by R. L. Stine
I heard deep frog croaks and saw Captain Croaker hopping in the park on the next block. He was followed closely by his little sidekick, Terry Tadpole.
“Look ouuuuuut!” a voice screeched.
I ducked as Ziggy and Higgy, the Battling Bat Brothers, zoomed right at my head. Whistling and screeching, they soared into the sky.
“Crime does not pay!” a voice boomed behind me.
“But it’s a good hobby!” someone else shouted.
I turned to see two yellow-costumed superheroes with their longbows raised, firing flaming arrows at each other.
I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out in a long whoosh.
I blinked. Then I rubbed my eyes. Am I imagining all this?
“What happened?” I cried.
“We all came back,” said a voice beside me. I turned to see the pulsing red face of the Caped Corpuscle. “We couldn’t stand it out there.”
“Huh?” I gasped. “You all came back? Why?”
His face pulsed and throbbed. Under his red costume, I could see the blood racing through his whole body.
“The real world is too boring,” the Corpuscle said. “Too quiet. No fun at all. Why would anyone want to live in the real world? They don’t let you fly or fight or do anything up there.”
“Uh … I need to get back to the real world,” I said.
He squinted at me. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I said. “I think my brother and my friend have already returned. I don’t see them anywhere. And now, I have to return to the real world, too.”
“That’s a shame,” the Corpuscle said, shaking his bloodred head.
“A sh-shame?” I stammered. “Why is it a shame?”
“Because the door is closed. Closed forever.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You mean … I’m stuck here?”
The Caped Corpuscle nodded. “Yes. The trapdoor is closed. Sealed tight.”
“No, it isn’t, you liar!” a gruff voice shouted.
It was the Mighty Hairball. He came bouncing up to us and bumped the Corpuscle off the sidewalk with his hairy brown chest.
“Get away from me, Hairball!” the Corpuscle warned. “I’ll bleed on you. It won’t be pretty.”
“The trapdoor is still open a tiny bit,” Hairball said to me. “But it’s closing fast. You’d better hurry, kid.” He pointed to a concrete stairway across the street. “Take those stairs. The trap door is at the top.”
“But … but … where’s the water? Where’s the beach?” I stammered.
“This is Comic Book World,” Hairball replied. “Things change all the time. Better hurry.”
Corpuscle stepped up to Hairball. “You’ll never forget the day you called me a liar!” he screamed. “My blood is boiling now!”
Hairball bounced onto him, knocking him over. Blood puddled all over the street. The two weird superheroes started to fight, wrestling, punching each other.
I took off, running to the stairs.
“Trapdoor, please be open,” I murmured as I took the steps two at a time.
I climbed higher. And now I could see the trapdoor above me.
Yes! It was still open a bit. Open just enough for me to squeeze through.
“I’m coming!” I shouted. “I’m almost there!”
I reached a small landing. I stopped to catch my breath.
“I’m coming!” I shouted up to the trapdoor. I could see it slowly closing. I started running again.
And something big fell on me. Like a big sack of potatoes. It landed on my head and shoulders and drove me to the landing floor.
I groaned with pain and struggled to squirm out from under it.
A big, heavy, hairy body. It held me down. It sat on my chest. It wouldn’t budge.
Over its hairy shoulder, I saw the trapdoor slowly closing.
The creature on top of me raised his face.
I stared at his mask. I knew it. I knew that mask.
The Masked Monkey!
“Let me go!” I cried.
I could see the trapdoor creaking shut overhead.
“Let go! Let go of me!”
The Monkey pressed his heavy body down on me. I couldn’t move.
I knew I had only one chance. One way to defeat him.
I tried to take a deep breath. I opened my mouth wide, and tried to sneeze.
No. Not happening.
Come on. Come on! I needed a super-sneeze to blast the hulking creature off me.
I sucked in another breath. Opened my mouth. And —
No.
