!

“I’m waiting,” Aunt Dee said sternly, tapping her foot.

“Well…” Evan started.

What can I tell her? he asked himself, thinking hard. What can I say?

“Evan took your hot sauce,” Kermit chimed in. “He ate it, Mom. Evan loves your hot sauce. He ate the whole pot himself.”

I don’t believe this! Evan groaned to himself. After all we’ve been through, the little rat just got me in trouble again!

But to Evan’s surprise, he found Aunt Dee smiling at him. “Evan, I’m so flattered,” she said. “I didn’t know you liked it so much. I’ll make you a big pot of it every time you come for a visit!”

“Uh… great,” Evan replied weakly.

“Go get my stew pot. Then come inside for lunch,” she instructed them. She disappeared into the house.

Evan led the way around to the back. He scowled at Kermit. “I can’t believe you told your mom that.”

Kermit shrugged. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

Evan gazed around the backyard. The flower garden was dead and dry. Big patches of grass lay brown and flat.

The stew pot sat on its side in the middle of the yard.

Evan started toward it—but stopped with a startled cry as a figure staggered out from behind the garage.

A hulking creature with glowing red eyes!

28

“Whoa!” Evan exclaimed.

Kermit and Andy huddled close to him as the creature lumbered into view.

As it stepped into the bright sunlight, Evan saw that it wasn’t a creature at all. The three of them were staring at a man in a white work suit.

The work suit looked like the kind of space suit worn by astronauts. It covered the man from head to foot. The man’s face was completely covered too. He peered out at them through bright red goggles.

“Who—who are you?” Evan managed to choke out.

The man stopped halfway across the yard. He stared out at them, his eyes dark behind the red goggles. Finally, he lifted a gloved hand and pulled back his hood.

He removed the goggles, took a few deep breaths, and pushed his curly black hair off his forehead. “No blue creatures here?” he asked, looking around. “I guess I didn’t need the safety suit.”

“Who—who are you?” Evan stammered again.

“I’m looking for my little blue guys,” the man replied. “I heard there was quite a fuss at the playground. The police said you might be able to help me.”

“Those are your creatures?” Andy cried.

The man nodded. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Professor Eric Crane. From the Science Institute downtown.” He glanced once again around the yard. “Do you have the can?”

“I—I kept it in the garage,” Evan told him. “But how do we know it’s yours? Who are you? Why are you wearing that uniform?”

“Did you really invent those disgusting blue blobs?” Andy demanded.

The man took a few steps toward them. The safety uniform was so big and bulky, he walked awkwardly and slowly.

“Bring me the can, and I’ll explain,” he told them.

Evan obediently brought the plastic can from the garage. He put it into Professor Crane’s gloved hand.

“Those creatures—they got meaner and meaner,” Andy told him. “They got so mean, they ate each other up.”

The professor sighed. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I threw them away. My underwater fighting force was a total failure.”

“Excuse me?” Evan cried. “Fighting force?”

“I developed the blue liquid in my lab,” Professor Crane explained. “It was supposed to be a monster fighting force. For underwater combat. A special army of fighters who would get meaner and meaner, and multiply underwater until they outnumbered the enemy.”

“Cool idea,” Kermit murmured. And then he added, “I guess.”

Professor Crane shrugged. “But it didn’t work. They get too mean. It was a bad experiment.”

He glanced down at the can in his gloved hand. “But I should have been more careful when I tossed the can out. Much more careful.” The professor shook his head. “I spent ten years on this. Ten years and fifty million dollars. All a waste. All a total waste.”

With a bitter sigh, he started to pull the lid off the can.

But he let out a startled cry as Dogface bumped him from behind. The big sheepdog ran hard into Professor Crane—and the Monster Blood can flew out of his hand.

Evan watched it bounce over a low shrub and roll to a stop in Conan’s yard.

“That’s okay,” Evan told him. “It’s empty.”

Professor Crane shrugged and uttered another unhappy sigh. “Ten years…” he murmured. “Ten years…”

Shaking his head, he stomped off. He turned back to them when he reached the driveway. “You won’t tell anyone about this, will you?” he called. “It would be very embarrassing to me if you did.”

“No problem,” Evan replied.

He watched the scientist lumber down the drive. Then Evan turned back to Kermit and Andy.

For some reason, Kermit was giggling.

“What’s so funny?” Evan asked.

Kermit pointed. “Look. Conan came running out. He discovered the Monster Blood can.”

“But it’s empty—isn’t it?” Evan cried. “Isn’t it?”

He started to run toward Conan. But Kermit held him back.

“Kermit—let me go!” Evan demanded. “We have to warn Conan. That stuff is dangerous. If there is any of it left in there, and he opens it—”

“I think there’s a tiny bit left in the can,” Kermit told Evan. “You wanted your revenge—didn’t you? This is perfect. Conan will let the stuff out, and in a few minutes he’ll have bouncing blue blobs to take care of.”

“But—but—” Evan sputtered.

“It’ll be funny,” Andy agreed. “Conan will be terrified. He won’t know what to do with them. They’ll suck up his whole yard. It’s a great revenge, Evan. And it’s harmless. They’ll just eat each other in the end.”

“Meanwhile, Conan will have the most frightening time of his life,” Kermit added gleefully.

“Okay, okay,” Evan agreed. “You’re right. It’s pretty funny. Let’s not warn him.”

“Lunchtime! Come on in, you guys!” Aunt Dee called from the kitchen door.

Evan glanced back as he followed the others into the house. Conan had the blue can in his hands. He popped open the lid.

Evan giggled to himself and went in to lunch.

After lunch, they carried the dishes into the kitchen and loaded them in the dishwasher. “What do you want to do this afternoon?” Kermit asked. “How about some experiments in my lab?”

“No way!” Andy replied.

Evan heard Conan calling them. “Hey, you three! Hey, guys!” Conan shouted from the backyard.

Evan led the way out the door. He couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across his face. Conan probably wants us to help him round up the blue blobs, he thought.

But to his surprise, he saw no blue blobs in the backyard.

“What’s going on?” Evan asked Conan.

Conan grinned at him. “I found that blue candy of yours,” he said.

“Huh? Blue candy?” Evan gasped.

Conan nodded. “Yeah. You remember. That candy you wouldn’t share with me the other night. I found it and I ate it. It was pretty good. Sticky, but good.”

“But—but—” Evan sputtered.

“Now I just have two small problems,” Conan continued. “For one thing, I can’t stop drinking water.”

“What’s the other problem?” Evan asked in a trembling voice.

“Look,” Conan replied. He waved toward his backyard.

And a figure came running out from the house.

Another Conan!

That Conan was followed by two more Conans!

The four Conans swept around Evan, Kermit, and Andy, and formed a circle around them.

“This is my other problem,” Conan said, narrowing his eyes menacingly at Evan. “There are four of us now. And I don’t know why—but we’re feeling MEANER than usual!”

MONSTER BLOOD III

2014-03-12T02:03:00.000-07:00

GOOSEBUMPS R.L.Stine

`MONSTER BLOOD III`

"The Monster Blood! It's growing again!" Evan Ross stared at the quivering green blob in his driveway. It looked like an enormous wad of sticky green bubble gum, and was bigger than a beach ball. Bigger than two beach balls!
The green blob trembled and shook as if it were breathing hard. It made disgusting sucking sounds. Then it started to bounce.
Evan took a step back. How did the sticky goo get out of its can? he wondered. Who left it in the driveway? Who opened the can?
Evan knew that once Monster Blood starts to grow, it can't be stopped. It will grow and grow, and suck up everything in its path.
Evan knew this from painful experience.
He had seen a giant glob of Monster Blood swallow kids whole. And he had seen what had happened when his dog, Trigger, had eaten Monster Blood. The cocker spaniel had grown and grown and grown — until he was big enough to pick up Evan in his teeth and bury him in the backyard!
A small chunk of Monster Blood had turned Cuddles, the tiny hamster in Evan's class, into a raging, growling monster. The giant hamster — bigger than a gorilla — had roared through the school, destroying everything in its path!
This gunk is dangerous, Evan thought. It may be the most dangerous green slimy stuff on Earth!
So how did it get in Evan's driveway?
And what was he going to do about it?
The Monster Blood bounced and hiccupped. It made more disgusting sucking sounds.
As it bounced, it picked up sticks and gravel from the driveway. They stuck to its side for a moment, before being sucked into the center of the giant wet ball.
Evan took another step back as the ball slowly started to roll. "Oh, noooo." A low moan escaped his throat. "Please. Noooo."
The Monster Blood rolled over the driveway toward Evan, picking up speed as it moved. Evan had tossed one of his Rollerblades by the side of the house. The green goo swallowed up the skate with a loud thwoccccck.
Evan gulped as he saw the skate disappear into the bouncing green ball. "I — I'm next!" he stammered out loud.
No way! he told himself. I'm getting out of here.
He turned to run — and went sprawling over the other skate.
"Ow!" he cried out as he fell hard on his elbows and knees. Pain shot up his arms. He had landed on both funny bones.
Shaking away the tingling, he scrambled to his knees. He turned in time to see the seething goo roll over him.
He opened his mouth to scream. But the scream was trapped inside him as the heavy green gunk splatted over his face.
He thrashed both arms wildly. Kicked his feet.
But the sticky goo wrapped around him. Pulling him. Pulling him in.
I — I can't breathe! he realized.
And, then, everything turned green.

2

"Evan — stop daydreaming and eat your Jell-O," Mrs. Ross scolded.
Evan shook his head hard. The daydream had seemed so real. His mother's voice still sounded far away.
"Evan — hurry. Eat the Jell-O. You'll be late."
"Uh . . . Mom . . ." Evan said softly. "Could you do me a really big favor?"
"What favor?" his mother asked him patiently, pushing back her straight blond hair into a ponytail.
"Could we never have green Jell-O again? Could you just buy other colors? Not green?"
He stared at the shimmering, quivering green mound of Jell-O in the glass bowl in front of him on the kitchen counter.
"Evan, you're weird," Mrs. Ross replied, rolling her eyes. "Hurry up. Kermit is probably wondering where you are."
"Kermit is probably busy blowing up his house," Evan replied glumly. He pulled the spoon out of the Jell-O. It made a gross sucking sound.
"All the more reason for you to hurry over there," his mother said sharply. "You are responsible for him, Evan. You are in charge of your cousin until his mom gets home from work."
Evan shoved the green Jell-O away. "I can't eat this," he murmured. "It makes me think of Monster Blood."
Mrs. Ross made a disgusted face. "Don't mention that slimy stuff."
Evan climbed down from the stool. Mrs. Ross pushed a hand gently through his curly, carrot-colored hair. "It's nice of you to help out," she said softly. "Aunt Dee can't really afford a baby-sitter."
"Kermit doesn't need a baby-sitter. He needs a keeper!" Evan grumbled. "Or maybe a trainer. A guy with a whip and a chair. Like in the circus."
"Kermit looks up to you," Mrs. Ross insisted.
"Only because he's two feet tall!" Evan exclaimed. "I can't believe he's my cousin. He's such a nerd."
"Kermit isn't a nerd. Kermit is a genius!" Mrs. Ross declared. "He's only eight, and already he's a scientific genius."
"Some genius," Evan grumbled. "Mom, yesterday he melted my sneakers."
Mrs. Ross's pale blue eyes grew wide. "He what?"
"He made one of his concoctions. It was a bright yellow liquid. He said it would toughen up the sneakers so they would never wear out."
"And you let him pour the stuff on your sneakers?" Evan's mother demanded.
"I didn't have a choice," Evan replied unhappily. "I have to do everything Kermit wants. If I don't, he tells Aunt Dee I was mean to him."
Mrs. Ross shook her head. "I wondered why you came home barefoot yesterday."
"My sneakers are still stuck to Kermit's basement floor," Evan told her. "They melted right off my feet."
"Well, be careful over there, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure," Evan replied. He pulled his Atlanta Braves cap over his head, waved to his mother, and headed out the back door.
It was a warm spring day. Two black-and-yellow monarch butterflies fluttered over the flower garden. The bright new leaves on the trees shimmered in the sunlight.
Evan stopped at the bottom of the driveway and lowered the baseball cap to shield his eyes from the sun. He squinted down the street, hoping to see his friend Andy.
No sign of her.
Disappointed, he kicked a large pebble along the curb and started to make his way toward Kermit's house. Aunt Dee, Kermit's mom, paid Evan three dollars an hour to watch Kermit after school every afternoon. Three hundred dollars an hour would be a lot more fair! he thought angrily.
But Evan was glad to earn the money. He was saving for a new Walkman. Trigger had mistaken his old Walkman for a dog bone.
But Evan was earning every penny. Kermit was impossible. That was the only word for him. Impossible.
He didn't want to play video games. He didn't want to watch TV. He refused to go outside and play ball or toss a Frisbee around. He didn't even want to sneak down to the little grocery on the corner and load up on candy bars and potato chips.
All he wanted to do was stay downstairs in his dark, damp basement lab and mix beakers of chemicals together. "My experiments," he called them. "I have to do my experiments."
Maybe he is a genius, Evan thought bitterly. But that doesn't make him any fun. He's just impossible.
Evan definitely wasn't enjoying his after-school baby-sitting job watching Kermit. In fact, he had several daydreams in which Kermit tried one of his own mixtures and melted to the basement floor, just like Evan's sneakers.
Some afternoons, Andy came along, and that made the job a little easier. Andy thought Kermit was really weird, too. But at least when she was there, Evan had someone to talk to, someone who didn't want to talk about mixing aluminum pyrite with sodium chlorobenzadrate.
What is Kermit's problem, anyway? Evan wondered as he crossed the street and made his way through backyards toward Kermit's house. Why does he think mixing is so much fun? Why is he always mixing this with that and that with this?
I can't even mix chocolate milk!
Kermit's house came into view two yards down. It was a two-story white house with a sloping black roof.
Evan picked up his pace. He was about fifteen minutes late. He hoped that Kermit hadn't already gotten into some kind of trouble.
He had just pushed his way though the prickly, low hedges that fenced in Kermit's yard when a familiar gruff voice made him freeze.
"Evan — were you looking at my yard?"
"Huh?" Evan recognized the voice at once. It belonged to Kermit's next-door neighbor, a kid from Evan's school.
His name was Conan Barber. But the kids at school all called him Conan the Barbarian. That's because he had to be the biggest, meanest kid in Atlanta. Maybe in the universe.
Conan sat on top of the tall white fence that separated the yards. His cold blue eyes glared down at Evan. "Were you looking at my yard?" Conan demanded.
"No way!" Evan's voice came out in a squeak.
"You were looking at my yard. That's trespassing," Conan accused. He leaped down from the high fence. He was big and very athletic. His hobby was leaping over kids he had just pounded into the ground.
Conan wore a gray muscle shirt and baggy, faded jeans cutoffs. He also wore a very mean expression.
"Whoa. Wait a minute, Conan!" Evan protested. "I was looking at Kermit's yard. I never look at your yard. Never!"
Conan stepped up to Evan. He stuck out his chest and bumped Evan hard, so hard he stumbled backwards.
That was Conan's other hobby. Bumping kids with his chest. His chest didn't feel like a chest. It felt like a truck.
"Why don't you look at my yard?" Conan demanded. "Is there something wrong with my yard? Is my yard too ugly? Is that why you never look at it?"
Evan swallowed hard. It began to dawn on him that maybe Conan was itching for a fight.
Before he could answer Conan, he heard a scratchy voice reply for him. "It's a free country, Conan!"
"Oh, noooo," Evan groaned, shutting his eyes.
Evan's cousin, Kermit, stepped out from behind Evan. He was tiny and skinny. A very pale kid with a pile of white-blond hair, and round black eyes behind big red plastic-framed glasses. Evan always thought his cousin looked like a white mouse wearing glasses.
Kermit wore enormous red shorts that came down nearly to his ankles, and a red-and-black Braves T-shirt. The short sleeves hung down past the elbows of his skinny arms.
"What did you say?" Conan demanded, glaring down menacingly at Kermit.
"It's a free country!" Kermit repeated shrilly. "Evan can look at any yard he wants to!"
Conan let out an angry growl. As he lumbered forward to pound E van's face into mashed potatoes, Evan turned to Kermit. "Thanks a lot," he told his cousin. "Thanks for all your help."
"Which way do you want your nose to slant?" Conan asked Evan. "To the right or to the left?"

