Goosebumps Most Wanted #5: Dr. Maniac Will See You Now

by R. L. Stine

  My brain was doing flip-flops in my head. I knew I had to act — fast. Bree was gasping and choking. Bouncing up and down on the chair, Croaker tightened his tongue around her waist.

  Suddenly, I had an idea. A crazy idea. But maybe … Maybe …

  I turned to Ernie. “Quick — go upstairs,” I said. “Get your collection. You know. The collection in the glass jar. The one Mom thinks is so adorable.”

  Ernie blinked. It took him a few seconds. Then he understood what I was talking about. He spun around and raced to the stairs.

  “Come back, squirt!” Terry Tadpole yelled. “Come back here and I’ll squash you like a bug!” The ten-inch-tall supervillain opened his mouth and spewed a thick brown liquid into the air.

  “He’s ruining my chair,” Mom said from down in her cage. “Look. He stained the cushion.”

  “Who cares about the cushion?” Dad said from the cage beside her. “Let us out of here!” he yelled at Terry Tadpole.

  “Shut your yap,” Terry Tadpole growled. “We keep our pets in cages. Get used to it, Fat Face.”

  “Fat Face?” Dad muttered something under his breath. Then he slumped silently in his cage.

  I stared at Terry Tadpole, my whole body trembling. He was the toughest tadpole in comic book history. And now here he was in my house, and we were his prisoners, under his control.

  And his fat-frog partner was choking Bree with his powerful elastic tongue. Her face was bright red. She made horrible gagging sounds. Her knees started to fold. Captain Croaker let out deep frog laughs, enjoying her fear.

  I heard Ernie thudding down the stairs. Would my plan work?

  Ernie burst into the living room, holding the glass jar in both hands. The jar contained his dead fly collection. Hundreds of dead flies.

  Yes, my brother is deeply weird. But maybe … just maybe his collection would save Bree.

  I took the jar from him and started toward Captain Croaker.

  Everyone knows that frogs love to eat flies — right? So I thought maybe he’d go after the flies and unwrap his tongue from Bree.

  I strode across the room. I held the jar out to the ugly green creature. “Dinnertime!” I cried. “How about it, Croaker? Looks yummy? How about some dinner?”

  Please … go for it. Please … let go of Bree and start chomping down on the flies.

  Croaker watched me approach. He raised his wet froggy eyes to the jar in my hand.

  “How about it?” I asked, waving the jar in front of him. “Dinnertime?”

  “No thanks,” Croaker said. “I already ate.”

  “Huh?” I stopped a few feet in front of him. “You sure?”

  He didn’t answer my question. I stood there with the jar of dead flies raised above my head.

  And then I sneezed. A powerful explosion. I sneezed again — and the glass jar dropped from my hand.

  I jumped back as the jar hit the carpet. It bounced once. The dead flies came spilling out. The flies spread over the floor.

  Terry Tadpole took a dive off the armchair cushion. He landed hard on the floor, grabbed a dry dead fly, and shoved it into his mouth with both hands.

  “Leave it! Leave it!” Captain Croaker shouted.

  I stared at him. How did he manage to talk with his tongue wrapped around Bree?

  “Don’t touch those,” he screamed. “I told you, we’re vegetarians now. You know meat makes us burp.”

  “But I like meat!” the terrible Tadpole cried. He shoved another fly into his mouth and chewed it hungrily. CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

  “I said leave it!” Croaker bellowed angrily. “You’re the sidekick. You’re supposed to follow my orders.”

  Terry Tadpole ignored him and grabbed another dead fly.

  Croaker let out a groan. He slid his tongue off Bree’s waist, swung it through the air, and began to slap Terry Tadpole with it. “Leave it! Leave it!”

  Bree staggered back, holding her waist, her face still red.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Come on — hurry!” I urged.

  “Don’t go!” Dad yelled. “You have to help us!”

  But this was our only chance to get away. I pushed Bree into the hall. I didn’t have to tell Ernie to follow. We shot through the kitchen and out the back door.