I groaned as the the big monkey leaned forward, pressing his paws over my shoulders. He pushed his chest into my face. The fur … the thick fur tickled my nose. The fur made my whole face tingle.
I tilted my head back — and let go with a powerful explosion, a roaring sneeze.
I felt the Monkey’s paws slide off me. I opened my mouth and sneezed again. The Monkey flew off me … staggered back … back to the edge of the platform.
Another sneeze. And the startled creature’s mask blew off his face.
I saw his chimplike face for the first time. The whole face appeared to crumble. The Masked Monkey slumped in a heap to the concrete. He lowered his head and began to cry. Loud monkey sobs.
Without his mask, the Masked Monkey was a powerless wimp.
I felt like cheering. My superpowers had defeated a classic comic book character. But I knew I didn’t have time to celebrate.
I whirled around and darted up the stairs. My shoes clomped heavily on the concrete. My chest felt about to burst.
I was halfway up the stairs when the shadow of the ceiling fell over me. I gazed up — and uttered a horrified cry.
The heavy THUD rang in my ears as the trapdoor slammed shut.
Trapped. Trapped in Comic Book World forever.
With a defeated sigh, I pulled myself to the top of the stairs. I stepped under the trapdoor and gazed up at it.
I raised my hands to the bottom of the door. The wood felt warm. I spread my hands out and pushed hard.
The trapdoor didn’t budge.
I held my breath, tightened my muscles, and pushed harder.
No. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t move it.
I stared up at it. The real world was so close — but so far away.
Something tickled my nose. A bit of monkey fur?
I sneezed so hard, I nearly fell down the stairs.
The trapdoor sprang open. It swung high, then slid back down. I held my breath as it stopped — before closing all the way. The opening was big enough for me to squeeze through.
“Whoa!” I let out a cry as I saw my parents up there. I brought my face close to the open trapdoor. I could hear them.
“This is your fault, Barry,” my mother shouted at my dad. “Why didn’t you go down there and pull him up?”
“How could it be my fault?” Dad protested. “Why is everything always my fault?”
“Because it’s always your fault?” Mom shouted back. “Because you’re a total loser?”
“Sure, I’m a loser,” Dad said. “I’m married to you!”
Didn’t they see me down here? Couldn’t they stop arguing for one minute, even when I was in major trouble?
And then I saw Bree. Yes! She had found the staircase, too! She was safe and sound up there. She gazed down into the opening of the trapdoor — and saw me.
She scowled at me and shook a fist above my head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for this, Richard. I’ll get revenge.”
And then my parents finally stopped arguing and spotted me.
They both bent down and reached out their hands to me. “There you are,” Mom said. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”
“You’re going to be grounded for life,” Dad said.
“Hurry, Richard!” Mom cried. “The door — it’s closing again. Hurry!”
Yes. The door was creaking shut. I reached up my hands to them. I started to climb out. The open
ing was just wide enough. I could slide through easily.
But then I stopped.
I pulled back my hands. I gazed up at the closing door.
My heart was thumping. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.
I’d made a big decision.
Can you guess what I decided?
“So long, everyone!” I shouted. “Have a nice life!”
I watched the trapdoor slam shut.
Then I let out a cry of joy. “Yes! Yesssss!” I pumped my fists above my head.
I leaped off the stairs. I felt so happy I could explode. I darted past the Masked Monkey and flew down the rest of the stairs.
Comic Book World was so much fun. I knew I’d have a great life here. After all, I was a superhero in Comic Book World — not a loser kid with allergies and a bad-news family.
I was CAPTAIN SNEEZE! Or should I call myself THE NOSE? Or maybe BLASTER? How about BLASTER MASTER?
I thought of name after name as I trotted down the street. All around me, comic characters were fighting, flying, leaping after one another, having an awesome time.
“This is where I belong!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “This is where I want to live!”
Then I saw the three costumed figures marching down the street with their eyes trained on me. Dr. Maniac, the Purple Rage, and Dr. Root. They stood tensed, their bodies stiff, fists ready for a fight.
