18 - Monster Blood II

by R. L. Stine

  “It couldn’t be as bad as the day the Monster Blood went berserk!” Andy exclaimed.

  Evan groaned. “Don’t mention Monster Blood to me. Please!”

  She studied him. Her expression turned serious. “What’s wrong, Evan? You look really upset,” she said. “Don’t you like it here?”

  He shook his head. “Not much.”

  As they walked, he told her about all the trouble he was having in his new school. He told her about Mr. Murphy and Cuddles, and how the teacher was always on his case.

  And he told her about Conan the Barbarian, and how Conan was always picking on him, always getting him into trouble, always playing tricks on him and making him look bad.

  “And no one will believe me about the Monster Blood,” Evan added.

  They were standing at the bottom of his driveway. They glanced up at Evan’s new house, a two-story red brick house with a sloping red tile roof. The late afternoon sun dipped behind a large puff of cloud, and a broad shadow rolled across the lawn.

  Andy’s mouth dropped open. The blade of grass fell out. “You told kids about the Monster Blood?” she asked in surprise.

  Evan nodded. “Yeah, why not? It’s a cool story, isn’t it?”

  “And you expected kids to believe you?” Andy cried, slapping her forehead. “Didn’t they just think you were weird?”

  “Yeah,” Evan replied bitterly. “They all think I’m weird.”

  Andy laughed. “Well, you are weird!”

  “Thanks a bunch, Annnndrea!” Evan muttered. He knew she hated to be called by her real name.

  “Don’t call me Andrea,” she replied sharply. She raised a fist. “I’ll pound you.”

  “Annnnnndrea,” he repeated. He ducked away as she swung her fist. “You punch like a girl!” he exclaimed.

  “You’ll bleed like a boy!” she threatened, laughing.

  He stopped. He suddenly had an idea. “Hey—you can tell everyone I’m not weird!”

  “Huh? Why would I do that?” Andy demanded.

  “No. Really,” Evan said excitedly. “You can tell everyone at school that the Monster Blood was real. That you were there. That you saw it.”

  Andy’s expression suddenly changed. Her dark eyes lit up, and a sly grin crossed her face. “I can do better than that,” she said mysteriously.

  Evan grabbed her shoulder. “Huh? What do you mean? What do you mean you can do better?”

  “You’ll see,” she replied, teasing him. “I brought something with me.”

  “What? What is it? What do you mean?” Evan demanded.

  “Meet me tomorrow after school,” she told him. “At that little park over there.”

  She pointed to the next block. A narrow park, only a few blocks long, ran along the bank of a shallow creek.

  “But what is it?” Evan cried.

  She laughed. “I love torturing you!” she declared. “But it’s a little too easy.”

  Then she turned and headed down the street, running at full speed.

  “Andy—wait!” Evan called. “What have you got? What did you bring?”

  She didn’t even turn around.

  8

  Evan dreamed about Monster Blood that night.

  He dreamed about it nearly every night.

  Tonight he dreamed that his dad had eaten a glob of it. Now Mr. Ross wanted to go to his office, but he had grown too big to fit through the door.

  “You’re in trouble now, Evan!” Mr. Ross bellowed, making the whole house shake. “Big trouble!”

  Big trouble.

  The words stuck in Evan’s mind as he sat up in bed and tried to shake away the dream.

  The curtains flapped silently in front of his open bedroom window. Pale yellow stars dotted the charcoal sky. Staring hard, Evan could see the Big Dipper. Or was it the Little Dipper? He never could remember.

  Shutting his eyes and settling back on the pillow, Evan thought about Andy. He was glad she had come to stay in Atlanta for a while. She could be a real pain. But she was also a lot of fun.

  What did she want to show him in the park after school?

  Probably nothing, Evan guessed. It was probably just a dumb joke. Andy loved dumb jokes.

  How can I get her to tell the kids at school about Monster Blood? he wondered. How can I get Andy to tell everyone that I didn’t make it up, that it’s true?

  He was still thinking about this problem as he fell back into a restless sleep.

  The next day at school wasn’t much better than the last.