3

"Don't do it!" Kermit shrieked in his scratchy mouse voice.
Conan raised a huge fist. With his other hand, he grabbed the front of Evan's T-shirt. He glared down at Kermit. "Why not?" he growled.
"Because I have this I" Kermit declared.
"Huh?" Conan let go of Evan's shirt. He stared at the glass beaker Kermit had raised in both hands. The beaker was half-full with a dark blue liquid.
Conan let out a sigh and swept a beefy hand back through his wavy blond hair. His blue eyes narrowed at Kermit. "What's that? Your baby formula?"
"Ha-ha," Kermit replied sarcastically.
If Kermit doesn't shut up, we're both going to get pounded! Evan realized. What is the little creep trying to do?
He tugged at Kermit's sleeve, trying to pull him away from Conan. But Kermit ignored him. He raised the beaker close to Conan's face.
"It's an Invisibility Mixture," Kermit said. "If I pour it on you, you'll disappear."
We should both disappear! Evan thought frantically. He let his eyes dart around the backyard. Maybe I can make it through that hedge before Conan grabs me, he thought. If I can get around the next house and down to the street, I might escape.
But would it be right to leave little Kermit at Conan's mercy?
Evan sighed. He couldn't abandon his cousin like that. Even though Kermit was definitely asking for it.
"You're going to make me invisible with that stuff?" Conan asked Kermit with a sneer.
Kermit nodded. "If I pour a few drops on you, you'll disappear. Really. I mixed it myself. It works. It's a mixture of Teflon dioxinate and magnesium parasulfidine."
"Yeah. Right," Conan muttered. He peered at the liquid in the beaker. "What makes it blue?"
"Food coloring," Kermit replied. Then he lowered his squeaky voice, trying to sound tough. "You'd better go home now, Conan. I don't want to have to use this stuff."
Oh, wow! Evan thought, pulling the bill of his Braves cap down over his face. I can't bear to watch this. This is sad. Really sad. Kermit is such a jerk.
"Go ahead. Try it," Evan heard Conan say.
Evan raised the cap so he could see. "Uh . . . Kermit . . . maybe we should go in the house now," he whispered.
"Go ahead. Make me invisible," Conan challenged.
"You really want me to?" Kermit demanded.
"Yeah," Conan replied. "I want to be invisible. Go ahead, Kermit. Pour it on me. Make me disappear. I dare you."
Kermit raised the beaker over the gray muscle shirt that covered Conan's broad chest.
"Kermit — no!" Evan pleaded. "Don't! Please don't!"
Evan made a frantic grab for the beaker.
Too late.
Kermit turned the beaker over and let the thick blue liquid pour onto the front of Conan's shirt.

4

Out of the corner of his eye, Evan saw a monarch butterfly fluttering over the low hedges. I wish I were a butterfly, he thought. I wish I could flap my wings and float away.
As far away from here as I can get!
The blue liquid oozed down the front of Conan's muscle shirt. All three boys stared at it in silence.
"Well? I'm not disappearing," Conan murmured, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Kermit.
Then his shirt started to shrink.
"Hey — !" Conan cried angrily. He struggled to pull off the shrinking shirt. It got tinier and tinier. "It — it's choking me!" Conan shrieked.
"Wow!" Kermit squeaked, his black eyes glowing excitedly behind his glasses. "This is cool!"
Evan gazed in amazement as the muscle shirt shrank down to a tiny shred of cloth. And then it vanished completely.
Now Conan stood in front of them bare-chested.
A heavy silence fell over the backyard. All three of them stared at Conan's broad, bare chest for a few moments.
Conan broke the silence. "That was my best muscle shirt," he told Evan through gritted teeth.
"Uh-oh," Evan uttered.

"I like your nose that way," Andy told Evan. "It kind of tilts in both directions at once."
"I think it will go back to the way it was," Evan replied, patting his nose tenderly. "At least it stopped hurting so much." He sighed. "All the other cuts and bruises will go away, too. In time."
It was two days later. Evan sat across from Andy in the lunchroom at school. He stared down sadly at the tuna fish sandwich his mom had packed for him. He hadn't taken a bite. His mouth wasn't working exactly right yet. It kept going sideways instead of up and down.
Andy wiped a chunk of egg salad off her cheek. She had short brown hair and big brown eyes that stared across the table at Evan.
Andy didn't dress like most of the other kids in their sixth-grade class. She liked bright colors. A lot of bright colors.
Today she wore a yellow vest over a magenta T-shirt and orange Day-Glo shorts.
When Andy moved to Atlanta in the beginning of the school year, some kids made fun of her colorful clothes. But they didn't anymore. Now everyone agreed that Andy had style. And a few kids were even copying her look.
"So what happened after Conan the Barbarian pounded your body into coleslaw?" Andy asked. She pulled a handful of potato chips from her bag and shoved them one by one into her mouth.
Evan took a few bites from a section of his tuna fish sandwich. It took him a long time to swallow. "Conan made me promise I'd never look in his yard again," he told Andy. "I had to raise my right hand and swear. Then he went home."
Evan sighed. He touched his sore nose again. "After Conan left, Kermit helped me hobble into his house," Evan continued. "A little while later, Aunt Dee got home."
"Then what happened?" Andy asked, crinkling up the empty potato chip bag.
"She saw that I was messed up," Evan replied. "So she asked what happened."
Evan shook his head and scowled. "And before I could say anything, that little rat Kermit piped up and said, 'Evan picked a fight with Conan.' "
"Oh, wow," Andy murmured.
"And Aunt Dee said, 'Well, Evan, if you're just going to get into fights instead of taking care of Kermit, I'm going to have to talk to your mom about you. Maybe you're not mature enough for this job.' "
"Oh, wow," Andy repeated.
"And the whole thing was Kermit's fault!" Evan shouted, pounding his fist so hard on the table that his milk carton tipped over. Milk spilled over the tabletop, onto the front of his jeans.
Evan was so upset, he didn't even move out of the way. "And do you know the worst thing?" Evan demanded. "The worst thing?"
"What?" Andy asked.
"Kermit did it deliberately. He knew what that blue mixture would do. He knew it would shrink Conan's shirt. Kermit wanted me to get pounded by Conan. He did the whole thing to get me in trouble with Conan."
"How do you know?" Andy asked.
"The smile," Evan told her.
"Huh? What smile?"
"The smile on Kermit's face. You know that twisted little smile he has where his two front teeth stick out? That's the smile he had when he helped me back to the house."
Andy tsk-tsked.
Evan finished the section of tuna fish sandwich. "Is that all you're going to say?" he snapped.
"What can I say?" Andy replied. "Your cousin, Kermit, is a weird little dude. I think you should teach him a lesson. Pay him back."
"Huh?" Evan gaped at her. "How do I do that?"
Andy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you could . . . uh . . ." Her dark eyes suddenly flashed with excitement. "I know! Doesn't he have a snack after school every day? You could slip some Monster Blood into his food."
Evan gulped and jumped to his feet. "Hey — no way! No way, Andy!" he shouted.
Several kids turned to stare at Evan, startled by his loud cries.
"Don't even think it!" Evan shouted, ignoring the stares. "No Monster Blood. Ever! I never want to hear those words again!"
"Okay, okay!" Andy cried. She raised both hands, as if to shield herself from him.
"By the way," Evan said, a little calmer, "where is the Monster Blood? Where did you hide it? You didn't take any of it out — did you?"
"Well . . ." Andy replied, lowering her eyes. A devilish grin spread across her face. "I put a little bit of it in the tuna fish sandwich you just ate."

5

Evan let out a cry so loud, it made two kids fall off their chairs. Two other kids dropped their lunch trays.
His eyes bulged and his voice rose higher than the gym teacher's whistle. "You — you — you — !" he sputtered, grabbing his throat.
Andy laughed. She pointed at his chair. "Evan, sit down. I was only joking."
"Huh?"
"You heard me," Andy said. "It was a joke. The Monster Blood is home, safe and sound."
Evan let out a long sigh. He sank back into the chair. He didn't care that he was sitting in the milk he had spilled.
"Annndrea," he said unhappily, stretching out the word. "Annnndrea, that wasn't funny."
"Sure it was," Andy insisted. "And don't call me Andrea. You know I hate that name."
"Andrea. Andrea. Andrea," Evan repeated, paying her back for her mean joke. He narrowed his eyes at her sternly. "That new can of Monster Blood your parents sent you from Europe — it really is hidden away?"
Andy nodded. "On the top shelf of a closet in the basement. Way in the back," she told him. "The can is shut tight. No way the stuff can get out."
He stared hard at her, studying her face.
"Don't look at me like that!" she cried. She balled up the sandwich tinfoil and tossed it at him. "I'm telling the truth. The Monster Blood is totally hidden away. You don't have to worry about it."
Evan relaxed. He pulled the Fruit Roll-Up from his lunch bag and started to unwrap it. "You owe me now," he said softly.
"Excuse me?"
"You owe me for playing that stupid joke," Evan said.
"Oh, yeah? What do I have to do?" Andy demanded.
"Come with me after school. To Kermit's," Evan said.
Andy made a disgusted face.
"Please," Evan added.
"Okay," she said. "Remit isn't that bad when I'm around."
Evan held up the sticky Fruit Roll-Up. "Want this? I begged my mom not to buy the green ones!"

After school, Evan and Andy walked together to Kermit's house. It was a gray day, threatening rain. The air felt heavy and wet, as humid as summer.
Evan led the way across the street. He started to cut through the backyards — but stopped. "Let's go the front way," he instructed. "Conan might be hanging out in back. Waiting for us."
"Don't say us" Andy muttered. She shifted her backpack to the other shoulder. She scratched her arm. "Ow. Look at this."
Evan lowered his eyes to the large red bump on Andy's right arm. "What is that? A mosquito bite?"
Andy scratched it some more. "I guess so. It itches like crazy."
"You're not supposed to scratch it," Evan told her.
"Thanks, Doc," she replied sarcastically. She scratched it even harder to annoy him.
A few sprinkles of rain came down as they made their way up Kermit's driveway. Evan opened the front door and stepped into the living room.
"Kermit — are you here?"
No reply.
A sour smell attacked Evan's nostrils. He pressed his fingers over his nose. "Yuck. Do you smell that?"
Andy nodded, her face twisted in disgust. "I think it's coming from the basement."
"For sure," Evan muttered. "Kermit must already be in his lab."
"Kermit? Hey — Kermit, what are you doing down there?" Evan called out.
Holding their noses, they made their way quickly down the stairs. The basement was divided into two rooms. To the right stood the laundry room and furnace; to the left the rec room with Kermit's lab set up along the back wall.
Evan hurried across the tiled floor into the lab. He spotted Kermit behind his lab table, several beakers of colored liquids in front of him. "Kermit — what's that disgusting smell?" he demanded.
As Evan and Andy ran up to the lab table, Kermit poured a yellow liquid into a green liquid. "Uh-oh!" he cried, staring down at the bubbling mixture.
Behind his glasses, his eyes grew wide with horror.
"Run!" Kermit screamed. "Hurry! Get out! It's going to BLOW!"

6

The liquid swirled and bubbled.
Kermit ducked under the lab table.
With a cry of horror, Evan spun round. Grabbed Andy's hand. Started to pull her to the stairs.
But he had only taken a step when he stumbled over Dogface, Kermit's huge sheepdog.
"Oof!" Evan felt the wind knocked out of him as he fell over the dog and landed facedown on the tile floor. He gasped. Struggled to choke in a mouthful of air.
The room tilted and swayed.
"It's going to BLOW!" Kermit's shrill warning rang in Evan's ears.
He finally managed to take a deep breath. Raised himself to one knee. Turned back to the lab table.
And saw Andy standing calmly in the center of the rec room, her hands at her waist.
"Andy — it's going to BLOW!" Evan choked out.
She rolled her eyes. "Evan, really," she muttered, shaking her head. "Did you really fall for that?"
"Huh?" Evan gazed past her to the long glass table.
Kermit had climbed back to his feet. He was leaning with both elbows on the table. And he had the grin on his face. That grin.
The twisted grin with the two front teeth sticking out. The grin Evan hated more than any grin in the world.
"Yeah, Evan," Kermit repeated, mimicking Andy, "did you really fall for that?" He burst into his squealing-high laugh that sounded like a pig stuck in a fence.
Evan pulled himself up, muttering under his breath. Dogface hiccupped. The dog's tongue tumbled out, and he began to pant loudly.
Evan turned to Andy. "I didn't really fall for it," he claimed. "I knew it was another one of Kermit's dumb jokes. I was just seeing if you believed it."
"For sure." Andy rolled her eyes again. She was doing a lot of eye-rolling this afternoon, Evan realized.
Evan and Andy stepped up to the table. It was littered with bottles and glass tubes, beakers and jars — all filled with colored liquids.
On the wall behind the table stood a high bookshelf. The shelves were also jammed with bottles and jars of liquids and chemicals. Kermit's mixtures.
"I was only a few minutes late getting here," Evan told Kermit. "From now on, don't do anything. Just wait for me." He sniffed the air. "What's that really gross smell?"
Kermit grinned back at him. "I didn't notice it until you came in!" he joked.
Evan didn't laugh. "Give me a break," he muttered.
Andy scratched her mosquito bite. "Yeah. No more jokes today, Kermit."
The big sheepdog hiccupped again.
"I'm mixing up something to cure Dogface's hiccups," Kermit announced.
"Oh, no!" Evan replied sharply. "No way! I can't let you give the dog one of your mixtures to drink."
"It's a very simple hiccup cure," Kermit said, pouring a blue liquid into a green liquid. "It's just maglesium harposyrate and ribotussal polythorbital. With a little sugar for sweetness."
"No way," Evan insisted. "You're not giving Dogface anything to drink but water. It's too dangerous."
Kermit ignored him and continued to mix chemicals from one glass beaker into another. He glanced up at Andy. "What's wrong with your arm?"
"It's a really big mosquito bite," Andy told him. "It itches like crazy."
"Let me see it," Kermit urged.
Andy eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"
Kermit grabbed Andy's hand and tugged her closer. "Let me see it," he insisted.
"It's just a mosquito bite," Andy said.
"I have some of that blue shrinking mixture left," Kermit announced. "The stuff I shrank Conan's shirt with."
"Don't remind me," Evan groaned.
"It'll shrink your mosquito bite," Kermit told Andy. He picked up the beaker.
"You're going to pour that stuff on my arm?" Andy cried. "I don't think so!"
She tried to step away.
But Kermit grabbed her arm. And poured.
The blue liquid spread over the mosquito bite.
"No! Oh, no!" Andy shrieked.