  “We have to find help,” I said, breathing hard. I glanced behind us as we ran to the street. The two villains weren’t coming after us. “We’ll need help to get Mom and Dad out of those cages.”

  “Maybe my parents can help,” Bree said. Her blond hair flew behind her as she raced to the corner.

  “Wh-what are those green guys going to do to Mom and Dad?” Ernie asked. He sounded frightened for the first time.

  “They said Mom and Dad are their pets,” I answered. “They said they keep their pets in cages.”

  “But —” Ernie started, then stopped. I could see the little guy was thinking hard. I think it finally dawned on him that this was really happening. The whole world had changed. All the scary stuff was real.

  “My parents will know how to help,” Bree said. “Dad is a firefighter, you know. He helps people every day. He’ll know how to —” She stopped with a gasp.

  It was nearly dark. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet. The pale half-moon sent down shimmery light.

  We stared up at her house. It was a square redbrick house. It stood behind a white picket fence on a low hill.

  Something was on the front lawn. Something big and dark. Something tilting from side to side as it moved toward us.

  In the dim evening light, I struggled to see what it was. And then I let out a cry as it came into focus, and I recognized it.

  A huge brown beetlelike insect creature, as big as a school bus. Its antennae bent from side to side, then stood straight up as it lumbered on its prickly legs toward us.

  Spiky black hair poked from the big bug’s body. It snapped its jaws loudly and made a frightening clicking sound. It moved stiffly, like a giant insect robot.

  And I recognized it from its comic book series.

  “This is bad,” I murmured to Bree and Ernie, watching it approach. “This is very bad.”

  “Who is it?” Ernie whispered.

  “It’s Halley Tosis.”

  “Huh?” Ernie stepped up close beside me. “Halley Tosis?”

  “Also known as Baaaad Breath!” I cried.

  And as I shouted those words, the ugly bug creature opened its mouth wide — and sent a thundering blast of putrid air flying toward us.

  “Cover your nose!” I screamed. “Hold your breath! Cover your nose!”

  Too late.

  The sick odor poured over me. I breathed it in. I felt my stomach lurch.

  Ohhhh, sick. It smells so rotten.

  I started to gag.

  Another blast of sour wind from deep in the insect’s belly — and all three of us dropped to our knees, gagging and choking.

  I couldn’t help it. My stomach heaved and I started to retch. I bent over and vomited noisily into the grass.

  Bree was bent beside me, gagging, pressing her fingers to her nose. She waited for me to stop heaving up my lunch. Then she muttered, “I’m never doing a project with you again.”

  “Ullllp.” Ernie made a gagging sound. He held his throat. “I … can’t breathe …” the little guy moaned. “The smell … it’s so bad. It’s sticking to my clothes. Help me, Richard. It’s sticking to my skin.”

  “Whooooah.” I started to puke again.

  When I finally looked up, I saw a sight that made my whole body shudder. Another comic book character came striding down the lawn toward us. I recognized him instantly.

  The Purple Rage. He was back!

  He knocked Halley Tosis down and stomped toward us at the fence, head lowered, fists tight at his sides.

  The Rage looked angry.

  “We’re doomed,” I muttered. “We’re totally doomed.”

  “Know what BLOWS my BLUBBER?” the Rage boomed, swinging his fists as he came at us. “Everything
!”

  Even in the pale moonlight, I could see that his face was as purple as his costume. His boots sank into the grass as he strode across the lawn.

  The three of us huddled together, unable to move. Behind the Rage, I saw Halley Tosis struggle to his spindly insect feet.

  Down the street I heard an explosion. Police cars rocketed by, their sirens blaring.

  The Bad Breath Bug lumbered up behind the Purple Rage — and let go a powerful whoosh of putrid air.

  The Rage doesn’t stand a chance against that sick smell, I thought.

  But I was wrong.

  The purple villain swung around — and grabbed a section of the white picket fence. With a roar from deep in his chest, he hoisted it from the ground and raised it in front of him like a shield.

  The blast of smelly air hit the fence — and bounced back over Halley Tosis. The big bug made an ULLLLP sound. His front legs shot straight out. As the smelly air rolled over him, his antennae drooped, then fell limp over his head.