“Come on!” I shouted. “Bring it on! Let’s see what you’ve got!”
I rubbed my nose, getting it ready for battle. This is what I always had dreamed of.
I took off, running toward the three villains. But after a few steps, I stopped short — and uttered a cry of horror. “What are you doing here?” I cried.
Ernie hurried up to me, shaking his head. “Guess I wandered away,” he said. “I got lost. I didn’t find the stairs in time.”
I gasped. “You mean —”
He kicked me hard in the leg. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Get me some food. And I’m tired. Where are we going to sleep? Hurry up, Richard. I’m really starving.”
He kicked me again. “I need my game-player. How can I get my game-player back? Where are we going to live? I need a double cheeseburger. Are you going to get me a double cheeseburger?”
Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow.
I shut my eyes and pictured the trapdoor. Closed tight. Closed forever.
My brother and I were trapped together.
And just think, we’re NEVER going to get a day older.
My name is Tommy Farrelly. I’m twelve, and I wanted to hang around home with my friends this summer. But that’s not happening.
My parents are forcing me to go to Winner Island Camp. What kind of camp is that? Well, let me tell you the camp slogan. It’s: Winners Are Always Winners.
That’s right. It’s a camp where they teach you how to be a winner.
Now, I’m a totally normal guy. I’m happy most of the time. I do okay in school, mostly As and Bs. And I’ve got some good friends. So, I don’t mean to brag or anything. But I think I’m already a winner.
But that isn’t enough for my family. In my family, you have to be a WINNER. In my family, you have to be the fastest, or the luckiest, or the smartest, or the funniest, or the best, day and night.
My dad is a big, strong dude, about a mile wide. He played middle linebacker on his college football team, and they went to the national championship. Now he’s a football coach at a junior college. All he cares about is winning.
My mom is a vice president at a bank. And she’s into long-distance bike racing. Sometimes she gets up at four in the morning and rides for sixty miles before breakfast.
Even Darleen, my six-year-old sister, is a superstar. She was reading huge books when she was four. Last year, she won the National Spelling Bee in Washington, DC, against a bunch of high school kids.
Get the picture? I like to chill with my friends and take it easy. How did I get in this family?
And now, here we were pulling up to the dock. In about an hour, the boat was going to come to take me to Winner Island. I saw a little white restaurant near the end of the dock. Above the door, a wooden sign carved like a fish read: Andy’s Fish Shack.
The lake sparkled blue and gold. The water rippled gently under bright sunlight. But my parents never take any time to enjoy a beautiful view.
We piled out of the car, and Dad cried, “Race you to the restaurant.”
Mom, Dad, and Darleen took off, running as fast as they could. Their shoes slapped the wooden dock. I took one last look at the shimmery lake. Then I trotted after them.
Darleen reached the restaurant door first. “I call the window!” she shouted. She pulled the door open and disappeared inside.
“First one to the table gets the biggest breakfast,” Dad said.
Do you see? Everything is a competition in my family.
Andy’s Fish Shack was small with only a few tables. They had red-and-white checkered tablecloths. It was morning, but the restaurant smelled of chowder and fried fish.
A skinny old guy in a sailor’s cap and a long white apron was wiping glasses behind the bar. I guessed he was Andy. “Take any table, folks,” he called. The place was empty.
Darleen grabbed a seat by the window. I stopped to gaze at the long, silvery swordfish mounted over the bar.
“Last again, Tommy,” Mom said, shaking her head.
Darleen giggled. “Tommy is always last.”
“That’s why we’re sending him to Winner Island Camp,” Dad said. “When he comes back in two weeks, you’d better watch out, Darleen. He’ll beat you to the table every time.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “No way.” My sister has a round face and crinkly blond hair. My parents say she looks like a little doll.
That makes her a winner again since I’m kind of short and chubby, and I wear glasses.