7

"My arm!" Andy shrieked. "What did you do to me?"
Evan lurched to the lab table, nearly stumbling over the dog again. He grabbed Andy's arm and examined it. "It — it — " he stammered.
"It's gone!" Andy cried. "The mosquito bite — it's gone!"
Evan stared at Andy's arm. Perfectly smooth, except for a few drips of the blue liquid.
"Kermit — you're a genius!" Andy cried. "That mixture of yours shrank the mosquito bite away!"
"Told you," Kermit replied, grinning happily.
"You can make a fortune!" Andy exclaimed. "Don't you realize what you've done? You've invented the greatest cure for mosquito bites ever!"
Kermit held up the beaker. He tilted it one way, then the other. "Not much left," he said softly.
"But you can mix up some more — right?" Andy demanded.
Kermit frowned. "I'm not sure," he said softly. "I think I can mix up a new batch. But I'm not sure. I didn't write down what I put in it."
He scratched his white-blond hair and stared at the empty glass beaker, twitching his nose like a mouse, thinking hard.
Dogface let out another loud hiccup. The hiccup was followed by a howl. Evan saw that the poor dog was getting very unhappy about the hiccups. Dogface was a big dog — and so he had big hiccups that shook his sheepdog body like an earthquake.
"I'd better get to work on the hiccup cure," Kermit announced. He pulled some jars of chemicals off the shelf and started to open them.
"Whoa. Wait a minute," Evan told him. "I told you, Kermit — I can't let you feed anything to the dog. Aunt Dee will kill me if — "
"Oh, let him try!" Andy interrupted. She rubbed her smooth arm. "Kermit is a genius, Evan. You have to let a genius work."
Evan glared at her. "Whose side are you on?" he demanded in a loud whisper.
Andy didn't answer. She unzipped her orange-and-blue backpack and pulled out some papers. "I think I'll do my math homework while Kermit mixes up his hiccup cure."
Kermit's eyes lit up excitedly behind his glasses. "Math? Do you have math problems?"
Andy nodded. "It's a take-home equations exam. Very hard."
Kermit set down the test tubes and beakers. He hurried out from behind the lab table. "Can I do the problems for you, Andy?" he asked eagerly. "You know I love to do math problems."
Andy flashed Evan a quick wink. Evan frowned back at her. He shook his head.
So that's why Andy is being so nice to Kermit! Evan told himself. It was all a trick. A trick to get Kermit to do the math test for her.
Kermit could never resist math problems. His parents had to buy him stacks and stacks of math workbooks. He could spend an entire afternoon doing all the problems in the workbooks — for fun!
Dogface hiccupped.
Kermit grabbed the math test from Andy's hand. "Please let me do the equations," he begged. "Pretty please?"
"Well . . . okay," Andy agreed. She flashed Evan another wink.
Evan scowled back at her. Andy is going to get in trouble for this, he thought. Andy is a terrible math student. It's her worst subject. Mrs. McGrady is going to get very suspicious when Andy gets every problem right.
But Evan didn't say anything. What was the point?
Kermit was already scribbling answers on the page, solving the equations as fast as he could read them. His eyes were dancing wildly. He was breathing hard. And he had a happy grin on his face.
"All done," he announced.
Wow, he's fast! Evan thought. He finished that math test in the time it would take me to write my name at the top of the page!
Kermit handed the pencil and math pages back to Andy. "Thanks a lot," she said. "I really need a good grade in math this term."
"Cheater," Evan whispered in her ear.
"I just did it for Kermit," Andy whispered back. "He loves doing math problems. So why shouldn't I give him a break?"
"Cheater," Evan repeated.
Dogface hiccupped. Then he let out a pained howl.
Kermit returned to his lab table. He poured a yellow liquid into a red liquid. It started to smoke. Then it turned bright orange.
Andy tucked the math test into her backpack.
Kermit poured the orange liquid into a large glass beaker. He picked up a tiny bottle, turned it upside down, and emptied silvery crystals into the beaker.
Evan stepped up beside Kermit. "You can't feed that to Dogface," Evan insisted. "I really mean it. I won't let you give it to him."
Kermit ignored him. He stirred the mixture until it turned white. Then he added another powder that made it turn orange again.
"You have to listen to me, Kermit," Evan said. "I'm in charge, right?"
Kermit continued to ignore him.
Dogface hiccupped. His white furry body quivered and shook.
"Let Kermit work," Andy told Evan. "He's a genius."
"Maybe he's a genius," Evan replied. "But I'm in charge. Until Kermit's mom gets home, I'm the boss."
Kermit poured the mixture into a red dog dish.
"I'm the boss," said Evan. "And the boss says no."
Kermit lowered the dog dish to the floor.
"The boss says you can't feed that to Dogface," Evan said.
"Here, boy! Here, boy!" Kermit called.
"No way!" Evan cried. "No way the dog is drinking that!"
Evan made a dive for the bowl. He planned to grab it away.
But he dove too hard — and went sliding under the lab table.
Dogface lowered his head to the dog dish and began lapping up the orange mixture.
Evan spun around and stared eagerly at the dog. All three of them were waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting to see what would happen.

8

Dogface licked the bowl clean. Then he stared up at Kermit, as if to say, "Thank you."
Kermit petted the big dog's head. He smoothed the white, curly fur from in front of Dogface's eyes. The fur fell right back in place. Dogface licked Kermit's hand.
"See? The hiccups are gone," Kermit declared to Evan.
Evan stared at the dog. He waited a few seconds more. "You're right," he confessed. "The hiccups are gone."
"It was a simple mixture," Kermit bragged. "Just a little tetrahydropodol with some hydradroxilate crystals and an ounce of megahydracyl oxyneuroplat. Any child could do it."
"What a genius!" Andy exclaimed.
Evan started to say something. But Dogface interrupted with a sharp yip.
Then, without warning, the big sheepdog sprang forward. With another shrill yip, Dogface raised his enormous front paws — and leaped on to Kermit.
Kermit let out a startled cry and stumbled back against the wall. Bottles and jars shook on the shelves behind him.
Dogface began barking wildly, uttering shrill, excited yips. The dog jumped again, as if trying to leap into Kermit's arms.
"Down, boy! Down!" Kermit squealed.
The dog jumped again.
The shelves shook. Kermit sank to the floor.
"Down, boy! Down!" Kermit shrieked, covering his head with both arms. "Stop it, Dogface! Stop jumping!"
The excited dog used his head to push Kermit's arm away. Then he began licking Kermit's face frantically. Then he began nipping at his T-shirt.
"Stop! Yuck! Stop!" Kermit struggled to get away. But the big dog had Kermit pinned to the floor.
"What's going on?" Andy cried. "What's gotten into that dog?"
"Kermit's mixture!" Evan replied. He dove at the dog, grabbed Dogface with both hands, and tried to tug him off Kermit.
Dogface spun around. With another high-pitched yip, he bounded away, running at full speed across the basement.
"Stop him!" Kermit cried. "He's out of control! He'll break something!"
CRAAAASH.
A shelf of canning jars toppled to the floor.
Barking loudly, the dog bounded away from the shelf and began running in wide circles, his big paws clomping on the tile floor. Round and round, as if chasing his tail.
"Dogface — whoa!" Evan called, chasing after the sheepdog. He turned back to Andy. "Help me! We've got to stop him! He's acting crazy!"
Dogface disappeared into the laundry room. "Dogface — come back here!" Evan called.
He burst into the laundry room in time to see the dog crash into the ironing board. It toppled over, along with a stack of clothes that had been resting on it. The iron clattered over the hard floor.
Dogface yelped and climbed out from under the spilled clothes. Spotting Evan, the dog's stubby tail began wagging — and he leaped across the room.
"No!" Evan screeched as the huge dog knocked him over backwards to the ground. Dogface frantically licked Evan's face.
Behind him, Evan heard Andy laugh. "Too much energy! He's acting like a crazy puppy!" she declared.
"He's too big to think he's a puppy!" Evan wailed.
Dogface was sniffing furiously under the washing machine. He pounced on a large black ant. Then he turned and came bounding over to Andy and Evan.
"Look out!" Evan cried.
But the big sheepdog lumbered past them, back into the other room. They followed him, watching him roll over a few times, kicking his big, furry paws in the air.
Then Dogface jumped to his feet — and came charging at Kermit.
"Whoa! Whoa, boy!" Kermit cried. He turned to Andy. "You're right. This is just the way Dogface acted when he was a puppy. The mixture gave him too much energy!"
The sheepdog crashed into an old couch against the wall. He climbed up onto the couch, sniffing the cushions, exploring. His stubby tail wagged furiously.
"Dogface, you're not a puppy!" Evan cried. "Please listen to me! You're too big to be a puppy! Dogface — please!"
"Look out!" Andy shrieked.
The dog jumped off the couch and went running full speed toward Kermit.
"No! Stop!" Kermit cried. He dove behind the lab table.
The dog tried to slow down. But his big legs were carrying him too fast.
Dogface crashed into the lab table. Bottles and beakers flew into the air, then crashed to the floor. The table toppled over on top of Kermit.
The shelves fell off the wall, and all of the jars and tubes and beakers tumbled to the floor, shattering, clattering, chemicals pouring out over the floor.
"What a mess!" Evan cried. "What a horrible mess!"
He turned — and let out a loud gasp.
Aunt Dee stood in the doorway. Her mouth was opened wide in surprise, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.
"What on Earth is going on down here?" she shrieked.
"Uh . . . well . . ." Evan started.
How could he begin to explain? And if he did find a way to explain, would Aunt Dee believe him?
Aunt Dee pressed her hands against her waist and tapped one foot on the floor. "What has happened here?" she demanded angrily.
"Uh . . . well . . ." Evan repeated.
Kermit spoke up first. He pointed an accusing finger at Evan. "Evan was teasing the dog!" he cried.

9

Kermit's mom glared angrily at Evan. "I'm paying you to take care of Kermit," she said sternly. "Not to play silly jokes on the dog and wreck my house."
"But — but — but — " Evan sputtered.
"Evan didn't do it!" Andy protested.
But her words were drowned out by Kermit, who let out a loud, phony wail — and burst into tears. "I tried to stop Evan!" Kermit sobbed. "I didn't want him to tease Dogface! But he wouldn't stop!"
Kermit rushed into his mother's arms. "It's okay," Aunt Dee said soothingly. "It's okay, Kermit. I'll make sure Evan never does it again."
She narrowed her eyes angrily at Evan as Kermit continued to sob, holding on to his mother like a baby.
Evan rolled his eyes at Andy. Andy replied with a shrug.
"Evan, you and Andy can start cleaning up this mess," Mrs. Majors ordered. "Kermit is a very sensitive boy. When you play jokes like this, it upsets him terribly."
Kermit sobbed even louder. His mom tenderly patted his head. "It's okay, Kermit. It's okay. Evan won't ever tease Dogface again," she whispered.
"But — but — " Evan sputtered.
How could Kermit put on such an act?
How could he deliberately get Evan into trouble? This mess wasn't Evan's fault. It was Kermit's!
"I really don't think — " Andy started.
But Aunt Dee raised a hand to silence her. "Just get this mess cleaned up — okay?"
She turned to Evan. "I'm not going to tell your mom about this, Evan," she said, still patting Kermit's head.
"Thanks," Evan muttered.
"I'm going to give you one more chance," she continued. "You don't really deserve it. If you weren't my nephew, I'd make you pay for all the damage. And I'd get someone else to take care of Kermit."
"Evan is mean," Kermit murmured, removing his glasses and wiping tears off his cheeks. "Evan is really mean."
What a little rat! Evan thought. But he remained silent, his eyes lowered to the floor.
"Kermit, let's get you cleaned up," Aunt Dee said, leading him to the stairs. "Then we'll have to give the dog a bath."
She turned back to Evan and pointed a finger at him. "One more chance," she warned. "One more chance."
In the corner, Dogface let out a loud hiccup.
"See how you've upset the dog?" Kermit's mom called to Evan. "You've given poor Dogface the hiccups!"
"But — but — " Evan sputtered again.
As Evan struggled to find words to defend himself, Kermit and his mom disappeared up the stairs.

Two hours later, Andy and Evan wearily headed for home.
"What a mess," Evan moaned. "Look at me. I'm covered in chemicals."
"Two hours," Andy muttered. "Two hours to clean up the basement. And Dogface stood there watching us, hiccupping the whole time."
"Kermit is such a little creep," Evan said, kicking a stone across the sidewalk.
Andy shook her head bitterly. "Do you have any more cousins like him?"
"No," Evan replied. "Kermit is one of a kind."
"He's such a little liar," Andy said.
"Hey — you stuck up for him," Evan accused. "You said he was a genius, remember? You were so happy that he did your math problems for you, you thought he was wonderful."
Andy shifted her backpack onto her other shoulder. A smile crossed her face. "I forgot all about the math problems," she said. "Kermit may be a little creep — but he's also a genius. I'm going to get an A in math!" She let out a happy cheer.
"Winners never cheat, and cheaters never win," Evan muttered.
Andy gave him a playful shove. "Did you just make that up? It's very catchy."
"Give me a break," Evan growled. He turned and made his way up his driveway without saying good-bye.