  His whole body slumped. He gasped for air, choking and sputtering. He shut his eyes, and his head dropped forward.

  I let out a cry as he toppled onto his back in the grass. And didn’t move.

  Killed. Killed by his own smell.

  Bree, Ernie, and I didn’t have time to celebrate. The Purple Rage ripped away another section of the white picket fence and strode up to us. “Know what SKINS my SOUPSPOON?” he boomed. “Kids who smell like skunks.”

  He pressed his fingers over his nose. “You reek!” he cried. “Get away from me! Get away from me — now!”

  He was right. The three of us smelled horrible from the big bug’s breath. “But we need your help!” I cried.

  He let out a roar. “Helping people makes me angry.”

  “Get over yourself!” Bree shouted. “We’re in trouble. And our parents are in trouble.”

  The Rage stared at her through his purple mask. “Know what POPS my PINEAPPLE? Parents who get in trouble.” He shook his fists in the air. “I can’t take all this trouble!”

  He tilted back his head and started to roar. He swung his fists high above his head. “I’m in a RAAAAAAAGE!” he bellowed.

  He twirled around, faster and faster, until his cape was tangled around him. Then he stopped, took a deep breath — and came hurtling toward us.

  “No — please!” I cried, my voice tight with panic. “Please! Don’t hurt us!”

  I dodged to the side. I couldn’t stop myself. I bumped Bree hard, and the two of us fell to the grass.

  The Purple Rage burst past us and kept running. Roaring out his furious rage, he flew across the street and crashed headfirst into a fat tree trunk.

  KLONNNNK. It sounded like wood smashing into wood. The ground shook. My breath caught in my chest.

  The Rage fell to his knees. A few seconds later, he climbed back to his feet. “There. That’s better,” he said calmly.

  He shook himself like a dog after a bath. Shook his whole body. Then he came walking slowly back to us. “I feel like a new man.”

  We heard screams down the block. Another explosion in the distance. More sirens.

  “Wh-what are we going to do?” I stammered.

  “I know who is behind all this craziness,” the Rage said, smoothing down his cape. “I know who started this. I know.”

  We gazed at him silently, waiting for him to tell us.

  “I can tell you whose fault it is in two words,” the Rage said. “Just two words.”

  “What two words?” Bree asked.

  “Maniac,” he replied.

  “But … Maniac is only one word,” I said.

  “See? That’s just how dangerous he is!” the Rage exclaimed. “What happened to the other word?”

  “This guy is a maniac, too,” Bree whispered in my ear. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Richard.” She stomped really hard on my foot. Ernie hooted with laughter.

  “Huh? Me?” The whole world was in trouble, and she was blaming me!

  The Rage rubbed his chin. “Dr. Maniac opened the door between the comic book world and the real world,” he said. “Dr. Maniac let everyone escape.”

  “But … why?” I asked.

  “Because he’s a MANIAC!” the Rage cried. He thumped his chest with a fist and screamed at the sky for a while.

  “I know why he did it,” he said finally. “To make me angry.” He stomped toward the street. “Come on. We’re going back to that museum. We’re going to force Dr. Maniac to make things right again.”

  “But — but — it’s night,” I sputtered. “The museum will be closed.” I knew that was a lame excuse, but it was the only thing I could think of.

  “I have a special key to the door,” the Rage said. “See this?” He raised his big fist. “This is my key.”

  He stomped rapidly along the sidewalk, his cape ruffling behind him. “This really WRECKS my ROOSTER!” he cried. He uttered an angry roar — and punched a low tree limb.

  I saw something go flying across the street. It took me a few seconds to realize what had just happened.

  “Bree,” I whispered. “He … he just punched a squirrel! He’s so insane, he just punched a squirrel off a tree. Do you really think we should follow him?”

  “What choice do we have?” she snapped. “Your parents are in cages. And I don’t know where my parents are. Look at my house.” She pointed behind us. “It’s totally dark. We have no choice, Richard. We have to find a way to turn things back the way they were.”

  And that’s how we ended up back at the Comic Book Museum for the most terrifying night of our lives.