The waiter took our breakfast order. Dad ordered three eggs and an extra helping of bacon to make sure he got the biggest breakfast. Mom competes by eating the least. “Could I just have the egg whites, please?” she asked. “And no potatoes.”
Wind off the lake rattled the window by our table. Outside, I saw a seagull dive into the water.
I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t understand why I have to go to this camp,” I said. “I mean, seriously.”
“It’s only two weeks, dummy,” Darleen said.
“Don’t call me dummy,” I snapped.
Mom and Dad like it when Darleen and I fight. They say it shows we both want to win. It shows good competitive spirit.
My parents are weird — right?
“Your sister is right,” Dad said. “The camp is only two weeks, but it’s really going to toughen you up. You’re going to come back a different kid.”
Mom pulled the camp brochure from her bag. “Tommy, look what it says. This is Uncle Felix talking. He’s the camp director.”
She read from the brochure. “‘When you arrive, you are a LOSER. But losers NEVER leave Winner Island.’”
Those words gave me a chill. I mean, what does that mean — losers never leave? Where do they go? What happens to them?
Guess what? I soon found out. And it wasn’t pretty.
Andy set the breakfast plates on the table. Dad grinned. “I win. I got the biggest breakfast.”
“But my eggs are the yellowest,” Darleen said. It wasn’t funny, but Mom and Dad both laughed.
“I don’t want to be a different kid when I come back,” I said. “I just want to be me.”
Darleen gave me a hard shove. “Who would want to be you?” she said. Again, my parents laughed as if that was the funniest joke in the world.
“Hey, I see the boat!” Darleen pointed out the window. “I saw it first! I saw it first!”
I turned and saw a white boat, moving fast toward us, bouncing on the blue-green water.
The heavy feeling in my stomach was now a huge rock. “Dad, this isn’t fair,” I said. “I’m two d
ays late to this camp. It already started. The other kids will have a total advantage over me.”
He swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “That’s good for you, Tommy,” he said. He waved his fork at me. “You’ll just have to be even tougher.”
“Hey, I finished first!” Mom cried. She showed off her empty plate.
She usually wins the fast-eater prize.
Dad dropped some money on the table and we hurried outside.
Seagulls screeched and flapped above the little boat as it bobbed up to us. A young man appeared on the deck and leaned over to tie a thick rope around the post on the dock.
His long brown hair fluttered in the wind beneath a red baseball cap turned backwards. He had short brown stubble on his cheeks and wore ragged denim cutoffs and a red-and-blue camp T-shirt with the word Winner across the front.
He gave me a salute. “Are you Tommy?”
I nodded.
“Welcome aboard. I’m Jared. Jump on. Let’s go to Winner Island.”
A sharp wave made the boat bounce and tug at the rope.
My family gathered around me. Mom wiped a smudge of egg off my chin.
“Let’s say good-bye to the old Tommy,” Dad said. “Can’t wait to see the new Tommy.” He patted my shoulder. “Let’s see who can hug him the hardest.”
“No, please —” I started.
Too late. Darleen grabbed me around the waist. She tightened her arms around me with all her strength.
I heard a craaaaack. Pain shot up and down my body.
“My ribs!” I cried. “You broke my ribs!”
Groaning in pain, I hobbled onto the boat. Dad handed my duffel bag to Jared. He shoved it inside the cabin.
I gazed around, looking for other passengers. But of course, I was the only passenger. Camp started two days before. We were late because my parents insisted on competing in a barbecue championship in Santa Fe.
The little boat bobbed from side to side. Jared pointed me to a bench seat at the back. “I know it’s a lake, but it gets a little rocky, dude,” he said. “Don’t throw up on the boat, okay? Only losers throw up on the boat.”
“Okay,” I said, dropping onto the bench. “No problem.”
He disappeared around the cabin to the front. A few seconds later, the motor started up with a roar. The boat bobbed away from the dock.