Andy called him two nights later. "Your cousin Kermit is a total creep!" She shouted so loudly, Evan had to hold his phone away from his ear.
"Do you know what he did? Do you know what he did?" Andy shrieked.
"No. What?" Evan asked softly.
"He did all the math equations wrong," Andy cried.
"Excuse me?" Evan wasn't sure he heard correctly. "The genius got everything wrong?"
"On purpose!" Andy declared. "He got them wrong on purpose. He made up answers for all of them! He didn't even read the problems. He just wrote down stupid answers."
"But why?" Evan demanded.
"Why? Why? Because he's Kermit!" Andy screamed.
Evan swallowed hard. Poor Andy, he thought. Now she will fail in math.
"What a mean, rotten trick!" Andy shrieked into the phone. "Mrs. McGrady called me up to her desk and asked me to explain my answers. She asked me how I could possibly be so totally off on every single equation."
Andy sighed bitterly. "Of course I couldn't answer her. I just stood there with my mouth open. I think I drooled on her desk!"
"After we left his house, Kermit probably laughed his head off," Evan said.
"That brat has such a sick sense of humor," Andy wailed. "We have to pay him back, Evan. We really have to."
"Yeah. We do," Evan agreed.
"We have to get out the Monster Blood," Andy urged. "We have to use the Monster Blood to pay him back."
"Yeah. We do," Evan agreed.

10

Evan called Andy back later that night. "I changed my mind," he said. "I don't want to use the Monster Blood."
"What's your problem?" Andy demanded. "Kermit deserves it. You know he does."
"Monster Blood is too dangerous," Evan told her. "It turned Cuddles the hamster into a giant, roaring monster. I don't want to turn Kermit into a giant, roaring monster."
"Neither do I!" Andy exclaimed. "I don't want to feed it to him, Evan. I just want to slip a tiny bit into one of his mixtures. He thinks he's so smart and can do anything. I want to see Kermit's face when his mixture goes berserk!"
She laughed gleefully.
What an evil laugh, Evan thought.
"It'll be awesome!" Andy exclaimed.
"Forget about it," Evan insisted. "I have nightmares about Monster Blood almost every night. I don't want to see that stuff again, Andy. I really don't. Leave it locked up — please!"
"But you said we could do it!" Andy pleaded.
"I made a mistake," Evan told her. "Don't take it out of the closet, Andy. Leave it safe and sound in its can — okay?"
Andy didn't reply.
"Okay?" Evan demanded. "Okay?"
"Okay," Andy finally agreed.

"We're going to play outside today, Kermit," Evan said firmly. "It's a beautiful day, and we're going to go out and not stay in the stupid basement. Get it?"
It was a sunny, warm Thursday afternoon. Golden sunlight filtered down through the dust-covered basement windows up near the ceiling.
Standing behind his lab table, arranging his jars and bottles of chemicals, Kermit muttered something to himself.
"No argument," Andy added. "We're going outside even if Evan and I have to drag you out."
"But I have a mixture I want to try," Kermit whined.
"You need some sunshine," Evan told him. "Look how pale you are. You look just like a white mouse."
Kermit was wearing a huge olive-colored T-shirt over baggy brown shorts. With his white-blond hair, beady eyes, and buck teeth, he looked more like a rat in human clothes.
He frowned, hurt by Evan's description.
"Okay. I'll go outside with you," he murmured unhappily.
"Yaay!" Andy whooped. It was the first time Kermit had ever agreed to leave his basement lab.
"But first I have to have a drink," Kermit said. He stepped out from behind the lab table and made his way toward the basement stairs. "You want an orange soda?"
"Yeah. Sure," Evan replied. He and Andy followed Kermit up the stairs to the kitchen.
"I can't believe he agreed to go out and play," Andy whispered. "Do you think he's sick or something?"
"Maybe he feels bad about the mean tricks he's pulled," Evan whispered.
The kitchen phone rang. Evan answered it. It was the wrong number.
He hung up the phone. He and Andy stepped up to the counter. Andy was wearing pink jeans, a yellow sleeveless T-shirt, and bright orange high-tops.
Kermit had already poured out three glasses of orange soda. The soda was the same color as Andy's high-tops, Evan noticed. They all drank the soda down quickly.
"I was really thirsty," Kermit said. Evan didn't pay any attention to the strange smile on Kermit's face. After all, Kermit always had a strange smile on his face.
"This orange soda is very sweet," Andy commented. She made a face. "Too sweet! It makes my teeth itch!"
Kermit laughed. "I think it's good," he said.
They set their glasses down in the sink and stepped out the back door. Evan found a red Frisbee on the back stoop. He flipped it to Andy.
Andy trotted across the backyard and flipped it back to Evan. "Let's play keep-away from Kermit!" she cried.
"Hey — no way!" Kermit protested. "Toss it to me!"
Andy sent the Frisbee flying over Kermit's head to Evan. Kermit made a wild grab for it, but it sailed out of his reach. It hit Evan's hands, but Evan dropped it.
Andy started to laugh.
"What's so funny?" Evan demanded.
Andy shrugged. "I don't know." She let out another giggle.
Evan flipped the Frisbee to Kermit. It bounced off Kermit's chest.
This kid is a real klutz, Evan thought. It's because he never plays sports. He never comes up out of his basement.
Andy uttered a high-pitched laugh.
Evan started to laugh, too.
Kermit picked up the Frisbee. He tried to toss it to Andy, but the Frisbee sailed way over her head. It hit the side of the garage and bounced off.
Evan and Andy both laughed harder.
Evan trotted over to the garage. He sent a sidearm toss toward Andy. She missed, and the Frisbee flew into the low hedges at the side of the yard.
Andy didn't chase after it. She was laughing too hard.
Evan laughed even harder. Tears ran down his cheeks.
What's happening to me? he wondered, suddenly feeling frightened.
Why can't I stop laughing? What's going on?
Kermit grinned at both of them. That grin!
Evan laughed even harder. So hard, his stomach hurt.
Something is wrong, Evan realized. Something is terribly wrong.
"K-Kermit — why are we l-laughing?" he stammered.
Andy wiped tears from her eyes. She held her sides and laughed some more.
"Why are we laughing?" Evan demanded.
"I gave you my laughing mixture," Kermit told them. "I put it in the orange soda."
Evan tossed back his head and laughed. Andy giggled so hard, she choked. But she kept on laughing.
This isn't funny. This is scary, Evan thought. But he let out a shrill giggle.
"How — how long are we going to laugh like this, Kermit?" Evan managed to ask.
"Probably forever," Kermit replied, flashing his famous toothy grin.

11

Evan took a deep breath and tried to hold it. But the laughter burst out of him so hard, his chest ached.
Laughing giddily, Andy made a grab for Kermit.
Kermit ducked out of her reach and went scampering toward the fence at the back of the yard.
Evan shook his head hard, trying to shake off the effect of the laughter potion. But it didn't help. He laughed until tears rolled down his face.
Andy chased after Kermit, laughing shrilly.
Evan followed, gasping for breath. I can't breathe, he realized. I'm laughing so hard, I can't breathe.
"K-Kermit — !" Evan choked out. "You've got to s-stop it!" A high giggle burst out of his throat. "You've g-got to!"
"I don't know how," Kermit replied calmly.
Andy and Evan laughed in reply.
"It's awesome — isn't it!" Kermit declared happily. "The mixture works perfectly!"
Andy made a grab for Kermit's throat.
Again, Kermit ducked away.
Andy and Evan laughed a little harder.
Andy picked up the Frisbee and tried to heave it at Kermit. But she was laughing too hard to control it. The Frisbee sailed over the fence.
"Hey — get that back. That's mine!" Kermit demanded.
Evan and Andy laughed.
A familiar face popped up on the other side of the fence.
"Conan!" Kermit cried.
Conan peered first at Andy, then at Evan. "Are you looking at my yard?" he asked Evan.
Evan struggled to hold it in. But he let out a high, shrill laugh.
"Didn't I warn you last week about looking at my yard?" Conan demanded.
Evan laughed.
"Conan, give me back my Frisbee," Kermit whined.
Conan leaped over the fence. Evan saw that he had the Frisbee in his left hand. Conan quickly hid the Frisbee behind his back.
Andy and Evan laughed. Andy wiped tears from her eyes. Her whole body shook with laughter.
"Give me back my Frisbee," Kermit insisted.
Conan ignored him. "What's so funny?" he asked Andy and Evan. He balled his right hand into a fist.
Andy giggled.
If we keep laughing, he'll pound us! Evan realized. But he couldn't help himself. He let out a loud belly laugh.
"Hey — I want my Frisbee!" Kermit whined.
"I don't have your Frisbee," Conan lied, keeping his left hand behind his back.
Evan tossed his head back and laughed.
"Yes, you do. It's behind your back," Kermit said. "Give it back, Conan."
"Who's going to make me?" Conan demanded in a low, menacing voice.
Evan let out a high giggle. Andy laughed, too.
"They are!" Kermit replied to Conan. "They're going to make you!" He turned to Evan. "Make Conan give back my Frisbee."
Evan laughed in reply.
"What's so funny?" Conan asked again.
Andy shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing's funny," she choked. Then she burst out laughing.
"I don't like people laughing at me," Conan said.
This is horrible! Evan thought. One more laugh — and Conan could explode!
Evan let out a long hyena laugh.
"I really go ballistic when people laugh at me," Conan warned.
Evan and Andy laughed some more.
"I have to hurt people who laugh at me," Conan threatened.
Evan and Andy laughed in reply.
Conan turned to Kermit. "Why are they laughing like that?"
Kermit shrugged. "Beats me. I guess they think you're funny."
"Oh, is that right?" Conan shouted angrily, turning back to Evan and Andy. "You two think I'm funny?"
Evan and Andy held their sides and laughed.
"Give me my Frisbee!" Kermit shouted.
"Okay. Go chase it." Conan flung the Frisbee across the hedges. It sailed over two yards and disappeared in a clump of evergreen shrubs.
Kermit went running after it.
Conan scowled at Evan and Andy. "I'm going to count to three," he growled. "And if you don't stop laughing by the count of three, I'll make you stop!" He raised both fists to show them how he would make them stop.
"One . . ." Conan said.
Evan laughed. Andy pressed her hand over mouth, but couldn't stop a giggle from escaping.
"Two . . ." Conan counted, his face twisted in anger.
I've got to stop laughing! Evan told himself. I'm in serious trouble here. Serious.
He opened his mouth, and a booming "Hahahahaha!" burst out.
Andy had both hands pressed over her mouth. But it didn't stop the snickers and guffaws from pouring out her nose.
Kermit came jogging back into the backyard. "I can't find the Frisbee," he complained. "Somebody has to help me. I can't find it anywhere."
Conan turned to him. "You sure you don't know why they're laughing like that?" he asked.
Kermit shook his head. "They told me they think you're funny-looking," he told Conan. "I guess that's why they're laughing."
I don't believe this! Evan thought, so angry he wanted to explode. That little creep! How can he do this to us?
Conan turned back to Andy and Evan. "Last chance to stop," he said. He took a deep breath, stretching out his big, powerful chest. "Three!"
Andy laughed.
Evan laughed even harder.
"I warned you," Conan growled.

12

Andy phoned Evan that night to see how he was feeling. Evan had to hold the phone away from his ear. His head hurt too much to press a phone against it.
"I guess I'll survive," Evan groaned. "I'm getting used to looking in the mirror and seeing a pile of coleslaw where my head used to be."
Andy sighed. "Your cousin is such a creep," she said.
"How are you feeling?" Evan asked. "How long did it take you to climb down from the tree?"
"Not too many hours," Andy replied weakly.
Conan had said he never hit girls. So he picked Andy up and stuck her onto a high tree branch.
"At least Conan stopped us from laughing," Evan said. "My stomach still hurts from laughing so hard."
"Mine, too," Andy told him. "I'm never going to laugh again. Never. If someone tells me the funniest joke in the world, I'll just smile and say, 'Very funny.' "
"I can't believe Kermit did that to us," Evan moaned.
"I believe it," Andy replied dryly. "Kermit will do anything to get us into trouble. That's what he lives for — getting us into major trouble."
"Did you hear that little mouse laughing while Conan pounded me into the ground?" Evan asked.
"I was up in the tree, remember? I could see him laughing!" Andy declared.
There was a long silence at the other end. And then Andy spoke in a hushed voice, just above a whisper, "Evan — are you ready to use the Monster Blood on Kermit?"
"Yeah," Evan replied without having to think about it even for a second. "I'm ready."

13

After school the next afternoon, Evan and Andy found Kermit behind his lab table as usual. "Hi, Kermit," Evan called, tossing his backpack down and stepping up to the table.
Kermit didn't glance up. He was busy stirring ingredients in a large mixing bowl, using a large wooden spoon.
Evan peered into the bowl. It looked like pie dough in there. It was thick and gooey and yellowish.
Kermit hummed to himself as he stirred.
Andy was wearing a sleeveless, hot pink T-shirt over bright yellow shorts and matching yellow sneakers. She stepped up beside Evan and peeked into the bowl. "Making a pie?" she asked.
Kermit ignored her, too. He kept stirring and humming, stirring and humming.
Finally he stopped and glanced up at Evan. "I told my mom you lost my Frisbee," he said, sneering. "She says you have to get me a new one."
"Huh? Me?" Evan cried.
Andy walked around to Kermit's side of the table. She lowered her head to the bowl. "Smells lemony," she said. "What is it, Kermit? Is it some kind of dough?"
"It was your fault my Frisbee got lost," Kermit told Evan, ignoring Andy's questions. "Mom says you're a very bad baby-sitter."
Evan let out an angry cry. He balled his hands into fists. He struggled to keep himself from strangling Kermit.
It was a real struggle.
"Mom wanted to know who drank up all the orange soda," Kermit continued. "I told her you and Andy drank it."
"Kermit!" Evan shrieked. "You played a horrible trick on us yesterday! You put chemicals in our orange soda! You made us laugh and laugh and laugh — until it hurt. Then you got us in major trouble with Conan! Did you tell your mom that? Did you? Did you?"
Kermit put his hands over his ears. "Don't shout, Evan," he whined. "You know I have very sensitive ears."
Another angry growl escaped Evan's throat. He felt about to explode with rage.
"I told my mom that you shout at me all the time," Kermit continued. "Mom says you're just immature. She thinks you're very babyish. She only lets you stay with me because you're my cousin."
Kermit picked up the wooden spoon and started to stir the doughy mixture again.
Evan spun away, trying to control his anger.
I'm glad Andy and I are going to do what we're going to do, he thought. I'm glad we're going to give Kermit a little scare. He's been asking for it. He really has. And now he's going to get it.
Evan walked over to his backpack. He unzipped it and pulled out a candy bar. "Mmmm. A Choc-O-Lik Bar," he murmured. He crossed back to the lab table, unwrapping the candy bar as he walked.
Standing in front of Kermit, Evan took a big bite of the chocolate bar. It made a loud crunch as his teeth sank into it. "Mmmmmm!" he proclaimed. "Choc-O-Lik Bars are cool."
The candy bar was part of the plot.
Evan knew that the Choc-O-Lik Bar was Kermit's favorite.
The candy bar was supposed to distract Kermit. While Kermit stared at the candy and pleaded with Evan to give him a bite, Andy would slip a tiny chunk of Monster Blood into Kermit's mixture.
Evan crunched the candy bar loudly, making lip-smacking sounds as he chewed.
Kermit glanced up. He stopped stirring the yellowish dough. "Is that really a Choc-O-Lik Bar?" he asked.
Evan nodded. "Yeah. Sure is."
"My favorite," Kermit said.
"I know," Evan replied. He took another crunchy bite.
Kermit stared at the candy bar.
Andy stood beside Kermit. Evan saw the blue container of Monster Blood in her hand. Just seeing the can made Evan shiver.
So many bad memories. So many nightmares.
The green gunk inside the can was so dangerous.
"Can I have a piece of the Choc-O-Lik Bar?" Kermit asked Evan.
Andy lifted off the top of the Monster Blood container.
"Maybe. Maybe not," Evan told Kermit.
Andy stuck two fingers in the container. She pulled out a gooey green hunk of Monster Blood.
"Please? Pretty please?" Kermit begged Evan.
Andy dropped the chunk of Monster Blood into Kermit's big bowl of dough. Then she quietly snapped the cap back on the container and slid it back into her bag.
Evan took another bite of the candy bar.
"You shouldn't eat a candy bar unless you have enough to share with everyone," Kermit scolded.
"You haven't been very nice to me," Evan told him. "So I'm not going to share."
Kermit started stirring the dough again. He stared angrily at Evan as he stirred. He didn't see the green Monster Blood being stirred up in the yellow dough.
Evan took another bite of the Choc-O-Lik Bar. Only a few bites left.
"I'm going to tell Mom you were mean to me," Kermit threatened. "I'm going to tell her you wouldn't share."
Evan shook his head. "See what I mean? You're not nice to me, Kermit. If you were nice to me, I'd share all my candy bars with you."
Andy winked at Evan. Then she peered into the bowl.
Kermit stirred and stirred.
Andy's expression became tense. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Evan saw her nibble her bottom lip.
Watching Kermit stir the Monster Blood, Evan suddenly had a heavy feeling in his stomach.
We've done it, he thought.
We've opened another can of Monster Blood.
He stared at the yellow dough in the bowl. It made a soft plopping sound as Kermit pushed the wooden spoon through it.
Now what? Evan wondered.
Now what's going to happen?