  A few minutes later, we followed the Rage up the concrete steps to the museum entrance. The lights were on and the front doors were wide open.

  I knew what that meant. It meant that more comic book characters were escaping their world and running out into our world.

  We burst into the front entryway and gazed all around. No one in sight.

  “Know what PICKLES my PASTA?” Rage boomed. “Everything!”

  I took a few steps into the front hall. Where is Dr. Maniac? I wondered. Did he fly off into our world, too? How will we ever find him?

  The Purple Rage adjusted his purple tights as we walked down the long hall. “I hate when they crawl up on me,” he muttered. He turned to me. “I come from the Angry Planet. Everyone stays angry all the time. Have you read my origin? It’s one of the top-rated origin comics on everyone’s list.”

  “Yes. I’ve read it,” I said. We passed the statue of the Unknown Superhero. I kept my eyes straight ahead, searching for any sign of Dr. Maniac.

  Bree stayed close behind us. I knew she was really worried about her parents. Her face was pale, her expression grim. She didn’t bother to fix her hair. She didn’t say a word.

  “What’s your origin story?” the Rage asked me.

  “Huh? Me?” The question startled me. “Uh … My origin? I was born. That’s all.”

  The Rage snickered. “We could call you Captain Boring.”

  We were nearly to the end of the hall. I peered into the auditorium. Dark and empty.

  Bree was squinting into one of the display rooms. She turned, shaking her head sadly. “There’s no one here,” she said in a trembling voice. “We’re wasting our time.”

  The Rage let out an angry growl. “Know what CRINKLES my CUCAMONGA? Finding an empty museum. I know that maniac is here somewhere.” He shook a fist in the air. “If we find him …”

  I heard a shrill scream. From the front of the museum.

  “Hey — Ernie?” I cried. I spun around. “Where’s Ernie?”

  Another high scream. It definitely sounded like my brother.

  “Is that him?” Bree said. “Did he wander off again?”

  We went racing back to the front. Our shoes slapped the marble floors as we ran.

  “Ernie? Ernie?” I shouted his name over and over.

  And his cry came back: “Help me! He’s taking me away! Help me! Hurry!”


  I skidded to a stop as the front desk came into view. “Noooo!” I screamed.

  I saw Ernie and Dr. Maniac behind the desk. Maniac held Ernie in both hands, high above his head. Ernie kicked and squirmed and thrashed, but Maniac held him tightly.

  “Help meeeee!” Ernie screamed.

  Struggling to fight off my panic, I screamed, “Let him go!”

  Then I took a deep breath — and hurtled to the front desk.

  Too late.

  They both vanished.

  “Ernie? Where are you? Can you hear me?”

  Of course he couldn’t hear me. He was gone.

  I leaned over the desk and searched behind it. No one there.

  My poor brother. He sounded so frightened. I shuddered. I suddenly felt frightened, too. I gripped the desk with both hands.

  I was in charge of Ernie. I was supposed to take care of him … watch out for him. And I let him down.

  Still trembling, I turned back to Bree and the Purple Rage. “Why?” I cried. “Why did Maniac want Ernie?”

  The Rage squinted at me. “Because he’s a MANIAC?”

  Bree ran up beside me and searched behind the desk. “But … where are they?” she asked. “Where did they go?”

  The Rage let out a shout. “Know what BANGS my BAZOOKA? When villains like Maniac get away!” With a loud roar, he ran full speed across the room and kicked the wall.

  “Owwwwww!” The pain made him howl. He hopped up and down on one foot. Finally, he walked back to Bree and me. “I have to stop kicking things,” he said. “But what else can you do when you’re angry? I tried punching myself in the head. But that didn’t feel good, either.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked. “I have to get my brother back.”

  He placed a gloved hand on my shoulder. “Follow me, Richard.”

  I blinked. “Follow you? Where?”

  “Into Comic Book World,” he said. “You want your brother back, right? We have no choice. We have to go there to find him.”

  “But — but —” I sputtered.

  “How do we get there?” Bree asked. “Look around. I don’t see any door with a sign marked This Way to Comic Book World.”