  Somehow during free reading period, Conan had crept under the table and tied Evan’s sneaker laces together. When Evan got up to go to the water fountain, he fell flat on his face. He scraped a knee, but no one cared. The kids laughed for hours.

  “Evan’s mommy tied his shoes funny this morning!” Conan told everyone. And they laughed even harder.

  In science class, Mr. Murphy called Evan over to the hamster cage. “Look at poor Cuddles,” the teacher said, shaking his round head solemnly.

  Evan peered down into the metal cage. Cuddles was curled up in a corner under a pile of shavings. The hamster was trembling and breathing in short gasps.

  “Poor Cuddles has been like that ever since yesterday,” Mr. Murphy told Evan with an accusing frown. “Cuddles is sick because of your carelessness.”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Evan stammered. He stared hard at the quivering hamster. You’re faking—aren’t you, Cuddles? Evan thought. You’re faking just to get me in trouble!

  The hamster twitched and stared up at him with mournful, black eyes.

  When Evan sat back down in his seat, he felt cold water seep through the back of his jeans. With a startled cry, he jumped right back up. Someone—probably Conan—had poured a cup of water on his chair.

  That had the class laughing for at least ten minutes. They stopped only when Mr. Murphy threatened to keep everyone after school.

  “Sit down, Evan,” the teacher ordered.

  “But, Mr. Murphy—” Evan started.

  “Sit down—now!” Mr. Murphy insisted.

  Evan dropped back down into the wet chair. What choice did he have?

  Andy was waiting for Evan by the trickling brown creek that rolled through the tiny park. The old sassafras trees bent and whispered in a hot breeze. A tall Georgia pine leaned over the water as if trying to reach across the creek.

  Andy was wearing a bright blue T-shirt over lime-green short-shorts. She had been staring at her reflection in the muddy creek water. She spun around smiling as Evan called to her.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” he called. He stepped up beside her and dropped his backpack to the ground.

  “How was school?” Andy asked.

  “Same as always,” Evan replied, sighing. Then his expression brightened. “What did you bring?” he asked eagerly.

  “You’ll see.” She clasped a hand over his eyes. “Shut your eyes, Evan. And don’t open them until I say.”

  He obediently shut his eyes. But when she pulled her hand away, he opened them a tiny crack, just enough to see. He watched her go behind the pine tree and pick up a small brown paper bag.

  She carried the bag over to him. “You’re peeking—aren’t you?” she accused him.

  “Maybe,” he confessed, grinning.

  She punched him playfully in the stomach. He cried out and his eyes shot open. “What’s in the bag?”

  Grinning, Andy handed the bag to him.

  He pulled it open, peered inside—and his mouth dropped open in shock.

  The familiar blue can, about the size of a can of soup.

  “Andy—you—you—” Evan stammered, still staring wide-eyed into the bag.

  He reached in and pulled out the plastic can.

  He read the faded label: MONSTER BLOOD.

  Then he read the words in tiny type below it: SURPRISING MIRACLE SUBSTANCE.

  “I saved it,” Andy said, beaming proudly.

  Evan couldn’t get over his shock. “You brought Monster
Blood! I don’t believe it! You brought Monster Blood!”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s empty, Evan. The can is empty.”

  His face fell. He sighed in total disappointment.

  “But you can show the can to everyone,” Andy insisted. “That will prove you didn’t make it up. It will prove that Monster Blood really exists.”

  Evan sighed again. “What good is an empty can?” he groaned.

  He pulled off the top, peered inside—and screamed.

  9

  With a trembling hand, Evan tilted the can so that Andy could see inside.

  “Oh, no!” she shrieked, pulling her hands to her cheeks.

  The can was half full.

  Inside, a green glob of gooey Monster Blood shimmered in the sunlight like lime jell-o.

  “But it was empty!” Andy protested, staring into the can. “I know it was!”

  Evan shook the can. The green glob inside quivered.

  “There must have been a tiny speck in there,” Evan guessed. “Down at the bottom of the can. And now it’s growing and growing again.”