14

Kermit stirred the yellow dough. The big wooden spoon scraped the bowl. The doughy mixture plopped softly, tumbling and swirling as Kermit worked.
Andy kept nibbling her lower lip, her eyes locked on the bowl. Her brown hair fell over her face. But she made no move to push it back.
Evan watched from the other side of the table. His heart began doing flip-flops in his chest. He took another bite of the chocolate bar.
He chewed as quietly as possible. He didn't want to disturb Kermit. As he chewed, he stared at the bowl.
He and Andy were waiting. Waiting to see what the little hunk of Monster Blood would do to Kermit's mixture.
Waiting to see the look of horror on Kermit's face.
Waiting to pay him back for being such a little monster.
Kermit didn't seem to notice how quiet it had become in the basement. Dogface came lumbering in, panting loudly, his paws thudding on the tile floor.
No one turned to look at him.
The dog hiccupped, turned, and padded out of the room.
Evan bit off another chunk of the candy bar.
Kermit stirred, humming to himself. The spoon scraped the side of the bowl. The dough slapped against the edge.
And spilled over.
Kermit stopped stirring. "Weird," he muttered.
Evan's heart did a flip-flop up to his throat. "What's weird?" he asked.
"It grew," Kermit replied, scratching his white-blond hair. "Look."
Kermit pointed to the yellow dough with the wooden spoon. It plopped up over the top of the bowl.
"It — it's growing really fast!" Kermit declared.
Evan took a few steps closer. Andy leaned down to get a better look.
The dough rose up, shimmering and quivering.
"Wow!" Kermit cried. "It wasn't supposed to do this! It was supposed to turn sticky and black!"
Andy winked at Evan. Her brown eyes lit up excitedly. A smile spread across her face.
The yellow blob quivered up over the top of the bowl, as big as a beach ball.
How big was it going to get?
"Oh, wow! This is awesome!" Kermit declared.
The dough shimmered higher. Wider.
It rose up high over the bowl. It overflowed the sides.
Bigger. Bigger. It started to look like an enormous hot air balloon.
"It's taller than me!" Kermit declared. His voice had changed. He didn't sound excited now. He was beginning to sound frightened.
"We'd better stop it, I think," he murmured.
"How?" Andy asked. She stepped out from behind the lab table and joined Evan on the other side.
Andy grinned at Evan. She was enjoying the expression of fear on Kermit's face. Evan had to admit he enjoyed it, too.
The ball of yellow dough shimmered and shook, growing bigger every second. It bubbled up faster and faster, pressing Kermit back against the basement wall.
"Hey — help!" he sputtered.
Andy's grin grew wider. "He's terrified now," she whispered to Evan.
Evan nodded. He knew he was supposed to enjoy this. It was supposed to be sweet revenge.
But Evan was terrified, too.
How much bigger would the huge yellow blob grow? Could they stop it? Or would it grow and grow and grow until it filled the entire basement?
"Evan — help me!" Kermit cried. "I'm trapped back here!"
The dough began to shake harder. It bobbed up against the basement ceiling.
Evan glanced down and realized he was still holding a chunk of candy bar in his hand. The chocolate had started to melt.
Evan started to pop the candy into his mouth — just as the giant dough ball exploded with a deafening roar.

15

"ULP!"
Evan swallowed hard as the doughy goop exploded. The force of the blast sent the candy chunk flying down his throat.
He started to cough and choke.
With a hard splat, globs of sticky dough hit him in the face. The yellow goo spread over his hair and covered his eyes.
"Hey!" Evan choked out. He frantically wiped the dough from his eyes, blinking hard.
He could taste it on his tongue. "Yuck!" He spit it out and rubbed the sticky stuff off his lips. Then he pulled thick wads of goo off his face.
"It's stuck to my hair!" Andy wailed.
"Help me! Help me!" Kermit's cries sounded as if they were coming from far away. Evan quickly saw why. Kermit was buried under a big heap of yellow goop.
Pulling dough from his hair, Evan hurried behind the lab table. He reached down with both hands and tugged Kermit up from under the dough.
"Wow. I'm kind of dizzy!" Kermit cried. He leaned heavily against the lab table. His hands slid in the yellow goo that covered the table.
"I'll never get it out of my hair!" Andy wailed, tugging at her hair with both hands. "Never!" She turned to Evan. "It wasn't supposed to explode. Just get big. I guess something in the dough made it blow up."
Wiping dough off the front of his T-shirt, Evan gazed around the basement. The yellow dough had splattered over everything. Now it dripped down the walls, making soft plopping sounds as it hit the floor.
"That was an awesome explosion!" Kermit declared. His eyeglasses were covered with yellow goop. He pulled them off and squinted around the room.
He turned to Andy. "Did you put something in the bowl?"
"Never mind," Andy replied, still pulling sticky yellow globs from her hair.
Kermit tugged her arm. "What was it? What did you put in my mixture?"
"Why do you want to know?" Andy demanded.
"So we can do that again!" Kermit declared gleefully. "It was so awesome!"
"No way we're doing it again!" Evan moaned.
Their revenge on Kermit hadn't exactly worked out, Evan realized bitterly. Kermit should be in tears by now. Or he should be quivering in fear and terror.
Instead, his eyes were dancing with excitement and he was grinning from ear to ear.
We were total jerks! Evan thought sadly. Kermit is loving this!
Kermit pulled out a cloth and cleaned his glasses. "What a mess!" he declared, gazing around the room. "Evan, you're going to be in major trouble when Mom gets home."
Evan swallowed hard. He had forgotten about Kermit's mom.
She had given him one last chance to prove that he was a good baby-sitter.
Now she was going to come home to a basement splattered with sticky yellow goop from floor to ceiling. And Kermit was sure to tell her the whole thing was E van's fault.
Aunt Dee will tell everyone in the world why she had to take the job away from me, Evan thought unhappily. And I'll never get another baby-sitting job as long as I live.
Bye-bye, Walkman, he thought grimly. No way he'd ever earn the money for one now.
"This is your fault!" he snapped at Andy, pointing an accusing finger at her. A spot of yellow dough stuck to his fingernail.
"My fault?" Andy shrieked. "You're the one who wanted to teach Kermit a lesson!"
"But you're the one who wanted to use the Monster Blood!" Evan cried.
"Look at my hair!" Andy wailed. "It's solid goop! It looks like I'm wearing a helmet! It's ruined! Ruined!" She uttered an angry growl.
Kermit giggled. He bent down and picked up a chunk of the sticky yellow dough. "Think fast!" he shouted — and heaved it at Evan.
The dough ball hit the front of Evan's T-shirt and stuck there. "Stop it, Kermit!" he shouted angrily.
"Let's have a dough fight!" Kermit suggested, grinning. He scooped up another handful of the stuff.
"No! No way! Stop it!" Evan cried. He pulled the dough ball off his T-shirt. "This is dangerous! We've got to clean this up!"
Kermit flung another big chunk of yellow goo at Evan.
Evan tried to dodge out of the way. But his sneakers slipped on a big, slimy puddle of goop, and he hit the floor hard. He landed on his side with a loud "OOF!"
Kermit let out a gleeful laugh. "That was awesome!" he declared. "What a shot!"
Andy hurried over and helped tug Evan to his feet. "Maybe we can vacuum it all up," she suggested. She turned to Kermit. "Where does your mom keep the vacuum cleaner?"
Kermit shrugged. "Beats me."
Evan leaned against the lab table. His hand rested in a puddle of dough, but he didn't care.
He suddenly felt strange.
His entire body started to tingle. His stomach felt queasy. He shut his eyes, trying to force the strange feeling away.
But the tingling grew stronger.
He heard a shrill whistling sound in his ears. His muscles started to ache. He could feel the blood throbbing at his temples.
"Maybe we can mop it up," Evan heard Andy say. But her voice sounded tiny and far away.
He turned to see her pick up a mop and bucket from against the basement wall.
That bucket is too tiny, Evan thought. Why does Andy want to use such a tiny mop?
The room tilted — to the right, then to the left.
Evan blinked hard, trying to straighten everything out.
His whole body buzzed, as if an electrical current were shooting through him. He shut his eyes and pressed both hands against his throbbing temples.
"Evan — aren't you going to help me?" Andy's voice sounded so faint, so far away. "Evan — ?" he heard her call. "Evan — ?"
When he opened his eyes, he saw that Andy and Kermit were staring up at him. Their expressions had changed. Their eyes bulged in fright and surprise. Their mouths were wide open.
"What's going on?" Evan demanded. His voice boomed through the basement, echoing off the concrete walls.
Andy and Kermit stared up at him. The tiny mop fell out of Andy's hand and clattered to the floor.
Such a tiny mop, Evan thought again, staring down at it. Such a tiny bucket.
And then he realized that Andy and Kermit were tiny, too.
"Oh!" A cry of surprise escaped Evan's throat.
Everyone is so small. Everything is so tiny.
It took Evan a long time to figure out what had happened.
But when it finally dawned on him, he let out a shriek of horror.
"Oh, no! No!" he moaned. "I'm growing! I'm growing bigger and bigger!"

16

Evan lowered his eyes to the floor. It seemed so far below.
"My — my legs — " he stammered.
Andy and Kermit still hadn't said a word. They stared up at him, their faces twisted in surprise.
Evan swallowed hard. "What's going on?" he cried. His voice boomed through the small room. "I must be eight feet tall!"
"You — you're a giant!" Kermit declared. He stepped forward and grabbed on to Evan's knee. "Me, too! Okay? Okay, Evan? Make me a giant, too!" he begged.
"Give me a break," Evan muttered. He picked up Kermit easily and set him down on top of the lab table.
Then Evan turned to Andy. "What am I going to do? This is terrible!"
"Not so loud!" Andy pleaded, covering her ears with her hands. "Please, Evan — try to whisper or something, okay?"
"What am I going to do?" Evan repeated, ignoring her plea.
Andy forced a smile. "Try out for basketball, I guess."
Evan balled his huge hands into huge fists. "I'm not in the mood for your sick sense of humor, Andy," he snapped.
His body started to tingle again. His muscles ached.
I'm growing even bigger, he realized.
Evan's throat suddenly felt very dry. He realized his knees were shaking. They made a loud banging sound as they hit together.
Don't panic! he instructed himself.
The first rule is — don't panic.
But why shouldn't he panic? His head was nearly pushing up against the basement ceiling.
Kermit stood up on top of the lab table. His white high-tops were splattered with yellow dough. They looked like little doll shoes to Evan.
"Make me a giant, too!" Kermit pleaded. "Why can't I be a giant?"
Evan stared down at his cousin. Kermit really did look like a little white mouse now.
Evan's body tingled harder. The room tilted and swayed again. "This is your fault, Andy!" he shouted.
Andy shrank back against the wall. "Huh? My fault?"
"You and your Monster Blood!" Evan thundered. "I — I swallowed some!"
Andy stared up at him. "How?"
"When Kermit's mixture exploded," Evan replied. "I was putting the candy bar in my mouth. The dough exploded. I started to choke. The dough hit me in the face. I remember I tasted it. It was on my lips. And — and — "
"And it had Monster Blood in it!" Andy finished his sentence for him. Her face filled with horror. "Oh, Evan. I'm sorry. I really am."
But then her face brightened. "The Monster Blood splashed on your clothes, too. That was lucky. They're growing with you."
Evan let out an exasperated sigh. "Lucky?" he cried. "You call this lucky? What if I keep growing and never stop?"
Kermit remained standing on the lab table. He stared up at Evan. "You mean if I eat some of the dough, I'll turn into a giant, too?" He bent down and scooped up a handful of dough.
"Don't you dare!" Evan screamed. He leaned over and flicked the dough out of Kermit's hand with two fingers. Then he hovered over Kermit, glaring at him menacingly. "I can squash you, Kermit. I really can," Evan warned.
"Okay, okay," Kermit muttered, his voice trembling. He slid off the table and stepped behind Andy.
Wow, Evan thought, I actually have Kermit afraid of me! That's a first. Maybe growing so big isn't all bad!
His body tingled and vibrated. The whistling in his ears grew louder. He could feel himself grow some more.
He turned to see Dogface pad into the room. The big sheepdog looked like a tiny poodle.
The dog hiccupped. It sniffed at a yellow puddle of dough on the floor.
"No!" Evan cried. "Don't eat that! Dogface — no!"
He bent over and picked up the sheepdog.
Seeing a giant human lift him up easily off the floor, Dogface let out a yelp of terror. All four legs thrashed the air as the frightened dog struggled to break free.
But Evan cradled the sheepdog in one arm and held on to him tightly.
When he realized he couldn't escape from the giant, the dog's terrified yelps turned to quiet whimpers.
"Take Dogface out of here. Lock him outside," Evan ordered Kermit. He lowered the whimpering dog to the floor.
Kermit obediently led the dog away. Halfway to the stairs, he turned back to Evan. "Hey, you cured Dogface's hiccups!"
I guess I scared them out of him! Evan told himself.
Kermit led Dogface up the stairs. Evan turned to Andy. "I told you to leave the Monster Blood in the closet!" he cried. "Now look at me!"
He had to duck his head. Otherwise it would brush against the ceiling.
"Who told you to eat the stuff?" Andy replied. "Why did you have to be eating that candy bar?"
"It was part of the plan — remember?" Evan snapped angrily. He uttered a bitter sigh. "Great plan we had!"
"I guess it didn't work out too well," Andy admitted.
"I guess it didn't," Evan muttered. "Now what will happen to me? What will Mom and Dad say?"
"What will you eat?" Andy added. "You'll probably have to eat sixteen meals a day! And where will you sleep? And how can you go to school? There aren't any desks big enough for you. And what will you wear? They'll have to make your T-shirts out of bedsheets!"
"You're not cheering me up," Evan murmured glumly.
He felt his body tingle. Again, he could feel his skin stretching, feel all of his muscles throb.
"Ow!" he cried out as the top of his head banged against the ceiling.
He had to lean over to rub his head.
"Evan — you're growing!" Andy exclaimed.
"I know. I know," Evan grumbled. The basement ceiling was at least nine feet high. Evan had to stoop to keep from banging the ceiling. That meant he was more than nine feet tall.
A shiver of fear shook his body. He glanced around the basement. "I have to get out of here!" he cried.
Kermit returned to the room. He stopped and gawked at Evan. "You grew even more!" he cried. "I'll bet you weigh three hundred pounds!"
"I don't have time to weigh myself," Evan replied, rolling his eyes. "I have to get out of here. I'm so big, I can't stand up. I'm so big, I — "
He stopped. He felt himself grow a little more.
"I'm too big now!" he cried. "I'm trapped down here! There's no way I can get out!"

17

"Stay calm," Andy called up to him.
"Calm? How can I stay calm?" Evan shrieked. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life in this basement! I'm too big for the stairs!"
"Mom won't like that," Kermit said, shaking his head.
"Try the stairs!" Andy cried. "Maybe you can squeeze up if you hurry!"
Evan turned to the basement stairs. "I — I don't think I'll fit," he stammered. The stairway appeared very narrow. And Evan was now very wide.
"Come on," Andy urged. "We'll help you."
"You push and I'll pull," Kermit said, running to the stairs.
Evan lumbered toward the stairs. His sneakers thudded heavily on the tile floor. He stooped his shoulders to keep his head from crashing against the ceiling.
"Try not to grow any bigger!" Andy called, following closely behind him.
"Great advice!" Evan replied sarcastically. "Do you have any more advice like that?"
"Don't be nasty," Andy scolded. "I'm only trying to help you."
"You've already helped me more than enough," Evan grumbled.
He felt his body start to tingle. His muscles started to throb.
"No! Please — no!" He uttered a silent plea. I don't want to grow any more!
He sucked in a deep breath and held it. He shut his eyes tight and tried to concentrate — concentrate on not growing.
"I think I just saw you grow another few inches," Andy called to him. "You'd better hurry, Evan."
"How big is Evan going to get?" Kermit asked. He had climbed halfway up the stairs. "Is he going to get bigger than an elephant?"
"That's not helpful, Kermit," Evan muttered unhappily. "Please stop asking questions like that — okay?"
"If you get as big as an elephant, will you give me a ride?" Kermit demanded.
Evan glared angrily at his cousin. "Do you know what elephants do to mice?" he bellowed. Evan raised one foot and brought it down with a crunching thud to demonstrate to Kermit what elephants do to mice.
Kermit swallowed hard and didn't say anything more.
Evan walked over to the stairway. He glanced up the stairs. "I don't think I can make it," he told Andy. "I'm too big."
"Give it a try," she urged. "You've got to, Evan."
Evan stepped on to the first step. Leaning low, he raised himself to the next step.
"You're doing it!" Kermit cried happily. He stayed at the top of the stairs, watching Evan's progress eagerly.
Evan took another step. The wooden stairs creaked under his weight. He tried to lean on the banister. But it snapped beneath his hand.
He climbed two more steps.
He was a third of the way up when he became stuck.
His body was just too wide for the narrow stairway.
Kermit pulled both of E van's hands. Andy pushed him from behind.
But they couldn't budge him.
"I — I can't move," Evan stammered. He felt panic choke his throat. "I'm jammed tight in here. There's no way I'll ever get out!"
Then he felt his body start to tingle. And he knew he was growing even more.

18

As Evan grew, he heard a cracking sound.
Soft at first. Then louder. Very close by.
He cried out as the wall to his left crumbled. His expanding body had broken the wall away.
As the wall cracked and fell, Evan took a deep breath and lurched up the stairs.
"Made it!" he cried as he squeezed through the doorway.
A few seconds later, he burst out through the kitchen door, into the sunlit backyard.
Dogface lay stretched out near the fence. The dog jumped to his feet as the gigantic Evan appeared. Frightened, Dogface gave a loud bark, his stubby tail wagging furiously, then turned and bolted from the yard.
Kermit and Andy followed Evan into the backyard, cheering and shouting, "You made it! You're free!"
Evan turned to face them. "But now what?" he asked. "Now what do I do? I'm nearly as tall as the garage. How tall am I going to grow?"
Kermit stepped closer to Evan. "Look — I'm standing in your shade!" he declared.
Evan's shadow fell across the yard like the shadow of a tree trunk. "Kermit, give me a break," Evan muttered. "I have a little bit of a problem here, you know?"
"Maybe we should get you to a doctor," Andy suggested.
"A doctor?" Evan cried. "What could a doctor do for me?"
"Put you on a diet?" Andy joked.
Evan leaned over her, squinting down at her menacingly. "Andy, I'm warning you. One more bad joke, and — "
"Okay, okay." Andy raised her hands as if trying to shield herself from him. "Sorry. Just trying to keep it light."
"Evan isn't light. He's heavy!" Kermit chimed in. His idea of a joke.
Evan let out an unhappy growl. "I don't think a doctor can help me. I mean, I couldn't fit into a doctor's office."
"But maybe if we brought the can of Monster Blood along, the doctor could figure out an antidote," Andy suggested. "Some kind of cure."
Evan started to reply. But shrill voices on the other side of the tall wooden fence at the back of the yard made him stop.
"Cut it out, Conan!" a girl pleaded.
"Yeah. Leave us alone, Conan!" Evan heard a boy shout.
Evan lumbered over to the fence and peered into Conan's yard. He saw Conan Barber furiously swinging a baseball bat, swinging it hard, forcing a little boy and girl to back up against the fence.
"Let us go!" the little girl screamed. "Why are you so mean?"
Conan swung the bat, bringing it close to the boy and girl, making them cry out.
Evan leaned over the fence. His broad shadow fell over Conan. "Want to play ball with me, Conan?" Evan thundered.
The two little kids spun around. They stared up at the enormous Evan. It took them a long time to realize they were staring at a real, giant human.
Then they began to scream.
Conan's mouth dropped open and a strangled gurgling sound escaped his throat.
"Hey, Conan, how about a little batting practice?" Evan asked, his voice booming over the backyard. Evan reached over the fence and plucked the bat from Conan's hand.
The little boy and girl ran away screaming. They darted through the hedge at the side of Conan's yard and kept running until they vanished from view.
Evan took the bat and snapped it in two between his hands. It cracked apart like a toothpick.
Conan froze in place, staring up at Evan in disbelief. He pointed a trembling finger. "Evan — you — you — you — " he stammered.
Evan tossed the two pieces of the cracked bat at Conan's feet, forcing Conan to hop out of the way.
"You ate Monster Blood!" Conan accused. "That sticky green stuff. The stuff that Cuddles the hamster ate last year! You ate some — didn't you!"
Evan didn't want to be reminded of Cuddles the hamster. The little creature had turned into a huge, vicious beast after eating Monster Blood. Cuddles had returned to hamster size only because the Monster Blood was old and stale.
But the Monster Blood Evan had swallowed was new and fresh.
Now I'm a huge, vicious beast, Evan thought sadly.
"Are you crazy? Are you totally messed up? Why did you eat Monster Blood?" Conan demanded.
"It was an accident," Evan told him.
Conan continued to stare up at Evan, but his fearful expression faded. Conan suddenly started to laugh. "I'm glad it happened to you and not me!" he exclaimed.
"Huh? Why?" Evan demanded.
"Because I'm afraid of heights!" Conan replied. He laughed again. "I always thought you were a nerd, Evan!" Conan declared. "But now you're a BIG nerd!"
Evan let out an angry growl and lurched forward. He tried to climb over the fence. But he didn't step high enough. Conan's fence splintered beneath E van's heavy sneaker.
"Hey — !" Conan cried in alarm.
He tried to turn and run, but Evan was too fast for him.
Evan grabbed Conan under the shoulders and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
"Let go! Let go of me!" Conan screamed. He kicked his arms and legs like a baby.
"I never knew you were afraid of heights," Evan said. Holding Conan in both hands, he raised him high in the air.
"Let me go! Let me go!" Conan cried. "What are you going to do?"
"Let's see if you know how to fly!" Evan exclaimed.
"Noooooo!" Conan's shrill cry rose up over the yard. He kicked and thrashed as Evan raised him even higher. "Put me down! Put me down!"
"Okay," Evan agreed. "I'll put you down." He set Conan down on a high tree branch.
Conan clung to the trunk for dear life, trembling and crying. "Evan — don't leave me up here! Please! I told you, I'm afraid of heights! Evan — come back! Evan!"
A huge grin on his huge face, Evan turned away from Conan. "That was a lot of fun!" he called down to his friends.
Conan continued to weep and wail up in the tree. Evan took a few steps toward the front yard. "That was excellent!" Evan said, still grinning. "Excellent!"
"Where are you going?" he heard Andy call up to him.
"Yeah! What are you going to do now?" Kermit asked eagerly.
"This is kind of cool!" Evan declared. Having his revenge on Conan had put him in a better mood. "Let's go see if we can have some more fun!"
"Yaaaay!" Kermit cried, racing to keep up with Evan.
Evan ducked his head to keep from banging it on a low tree branch. He took several big steps toward the street.
"Oh!" He stopped and cried out when he felt himself step on something. He heard a cracking, then a crunch beneath his enormous sneaker.
He turned to see Kermit raise both hands to his face. "Oh, no!" Kermit shrieked. "You squashed Andy! Evan — you squashed Andy!"

19

Evan gasped and jerked up his foot.
Kermit let out a high-pitched laugh. "Gotcha, Evan!"
Andy came running over from the driveway. "That wasn't funny!" she scolded Kermit. "That was a really dumb joke, Kermit. You scared Evan to death."
"I know!" Kermit laughed, very pleased with himself.
Evan let out a sigh of relief. He bent down to see what he had stepped on. Conan's skateboard. It lay crushed and splintered, flat on the grass.
He turned angrily to Kermit. "No more stupid jokes," he thundered. "Or I'll put you up in the tree with Conan."
"Okay. Okay," Kermit mumbled. "You think you're tough just because you're so big."
Evan held up a pointer finger. "Careful, Kermit," he warned. "I could knock you over with one finger."
"Conan is still yelling for help back there," Andy reported.
Evan smiled. "Let's see who's hanging out at the playground. Maybe we can surprise some other kids."
Evan crossed the street, taking long, heavy strides. He felt as if he were walking on stilts. This is kind of cool, he told himself. I'm the biggest person in the world!
He passed by the neighbors' basketball hoop, which stood on a pole at the curb. Hey — I'm at least six feet taller than the basket! he realized.
"Hey — wait up!" Andy called breathlessly. "Don't walk so fast!"
"I can't help it!" Evan called back.
A small blue car rolled by, then squealed to a stop. Evan could see a woman and two kids in the car. They were all staring out at him.
A little girl on a bike turned the comer. She started pedaling toward Evan. He saw the look of surprise on her face when she spotted him.
She braked her bike hard, nearly toppling over the handlebars. Then she wheeled around and sped out of sight.
Evan laughed.
Another car screeched to a halt.
As he started to cross another street, Evan turned to see who was in the car. He didn't watch where he was going.
A loud crunch made him stop.
With a gasp, he peered down — and saw that he had stepped on a car.
"Oh, no!" Evan cried. His sneaker had crushed in the top of the car — as if it were made of tinfoil.
Evan backed away in horror. Was someone inside?
He dropped to his knees to stare in the window. "Thank goodness!" he cried when he saw that the car was empty.
"Wow!" Kermit exclaimed, walking around and around the smashed-in car. "You must weigh at least a ton, Evan!"
Andy stepped up beside Evan, who remained on his knees. "Be careful," she warned. "You've got to watch every step."
Evan nodded in agreement. "At least I think I've stopped growing," he called down to her.
As they reached the playground, Evan saw several kids shouting and pointing excitedly at a tall maple tree on the corner.
What's going on? Evan wondered.
As he lumbered closer, he saw the problem. Their yellow kite had become stuck up in the tree.
"Hey — no problem!" Evan boomed.
The kids screamed and cried out in surprise as Evan stepped up to them. They all backed away, their faces tight with fear.
Evan reached up easily and tugged the kite loose from the tree limb. Then he leaned down and gently handed it to the nearest kid.
"Hey, thanks!" A grin spread across the kid's freckled face.
The other kids all cheered. Evan took a bow.
Andy laughed. "You need a red cape and a pair of blue tights," she shouted up to him. "It's Super Evan!"
"Super Evan!" the kids shouted as they ran off happily with their kite.
Evan leaned down to talk to Andy. "If I stay big like this, do you think I really could get a job as a superhero?"
"I don't think it pays very well," Kermit chimed in. "In the comic books, you never see those guys getting paid."
They crossed the street and headed toward the playground. Evan glanced at the redbrick school building on the corner. It's so small, he thought.
He suddenly realized that he stood at least two stories tall. If I walk over there, I can see into the second-floor classrooms, he thought.
How will I go to school? Evan wondered. I can't squeeze through the door. I won't fit in Mrs. McGrady's room anymore.
Feeling a wave of sadness roll over him, he turned away from the school building. He heard cheers and shouts. A softball game was underway on the practice diamond.
Evan recognized Billy Denver and Brian Johnson and some of the other kids. He always had to beg to play softball with them. They never wanted Evan on their team because he wasn't a very good hitter.
He strolled over the grass to the practice diamond. Andy and Kermit ran behind him, struggling to keep up.
Brian was starting to pitch the ball. But he stopped short when he spotted Evan. The ball dropped from his hand and dribbled to the ground.
Players on both teams gasped and shouted.
Evan strode up to Brian on the pitcher's mound. Brian's eyes bulged in fear as Evan drew near. Brian raised his hands to shield himself. "Don't hurt me!" he pleaded.
"Hey — it's Evan!" Billy exclaimed. "Look, guys! It's Evan!"
Kids from both teams gathered around, murmuring excitedly, nervously.
Brian slowly lowered his hands and stared up at the giant Evan. "Wow! It really is you! Evan — how did you do that?"
"What happened to you?" another kid cried.
"He's been working out!" Andy told them.
The kids laughed. Very tense laughter.
Andy always has a joke for everything, Evan thought.
"Uh . . . want to play?" Brian asked. "You can be on my team."
"No. My team!" Billy insisted.
"No way! He's on my team!" Brian shouted. "We're one man short, remember?"
"Don't say short around Evan!" Andy joked.
Everyone laughed again.
Billy and Brian continued to fight over which team would get Evan. Evan stood back and enjoyed the argument. He picked up a wooden bat. It had always seemed so heavy before. Now it felt as light as a pencil.
Billy won the argument. "You can bat now, Evan," he said, grinning up at him.
"How can I pitch to him? He's a giant!" Brian complained.
"Pitch it really high," Evan suggested.
"Evan, do your mom and dad know you grew like this?" Billy asked, walking to home plate beside Evan.
Evan swallowed hard. He hadn't thought about his parents. They'd be getting home from work soon. They weren't going to be happy about this. How would he break the news to them? he wondered.
And then he thought: I won't have to break the news to them. They'll see for themselves what has happened!
He stepped up to the plate and swung the bat onto his shoulder. "Wish we had a bigger bat," he muttered. It was a little larger than a drinking straw.
"Get a hit!" Billy shouted from behind the backstop.
"Get a hit, Evan!" several other players called.
Brian's first pitch sailed past Evan's ankles.
"Higher!" Evan called out to him. "You'll have to throw it higher."
"I'm trying!" Brian grumbled. He pulled the softball back and tossed it again.
This time, the pitch flew past Evan's knees.
"It's hard to throw that high," Brian complained. "This isn't fair."
"Strike him out, Brian!" the first baseman cried. "You can do it. Evan always strikes out!"
It's true, Evan thought unhappily. I do usually strike out.
He gripped the little bat tighter, poising it over his shoulder. He suddenly wondered if being so big would make a difference.
Maybe he'd just strike out bigger!
Brian's next pitch sailed higher. Evan swung hard. The bat hit the softball with a deafening thwack — and cracked in two.
The ball sailed up, up, up. Off the playground. Over the school. And out of sight, somewhere in the next block.
Cheers and cries of amazement rang out over the diamond.
Evan watched the ball fly out of sight. Then he leaped joyfully in the air and began running the bases.
The longest home run in the history of the world!
It took only four steps between bases. He had just rounded second base when he heard the sirens.
Evan turned his eyes to the street in time to see two fire trucks squeal around the corner. The trucks pulled right up onto the playground grass and came roaring toward the softball diamond, sirens blaring.
Evan stopped at third base.
The sirens cut off as the two fire engines skidded to a halt along the first base line.
Evan's mouth dropped open as Conan Barber leaped out of the first truck. Several black-uniformed firefighters dropped to the ground behind Conan.
"There he is!" Conan cried, pointing furiously at Evan. "That's him! Get him!"