  “Great!” Andy declared. She slapped him on the back so hard, he nearly dropped the blue can.

  “Great? What’s so great?” he demanded shakily.

  “Now you can show this to the kids at your school,” she replied. “Now they’ll have to believe you.”

  “I guess,” Evan replied in a low voice.

  “Oh! I have a better idea!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes lighting up mischievously.

  “Uh-oh,” Evan moaned.

  “Slip a little glob of it in that guy Conan’s lunch tomorrow. When he starts to grow as big as a hippo, everyone will see that the Monster Blood is real.”

  “No way!” Evan cried. He cupped the blue can in both hands, as if protecting it from Andy. “Conan is already big enough!” he told her, taking a step back. “I don’t want him to grow another inch. Do you know what he could do to me if he became a giant?”

  Andy laughed and shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

  “A bad idea,” Evan said sharply. “A really bad idea.”

  “You’re no fun,” she teased. She leaped forward and tried to wrestle the can from his hands.

  He spun around, turning his back to her, and hunched over, protecting the can.

  “Give it to me!” she cried, laughing. She started tickling his sides. “Give it! Give it!”

  “No!” he protested, breaking free. He ran to the safety of a tall evergreen shrub.

  “It’s mine!” Andy declared, coming after him, hands at her waist. “If you’re not going to use it, hand it back.”

  Evan stood his ground. His expression turned serious. “Andy, don’t you remember?” he demanded shrilly. “Don’t you remember how scary this stuff was? Don’t you remember how dangerous it was? All the trouble it caused?”

  “So?” she replied, her eyes on the blue can.

  “We have to get rid of it,” Evan told her firmly. “We can’t let it out of the can. It will grow and grow and never stop.”

  “But I thought you wanted to show it to the kids to prove that it’s real.”

  “No,” Evan interrupted. “I changed my mind. This stuff is too dangerous. We have to get rid of it.” He locked his eyes on hers, his features tight with fear. “Andy, I’ve had nightmares every night because of this stuff. I don’t want any new nightmares.”

  “Okay, okay,” she muttered. She kicked at an upraised tree root. Then she handed him the brown paper bag.

  Evan clicked the top back on the can of Monster Blood. Then he shoved the can into the bag. “Now how do we get rid of it?” he wondered out loud.

  “I know. Dump it in the creek,” Andy suggested.

  Evan shook his head. “No good. What if it gets out and pollutes the creek?”

  “This creek is already polluted!” Andy exclaimed. “It’s just a big mud puddle!”

  “It isn’t deep enough,” Evan insisted. “Someone will find the can and pull it out. We can’t take a chance.”

  “Then how do we get rid of it?” Andy asked, twisting her face in concentration. “Hmmmm. We could eat it ourselves. That would get rid of it!”

  “Very funny,” Evan muttered, rolling his eyes.

  “Just trying to be helpful,” Andy said.

  “You’re about as helpful as a toothache!” Evan shot back.

  “Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh at that sometime,” she replied, sticking her tongue out at him.

  “How can we get rid of it?” Evan repeated, gripping the bag in both hands. “How?”

  “I know!” a boy’s voice called, startling them both.

  Conan Barber stepped out from behind a tall shrub.

  “You can give it to me!” he declared. He reached out a big, powerful-looking hand to grab the bag.

  10

  Evan swung the paper bag behind his back.

  Conan lumbered toward them over the tall grass. His eyes were narrowed menacingly at Evan.

  How long has he been hiding there? Evan wondered. Did he hear us talk about the Monster Blood? Is that why he wants the bag?

  “Hi, I’m Andy,” Andy chirped brightly. She stepped in between the two boys and flashed Conan a smile.

  “Andy is a boy’s name,” Conan said, making a disgusted face. He turned his hard stare on her, challenging her.

  “And what kind of a name is Conan?” Andy shot back, returning his stare.

  “You know me?” Conan asked, sounding surprised.

  “You’re famous,” Andy replied dryly.

  Conan suddenly remembered Evan. He stuck out his big paw. “I’ll take the bag now.”