20

Grim-faced firefighters began hoisting heavy firehoses off the trucks. Others moved toward Evan, hatchets clutched menacingly in their hands.
"That's him!" Conan shrieked. "He's the one who put me in the tree and wrecked my parents' fence!"
"Huh?" Still standing on third base, Evan froze in shock.
Was this really happening?
The playground rang out with shouts of surprise. But the voices were drowned out by more sirens.
Evan saw flashing red lights. And then two black-and-white police cars roared over the grass, screeching up behind the fire engines.
A man and woman came running behind the police cars. "That's the one!" they called breathlessly, pointing at Evan. "That's the one who crushed the car. We saw him do it!"
The firefighters were busily connecting the hoses to hydrants at the curb. Blue-uniformed police swarmed on to the field. The kids on the two softball teams huddled together on the pitcher's mound. They all seemed dazed and frightened.
"He tried to kill me!" Conan was shouting to a woman police officer. "That giant put me in a tree and left me there!"
"He crushed a car!" a woman screamed.
Evan hadn't moved from third base. He gazed past the fire engines to Andy and Kermit. They stood near the backstop. Kermit had the dumb, toothy grin on his face.
Andy had her hands cupped around her mouth. She was shouting something to Evan. But he couldn't hear her over the wail of sirens and the excited shouts and cries of everyone in the playground.
Some of the police and fire officers huddled together, talking rapidly. They kept glancing up at Evan as they talked.
What are they going to do to me? Evan wondered, frozen in fear.
Should I run? Should I try to explain?
More people came hurrying across the playground. As soon as they spotted Evan, their expressions turned to surprise and amazement.
They're all staring at me, Evan realized. They're pointing at me as if I'm some kind of freak.
I am some kind of freak! he admitted to himself.
Firefighters formed a line, holding their hatchets waist-high. Others readied the firehoses, aiming them up at Evan's chest.
Evan heard more sirens. More police cars rolled on to the playground.
A young police officer with wavy red hair and a red mustache stepped up to Evan. "What — is — your — name?" he shouted, speaking each word slowly, as if maybe Evan didn't speak English.
"Uh . . . Evan. Evan Ross," Evan called down.
"Do you come from another planet?" the officer shouted.
"Huh?" Evan couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing.
He heard some of the softball players laughing, too.
"I live in Atlanta," he shouted down to the officer. "Around the corner. On Brookridge Drive."
Several officers and firefighters held their ears. Evan's voice came out louder than he had planned.
Evan took a step toward them.
The firefighters raised a firehose. Several others readied their hatchets.
"He's dangerous!" Evan heard Conan shout. "Watch out! He's really dangerous!"
That got everyone shouting and screaming.
The playground was filling with people. Neighborhood people. Kids and their parents. Cars stopped and people climbed out to see why the crowd had gathered.
More police cars bumped over the grass. Their wailing sirens added to the deafening noise, the shouts and cries, the frightened murmurs.
The noise. The staring eyes. The pointed fingers.
It all started to make Evan dizzy.
He felt his legs tremble. His forehead throbbed.
The police had formed a line. They started to circle Evan.
As they closed in, Evan felt himself explode. "I can't take any more!" he screamed, raising his fists. "Stop it! Stop it! All of you! Get away! Leave me alone! I mean it!"
Silence as the sirens cut off. The voices hushed.
And then Evan heard the red-haired police officer shout to the others: "He's turned violent. We have to bring him down!"

21

Evan didn't have time to be frightened.
The firehoses chugged and gurgled — then shot out thick streams of water.
Evan ducked low. Dove forward. Tried to get away from the roaring water.
The force of the water stream ripped the ground to his side.
Evan dodged to the other side.
Wow! That's powerful! he thought, horrified. The water is strong enough to knock me over!
Frightened shouts rose up over the roar of the water.
Evan plunged through the line of dark-uniformed police officers — and kept running. "Don't shoot!" he screamed. "Don't shoot me! I'm not from another planet! I'm just a boy!"
He didn't know if they could hear him or not.
He dodged past several startled onlookers. A long hook-and-ladder stood in his path.
He stopped. Glanced back.
Firefighters were turning the hoses. The powerful spray arced high. Water crashed to the ground just behind Evan, loud as thunder.
Kids and parents were running in all directions, frantic, frightened expressions locked on their faces.
Evan took a deep breath. Bent his knees. And leaped over the fire truck in his path.
He heard shouts of surprise behind him. He vaulted high over the truck. Landed hard on the other side. Stumbled. Caught his balance.
Then, ducking low, his arms stretched out in front of him, Evan ran.
His long legs carried him away quickly. As he reached the street, a low tree branch popped up as if from nowhere.
Evan dipped his head just in time.
Leaves scratched over his forehead, but he kept running.
Got to watch out for tree branches, he warned himself. Got to remember that I'm two stories tall.
Breathing hard, he plunged across the street. The late afternoon sun was lowering behind the trees. The shadows were longer now, and darker. E van's shadow seemed a mile long as it stretched out in front of him.
He heard the rise and fall of shrill sirens behind him. Heard angry shouts. Heard the thud of footsteps, people running after him.
Where can I hide? he asked himself. Where will I be safe?
Home?
No. That's the first place the police will look.
Where? Where?
It was so hard to think clearly. They were close behind him, he knew. Chasing him. Eager to bring him down.
If only he could stop somewhere, close his eyes, shut them all out, and think. Then maybe he could come up with a plan.
But he knew he had to keep running.
His head throbbed. His chest ached.
His long legs were taking him quickly away from the playground. But he still felt awkward, with his sneakers so far below him and his head so high in the trees.
I'll hide out at Kermit's house, he thought.
Then he quickly decided that was a bad idea, too.
"I can't get in Kermit's house!" he cried out loud. "I'm too big!"
And then he had a truly frightening thought: "I can't fit in any house!"
Where will I sleep? he wondered. And then: Will they let me sleep?
Can't the police see I'm just a boy? Evan asked himself bitterly. He turned the corner and ran past his house. The lights were all off. The door closed. No car in the driveway.
His parents hadn't come home from work.
He kept running. Running across yards. Ducking low. Trying to hide behind shrubs and tall hedges.
Can't they see I'm a boy? Not a creature from another planet?
Why do they think I'm so dangerous?
It's all Conan's fault, Evan decided. Conan got the firefighters and police all crazy with his wild stories.
His wild, true stories.
And now where can I run? Where can I hide?
The answer came to him as he neared Kermit's house. Two doors down, a lot had been cleared. And an enormous stack of lumber had been piled at the back. Someone was about to build a house on the lot.
Breathing hard, sweat pouring down his broad forehead, Evan turned and ran across the lot. He ducked behind the tall pile of lumber. And stopped.
He dropped to his knees and leaned against the lumber stack, struggling to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Maybe I'll hide here for a while, he thought. He lowered himself to a sitting position.
If I sit down and hunch my shoulders, the lumber pile hides me from the street. And it's shady and cool behind it. And I can keep an eye on Kermit's house from here.
Yes. This is a good hiding spot for now, Evan decided. Then, after dark, I'll sneak over to my house and try to explain to my parents what happened.
He leaned his back against the lumber pile and shut his eyes.
He had just started to relax a little when he heard a voice cry: "Got him!"

22

Evan's eyes shot open.
He tried to scramble to his feet.
But then he saw who had shouted.
"Kermit!" he cried angrily. "You scared me to death!"
Kermit flashed his annoying grin. "I knew you'd hide here, Evan," he said, smirking. "I'm so smart."
Kermit turned and called out, "He's back here! I was right!"
A few seconds later, Andy gingerly poked her head behind the stack of lumber. Her eyes studied Evan for a few seconds. Then a smile crossed her face.
"You're okay?" she asked softly. "I was so worried — "
"Yeah. I'm okay — for now," Evan replied bitterly.
"The whole town is after you!" Kermit exclaimed. "It's really awesome! It's like a movie!"
"I don't want to be in a movie!" Evan griped. "This movie is too scary."
"They've got guns and everything!" Kermit continued excitedly, ignoring Evan's complaint. "And did you see those firehoses? It's amazing! They all want to catch you!"
"They think you're an alien from outer space," Andy added, shaking her head.
"And who told them that? Conan?" Evan asked bitterly.
"Conan made them believe you're real dangerous," Kermit said, grinning that grin Evan hated so much.
"I am dangerous!" Evan declared. He growled menacingly at Kermit.
The growl shocked the grin off Kermit's face.
Evan turned to Andy. "What am I going to do? I can't run and hide for the rest of my life. They're going to catch me. If you two tracked me down, the police will track me down, too."
Evan let out a long, frightened sigh. "There's nowhere I can hide. I'm too big to hide! So what can I do? What?"
Andy scratched her arm. She knotted up her face, thinking hard. "Well . . ."
And suddenly Evan knew exactly what to do.
Watching Andy, Evan knew how to solve the whole problem.

23

Evan jumped to his feet. His heart began to pound. For the first time in hours, a big smile spread across his face.
"Evan — what's wrong?" Andy demanded. His sudden move had startled her.
"I know what we can do!" Evan declared. "Everything is going to be okay!"
"Get down!" Kermit cried. "I hear sirens. They'll see you."
In his excitement, Evan had forgotten that he was taller than the lumber pile. He dropped back to his knees. Even on his knees, he was a lot taller than Kermit and Andy.
The sirens blared louder. Closer.
Evan gazed around. The sun had fallen behind the trees. The sky was evening gray now. The air grew cooler.
"We've got to hurry," Evan told them. He put a hand on Kermit's slender shoulder. "Kermit, you've got to help me."
Behind his glasses, Kermit's little mouse eyes bulged with excitement. "Me? What can I do?"
"The blue mixture," Evan said, holding on to his cousin's shoulder. "Remember the blue mixture?"
"Wh-which one?" Kermit stammered.
"The one that shrank my mosquito bite!" Andy chimed in. She suddenly realized what Evan was thinking.
"That's right," Evan explained to Kermit. "Watching Andy scratch her arm reminded me. That blue mixture of yours shrank the mosquito bite instantly."
"Maybe it can shrink Evan, too!" Andy exclaimed excitedly.
Kermit nodded, thinking hard. "Yeah. Maybe it can."
"I'll rub it all over my body, and I'll shrink back to my normal size," Evan said happily.
"It'll work! I know it will!" Andy cried enthusiastically. She let out a cheer and jumped up and down. Then she tugged Kermit's arm. "Come on, Kermit. Hurry! Let's get to your basement. You still have the blue mixture, don't you?"
Kermit narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. "I think so," he told them. "A lot of stuff got wrecked, remember? But I think I have it."
"He has to have it!" Evan cried. "He has to!"
Evan climbed to his feet. "Come on. Hurry."
They heard sirens. Loud and near.
Kermit peered around the lumber pile toward the street. "A police car!" he whispered. "They're cruising this block."
"You'd better wait here," Andy warned Evan.
Evan shook his head. "No way. I'm coming with you. I want to get that blue mixture as fast as I can."
He ducked his head. "We can walk through the backyards. No one will see us."
"But, Evan — " Andy started to protest.
She stopped when Evan stepped away from the lumber pile and started loping quickly across the backyard toward Kermit's house.
Dogface greeted them in the driveway. The sheepdog barked happily, jumping up on Kermit, nearly knocking him to the ground.
"Shhh. Quiet, boy! Quiet!" Kermit cried, petting the dog, trying to stop his barks. "We don't want anyone to hear us."
Dogface gazed up at Evan — and got very quiet. The dog slumped across the driveway. It stared up suspiciously at Evan, panting hard, its stubby tail wagging furiously.
Evan's eyes darted up and down the driveway. No car. "Your mom isn't home yet, Kermit," he said.
"She must be working late," Kermit replied. "That's good news. This is our lucky day!"
Evan let out a bitter laugh. "For sure. Lucky day," he muttered.
Kermit and Andy hurried to the kitchen door. Evan started to follow. Then he remembered he didn't fit in the house.
"Wait right there," Andy instructed him. "Make sure no one sees you."
Evan nodded. "Hurry — please!"
He watched them disappear through the door. Then he sat down behind the house. He motioned for Dogface to come over to him. He felt like holding on to something.
But the big dog just stared back and wouldn't budge.
The whole town is looking for me, Evan thought unhappily. The whole town is looking for a giant me. But they'll never find the giant me. Because in a few seconds, I'll shrink back to normal size.
Then everything will be okay again.
He raised his eyes to the house. What is keeping Andy and Kermit? he wondered. Can't they find the bottle of blue liquid?
He took a deep breath. Don't panic, Evan, he instructed himself. They've only been in the house a few seconds. They'll be out soon. And everything will be okay.
To pass the time, he counted slowly to ten. Then he counted slowly to ten again.
He was about to start counting one more time when the screen door flew open. Kermit stepped out, carrying the blue beaker. Andy followed right behind.
"Found it!" Kermit cried happily.
Evan jumped to his knees. He reached out eagerly. "Quick — let me have it."
Kermit stretched up his hand. Evan grabbed for the glass beaker.
It slipped out of his grasp.
It started to fall.
"Ohhh!" Evan let out a horrified moan — and caught the beaker just before it crashed against the driveway.
"Wow! Nice catch!" Kermit exclaimed.
Evan's heart had leaped to his mouth. He took a deep breath. He grasped the beaker tightly in his hand. "Close one," he murmured. The beaker was so tiny in his hand, like something made for a dollhouse.
They heard sirens in the distance.
The search for the giant Evan was still on.
"I — I hope this mixture works," Evan declared.
He raised the beaker. Tilted it upside down over his other hand. Waited.
And waited.
Finally, a tiny blue drop of liquid dripped on to Evan's palm.
Nothing more.
He shook the beaker. Hard. Harder. The way he shook a ketchup bottle when the ketchup stuck.
Then he raised the beaker to his eye and peered inside.
A few seconds later, he let out a long, sad sigh. He tossed the bottle disgustedly onto the grass. "It's empty," Evan reported. "Totally empty."