  “Why should I give it to you?” Evan demanded, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

  “Because it’s mine,” Conan lied. “I dropped it here.”

  “You dropped an empty bag here?” Evan asked.

  Conan swatted a fly from his blond hair. “It isn’t empty. I saw you put something in it. Hand it over. Now.”

  “Well… okay.” Evan handed him the paper bag. Conan eagerly reached inside.

  His hand came out empty.

  He peered inside the bag. Empty.

  He stared hard at Andy, then at Evan.

  “I told you it was empty,” Evan said.

  “Guess I made a mistake,” Conan muttered. “Hey, no hard feelings. Shake.” Conan reached out his big right hand to Evan.

  Evan reluctantly stuck out his hand.

  Conan slid his hand over Evan’s and began to tighten his grip. Harder. Harder.

  Evan’s fingers cracked so loudly, they sounded like a tree falling!

  Conan squeezed Evan’s hand harder and harder until Evan screamed in pain. When Conan finally let go, the hand looked like a slab of raw hamburger.

  “Nice handshake you got there!” Conan exclaimed, grinning.

  He snapped his finger against Andy’s nose, then headed off quickly toward the street, taking long strides, laughing to himself.

  “Great guy,” Andy muttered, rubbing her nose.

  Evan blew on his hand, as if trying to put out a fire. “Maybe I can learn to be left-handed,” he murmured.

  “Hey—where’s the Monster Blood?” Andy demanded.

  “I—I dropped it,” Evan replied, still examining his hand.

  “Huh?” She kicked away a clump of weeds and stepped over to him.

  “I thought I could shove the can into my back jeans pocket while Conan was talking to you,” Evan explained. “But it slipped out of my hand. I dropped it.”

  He turned, bent over, and picked it up from the tall grass. “Good thing it didn’t roll or anything. Conan would have seen it.”

  “He wouldn’t know what to do with it if he had it,” Andy said.

  “What are we going to do with it?” Evan demanded. “It’s already caused us trouble. We’ve got to hide it, or throw it away, or—or—”

  He pulled open the lid. “Oh, wow! Look!” He held the can up to Andy’s face. The green goo
had grown nearly to the top of the can. “It’s starting to grow a lot faster. I guess because we exposed it to the air.”

  Evan slammed the lid on tight.

  “Let’s bury it,” Andy suggested. “Here. Right under this tree. We’ll dig a deep hole and bury it.”

  Evan liked the idea. It was simple and quick.

  They squatted down and began digging with their hands. The dirt beneath the tree was soft. The hole grew deep before they had worked up a sweat.

  Evan dropped the blue can of Monster Blood into the hole. Then they quickly covered it with dirt, smoothing it out until it was impossible to tell a hole had been dug.

  “This was a good plan,” Andy said, climbing to her feet, playfully wiping the dirt off her hands on the back of Evan’s T-shirt. “If we need it, we’ll know where it is.”

  Evan’s red hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. He had a wide smear of dirt across his freckled forehead. “Huh? Why would we need it?” he demanded.

  Andy shrugged. “You never know.”

  “We won’t need it,” Evan told her firmly. “We won’t.”

  He was very, very wrong.

  11

  “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” Evan stepped into the garage.

  Mr. Ross stopped hammering and turned around. He smiled at Evan. “Want to see my newest work?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Evan replied. Every weekend, his father spent hour after hour in his garage workshop, banging away on large sheets of metal, making what he called his “works”.

  He chiseled and hammered and sawed, and put a lot of effort into his sculptures. But to Evan, they all looked like banged-up sheets of metal when they were finished.

  Mr. Ross took a few steps back to admire his current project. He lowered his heavy mallet in one hand and pointed with the chisel he held in his other hand. “I used brass for this one,” he told Evan. “I call it ‘Autumn Leaf’.”

  Evan studied it thoughtfully. “It looks like a leaf,” he lied. It looks like Dad ruined a perfectly good piece of brass, he thought, trying to keep a straight face.

  “It’s not supposed to look like a leaf,” Mr. Ross corrected Evan. “It’s supposed to look like my impression of a leaf.”