24

"I knew there wasn't much left," Kermit murmured, shaking his head.
The empty bottle rolled under a shrub. Dogface walked over and sniffed it.
"I'm doomed," Evan muttered. Forgetting how strong he was, he angrily kicked a pebble down the driveway. The pebble sailed up into the air and disappeared over the house across the street.
"Be careful," Andy warned. "You could break a window."
"Who cares?" Evan snapped. "My life is ruined."
"No way!" Kermit cried. "You'll be okay, Evan." He started running to the house. "Be right back!"
"Kermit, where are you going?" Evan called glumly.
"To mix up another batch!" Kermit replied. "It will only take me a few seconds, Evan. I've got all the ingredients."
Evan could feel his sadness lifting. "Do you really think you can do it?" he asked his cousin.
"No problem," Kermit replied, flashing Evan a thumbs-up sign. "I think I remember what I put in it. I'll mix up more blue shrinking stuff and be back in a jiffy."
Kermit disappeared into the house. "I'm coming, too!" Andy called after him. She turned back to Evan. "I can try to clean up some of the lab while Kermit mixes the liquid. If Kermit's mom gets home and sees the basement, you'll be in big trouble."
Evan let out a weak laugh. "Big trouble. Very funny, Annnndrea. You're a riot."
"Don't call me Andrea," she shot back, ignoring his sarcasm. He watched her hurry into the house.
Dogface got tired of sniffing the blue bottle. The sheepdog lumbered across the yard to inspect the fence that Evan had knocked down earlier.
Evan sighed. I wonder if my own dog will recognize me now? he thought. Trigger, Evan's cocker spaniel, had been the first to eat Monster Blood. The dog had grown bigger than a horse.
I wonder if Trigger ever has nightmares about that? Evan asked himself.
He knew he'd be having nightmares about today for a long time to come.
He glanced at his watch. Almost dinnertime. His parents would be getting home soon. And Kermit's mom would be pulling up the driveway at any minute.
"Wow. She'll be surprised when she sees me!" Evan exclaimed out loud.
He turned to the house in time to see Kermit step out. He was carrying a fresh bottle of blue liquid. "See? No problem!" Kermit declared.
Evan carefully took the bottle from Kermit's hand.
Andy walked over, her eyes raised to Evan's. "Go ahead. Rub it all over," she urged. "Hurry!"
Evan carefully poured a puddle of blue liquid into his palm. Then he rubbed it onto his cheeks, his forehead, his neck.
He poured more into his hand. He rubbed blue liquid onto his arms. Then he raised his T-shirt and rubbed some on his chest.
Please let it work, he prayed silently. Please let it work.
He turned to Andy and Kermit. "See any change?"

25

Andy's mouth dropped open.
Kermit's eyes bulged, and he uttered a choking sound.
"Well?" Evan demanded eagerly. "Do you see any change? Do you?"
"Uh . . . well . . . uh . . ." Kermit sputtered.
"You turned blue!" Andy cried.
"Excuse me?" Evan demanded. He knew he hadn't heard her correctly.
"Your skin — it's bright blue!" Andy wailed, pressing her hands against her cheeks.
"My — what?" Evan shrieked. "You mean — HIC! — " A powerful hiccup made his entire body shake.
Evan stared down at his hands.
"They — they're blue!" he cried. "HIC!"
Another hiccup burst from his open mouth. His enormous body shook as if struck by an earthquake.
Frantically, he pulled up the T-shirt and stared at his stomach. His blue stomach.
His arms. His chest. All blue. Bright blue.
"HIC!"
"I don't believe it!" Evan screamed. "I'm bright blue, and — HIC! — I've got the hiccups!"
He glared down furiously at Kermit.
Kermit was so frightened, his legs trembled and his knees actually knocked together. "I — I can fix it," he called up to Evan. "N-no problem! I just mixed it up wrong. I'll be right back with another mixture."
He ran to the house. At the screen door, he turned back to Evan. "Don't go anywhere — okay?"
Evan let out a furious roar, interrupted by a deafening hiccup. "Where can I go?" he shrieked at the top of his lungs. "Where can I — HIC! — go?!"
The door slammed behind Kermit.
Evan let out another roar, clenching his blue fists and shaking his blue arms over his head. He paced back and forth on the driveway, hiccupping every few seconds.
"Try to calm down a little," Andy called up to him. "People will hear you."
"I — I — HIC! — can't calm down!" Evan complained bitterly. "Look at me!"
"But the neighbors will hear you. Or see you," Andy warned. "They'll call the police."
Evan replied with a hiccup that nearly knocked him off his feet.
Kermit came running out of the house. He raised another bottle of blue liquid to Evan. "Here! Try this!"
"HIC!" Evan declared. He grasped the bottle in his blue hand.
Without saying another word, he turned the bottle upside down. With quick, frantic motions, he splashed the blue liquid all over him. Over his cheeks. His forehead. His hands and arms. His chest.
He rolled up his jeans and rubbed the mixture onto his knees and legs. He pulled off his socks and sneakers and smoothed the blue liquid over his ankles and feet.
"It's got to work!" he cried. "This time, it's got to!"
Andy and Kermit stared up at him eagerly.
They waited.
Evan waited.
Nothing happened. No change at all.
Then Evan began to feel it.
"Hey — I'm tingling!" he announced happily.
He felt the same electric tingling he had felt before. The itchy feeling he had every time he was about to grow a little more.
"Yes!" Evan cheered. "Yes!"
The tingling grew sharper, stronger, as it spread over his entire body.
"It's working! I can — HIC! — feel it!" Evan shouted. "It's really working! I'm tingling! I'm itching! I can feel it! It's working!"
"No, it isn't," Andy murmured quietly.

26

"Huh?" Evan narrowed his eyes at her.
The tingling became a violent itch. He started to scratch. But pulled back his hand because his skin felt so strange.
"It . . . didn't . . . work. . . ." Andy said sadly, her voice trembling.
"Yuck! He looks so gross!" Kermit declared, making a disgusted face.
"Huh? HIC!" Evan replied.
He uttered a horrified gasp as he stared at his arms. "F-f-feathers!" he stammered in a high, shrill voice.
He checked out his arms. His stomach. His legs.
"Noooooo!" A long, low wail burst from his chest.
His entire body was covered in fluffy white feathers.
"Noooo — HIC! — oooooooo!"
"I'm sorry," Kermit said, shaking his head. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I thought I had the mixture right this time."
"You look like a big eagle," Andy commented. "Except eagles aren't blue."
"HIC!" Evan cried.
"And eagles don't get hiccups," Andy added. She gazed up at him with concern. "Poor Evan. That must itch like crazy. You're having a real bad day."
Evan frantically scratched his feathery chest. "It can't get any worse than this," he muttered.
And then he saw a police car pull up in front of the house.

27

"HIC!" Evan cried. He backed off the driveway and crouched low against the back wall of the house. "The police!" he whispered.
His throat tightened in panic. His feathers all stood up on end.
What should I do? he asked himself, pressed against the house, ducking his head. Should I run? Should I give myself up?
"One more try!" Kermit cried, leaping into the house. "Let me try one more mixture. I think I can get it this time!"
The door slammed behind him.
"Hurry!" Andy called from the driveway. "The police — they're climbing out of their car."
"How many are there?" Evan whispered. His feathers itched, but he was too frightened to scratch.
"Two," Andy replied, staring through the gray evening light to the street. "They look kind of mean."
A sudden cool gust of wind ruffled E van's feathers. His huge body trembled.
"They're walking up the driveway," Andy reported. "They're going to be here in a few seconds!"
"I'd better make a run for it," Evan declared. He took one step away from the house and nearly fell. It was hard to run when your feet were covered with stiff, prickly feathers.
His entire body itched. He pressed himself against the house again. "I'm doomed," he murmured to himself.
"They stopped to check out the front door," Andy told him. "You've still got a few seconds."
"Hurry, Kermit! Hurry!" Evan urged out loud.
He turned to the kitchen door. No sign of Kermit.
Would Kermit get the mixture right this time? Could he get the mixture to Evan before the two police officers entered the backyard?
The screen door opened. Kermit burst out. He tripped on the back stoop. The blue bottle nearly went flying.
He caught his balance. He handed the bottle up to Evan. "Good luck!" Kermit called up to Evan. Kermit raised both hands. He had his fingers tightly crossed on both hands.
"Here come the police," Andy warned. "They're walking really fast now."
The bottle trembled in Evan's hand. He turned it upside down. It puddled in his enormous, feathery palm.
Frantically, he began rubbing it over his feathers, over his blue skin. Splashing it wildly. Pouring it over his body.
Please work! he silently urged it. Please work!
He waited.
Kermit stared up at him hopefully, his fingers still crossed.
"They're here!" Andy reported from the driveway.
Evan gulped.
The mixture hadn't worked.
He hadn't changed. Not a bit.
The two dark-uniformed officers approached the back of the house. "Hello, there," one of them called to Andy.

28

Evan heard a loud POP.
He uttered a startled cry as he felt himself falling. Falling to the ground.
He reached out a hand and steadied himself against the house.
It took him a second or two to realize that he hadn't fallen. He had shrunk.
The two officers stepped into the backyard. One was very tall. The other was short and plump. "Sorry to bother you kids," the tall one said. "But we got a call from a neighbor."
"A call? About what?" Andy demanded. She cast a surprised glance at Evan. She didn't expect to see him back to normal.
"Did you kids see a giant in the neighborhood?" the short officer asked. He narrowed his eyes at them, trying to appear tough.
"A giant? What kind of giant?" Kermit asked innocently.
"A giant kid," the short officer replied.
Evan, Andy, and Kermit shook their heads. "He didn't come back here," Andy told them.
"No. We didn't see him," Evan said. He couldn't keep a smile from crossing his face. His voice was back to normal, too.
The tall officer pushed his cap back on his head. "Well, if you see him, be careful," he warned. "He's dangerous."
"He's very dangerous," the short officer added. "Call us right away — okay?"
"Okay," all three kids replied in unison.
The officers gave the backyard one last look. Then they turned and headed back down the driveway to their car.
As soon as they were gone, Evan burst into a long, happy cheer. Andy and Kermit joined in, clapping him joyfully on the back, slapping high fives all around.
"Am I a genius or what?" Kermit demanded, grinning his toothy grin.
"Or what!" Evan joked.
They were still laughing and celebrating Evan's return to Evan-size when Kermit's mom pulled up the driveway. As she climbed out of her car, she appeared surprised to find them outdoors.
"Sorry I'm so late," she called. She hugged Kermit. "How was your afternoon?"
Kermit glanced at Evan. Then he smiled at his mother. "Oh, it was kind of boring," he told her.
"Yeah. Kind of boring," Andy repeated.
"Kind of boring," Evan agreed.

Evan knew he'd have nightmares about what had happened to him. And that night, he had a really scary one. In the dream, he was a giant boy being chased by giant rats. The rats all looked like Kermit.
Evan sat up in the dark, shivering all over.
"Just a nightmare," he murmured, glancing at his clock radio. Midnight. "It was just a nightmare."
He sat up straight, wiping sweat off his forehead with his pajama-top sleeve. I need a glass of cold water, he decided.
He started to climb out of bed — but stopped when he saw what a steep drop it was to the floor.
Huh? What's going on? he asked himself.
He tried to click on the bedtable lamp. But it towered high above him, way beyond his reach.
He stood up on the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that his bed seemed to stretch on forever. A lump in the bedspread curled up over Evan's head.
I — I'm short! he realized. I'm as short as a mouse!
Kermit!
Kermit strikes again! Evan thought bitterly. He made the blue shrinking mixture too powerful.
I shrank — and shrank — and shrank. And now I'm as tiny as a mouse.
"I'll pound Kermit! I really will!" Evan cried. His voice came out as tiny mouse squeaks.
Standing on the edge of his bed, staring down, down — miles down — to the floor, Evan heard a rumbling sound. Loud panting that sounded like a strong wind through the trees.
A big head popped up in front of him. Two dark eyes.
"No! Trigger! Go back to sleep!" Evan pleaded in his little mouse voice. "No! Trigger — down!"
Evan's squeaks had awakened the cocker spaniel.
Evan felt the dog's hot breath blow across his face.
"Yuck! Dog breath!" he squeaked.
Then he felt sharp teeth close around his waist. Felt himself tilted sideways. Felt the hot, wet saliva of Trigger's mouth as the dog secured Evan between its teeth.
"Trigger — down! Put me down!" Evan begged.
He was bounced hard now. The dog teeth tightened their grip.
"Trigger! Put me down! Where are you taking me?"
Through the dark hallway. The hot breath blowing over Evan's helpless body.
Into his parents' room. Evan gazed up to see his mom and dad getting ready for bed.
Mr. Ross leaned over the dog. "What have you got there, Trigger? Did you find a bone?"
"Uh . . . Dad? Dad?" Evan squeaked up at him. "Dad? It's me? Do you see me? Dad? Uh . . . I think we have a little problem!"