by R. L. Stine
When he regained consciousness, he asked me to defend the good people of Pupick Falls with all my Hairball strength. And I’m ready to do whatever it takes—especially if it means I have my own TV series.
Oh, wait. A knock at the door. Someone in trouble has come for my help.
It’s a young woman wearing a gray hoodie that almost covers her entire face. “Come in,” I say. “I’m the Mighty Hairball.”
“You look like yourself,” she says. “I need your help.”
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“There’s a sign on your front door,” she explains. “It says, SECRET HIDEOUT.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “Maybe I should change that. What’s your name?”
“My name is Anonymous,” she says.
I squint at her. “How do you spell that?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
“You can’t spell your own name?”
“A lot of people can’t spell it.”
“Tell me your problem,” I say. “And don’t worry, Anonymous. No case is too tough for me. I spit on crime.”
“I notice you have a little drool on your chin,” she says.
I wiped it off with the front of my cape.
“It’s kind of a long story. Are you taking notes?” she asks.
“I can’t take notes,” I say. “I don’t have a place for a pencil. My costume doesn’t have pockets.”
The woman frowned. “I’ll try to keep it short then. You see, I can’t sleep at night.”
“And you want me to come over and sing lullabies to you?” I asked.
She pulled the hoodie over her head, as if she wanted to hide. “No, you hairball,” she said. “I can’t sleep at night because of the owl fights.”
“Owl fights?” I cried. “Owl fights are illegal in Pupick Falls!”
“Tell that to Little Tookus,” she said. “Little Tookus stages owl fights outside my house every night.”
Hearing that name made my hair stand on end like in a cartoon.
Little Tookus.
Little Tookus is my archenemy. He is a bad dude. He’s so bad, he wears a T-shirt that says SO WHAT? on the front.
“Do you think you can find Little Tookus?” she asked.
“He’s easy to find,” I told her. “He has the tiniest tookus in town.”
I felt the excitement of my first adventure.
I jumped to my feet and spit in the air. “Oh. Sorry,” I said. “Did I get you?”
“The owl fights go on all night,” Anonymous said. “And all the cheering and shouting from the crowd keeps me awake.”
“Owl fights are very exciting,” I said. “I once won one myself.”
The young woman squinted at me. “You fought an owl?”
“It wasn’t a fair fight,” I said. “But I needed the birdseed.”
She blinked. “But . . . you aren’t an owl.”
I nodded. “That’s why I had to give it up. They took away my owl-fighting license. So I went to Sidekick School instead.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you are very boring?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But thank you. Now let’s go after Little Tookus and break up the owl fights in front of your house.”
She hurried to the front door of my not-so-secret headquarters. “Hairball, are you going to fly?”
I shook my head. “No, I get airsick. We’ll have to walk.”
I pulled down my winged helmet and swept my official 60 percent cotton, hairlined cape behind me. And remember, the official Hairball cape is available on my website, BigLoser.com.
I stepped outside and began to take long superherosidekick strides along the road to town.
“It’s a very long walk,” she said.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I spit at long walks!” I spit into the air. “Oh . . . sorry. Did I get you again?”
“I have a car,” the young woman said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Can you give me a ride?” I asked.
I guess she didn’t hear me, because she took off with a roar and didn’t look back.
Two days later, I arrived at the site of Little Tookus’s owl fights. A big, cheering crowd had gathered in front of a card table. And two owls were going at it, pecking at each other’s midsections, headbutting, and winging the other with unspeakable violence.
I didn’t hesitate. I strode right over to Little Tookus and shoved my face up to his. “Are you Little Tookus?” I demanded.
“Who?”
“Are you the manager of these owl fights?”
“Who?”
“This fight has to stop,” I said. “Do you know who I am?”
“Who?” he replied.
I suddenly realized that Little Tookus wasn’t answering me. It was one of the owls.
“Little Tookus, these owl fights must stop at once!” I demanded.
He sneered at me. “Who says?”
“I do. I’m the Mighty Hairball.”
“Who?”
This time it wasn’t the owl.
“The Mighty Hairball,” I replied.
“Who cares?”
“Little Tookus, will you stop these fights?”
“Who knows?”
Cheers went up as one of the fighting owls toppled off the table.
“We have a winner!” Little Tookus declared. He raised the winning owl above his head. “Next challenger! Let’s have the next fighting owl on the table!”
I grabbed the evil villain by the shoulders. “I can have your card table folded up and taken away,” I said.
“Who cares?”
“These fights are against the law.”
“Who says?”
“You don’t realize who you are talking to!” I exclaimed.
“Who?”
“You can’t talk to me like that!” I cried. “I’m the Mighty Hairball. I spit on crime!”
I puckered my lips to spit—but Little Tookus clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Mmmmumph mummmmph mummmph,” I said.
He squeezed my face so hard, I think I swallowed a few teeth. “My owl fights are going to go on every night, Hairball,” he growled. “And there is nothing you can do about it!”
Little Tookus let go of my face and asked me a question: “So what are you going to do, Hairball?”
I stepped back, rubbing the pain from my cheeks. “Nothing,” I told him.
He glared at me. “You’re going to do nothing?”
I nodded. “Yes. Nothing.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “What are you saying? You’re not going to do anything about my illegal owl fights?”
“That’s right,” I answered. “I can’t do anything, Little Tookus. Because I’m just a sidekick, not a superhero. I don’t have any powers. And as a sworn and licensed sidekick, I’m not allowed to do anything at all.”
Tookus gave me a hard shove. “Then step back,” he growled. “You’re blocking everyone’s view of the next fight.”
As the next two owls began dancing around the card table, pecking at each other, I walked away. I had a lot to think about—especially about my career path and my crime-fighting future.
The young woman named Anonymous was waiting for me across the street.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “The Mighty Hairball couldn’t stop the fights after all.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I think I’m going to move to Abu Dhabi. I hear they don’t have any owls over there.” From under her hoodie, she flashed me a smile. “Thanks for your help.”
“No thanks needed,” I said. “I fight crime wherever I see it. The Mighty Hairball spits on crime!”
I puckered my lips and spit into the air.
“Oh, sorry. Did I get you again?”
Keep your lips puckered for more adventure, everyone! The Mighty Hairball will return next week for another tale of thrilling sidekick action! In the meantime, be safe, be strong . . . and spit on crime whenever you can!
TWENTY-THREE
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Brainy Janey here to continue the story . . .
Junkfood John and Rob Slob looked at one another and shrugged.
“Hmmmm,” John said. “Sometimes it takes a show a while to hit its stride.”
“I guess,” Rob said, turning off the TV.
“I thought it was awesome,” Babbling Brooke said. But there’s very little that Brooke doesn’t like. She enjoys staring at cheese in the refrigerator.
At any rate, things were about to get really exciting because a week later we were all on a big yellow bus heading to Six Thrills Amusement Park, and we were going to have a better time than anyone else.
We are all wearing special T-shirts. I ordered white ones for everyone with black letters on the front that say: WE’RE THE BEST.
The T-shirt maker made a mistake—because when we opened the package, the shirts all had an extra letter. So the shirts say: WE’RE THE BEAST. But that’s okay.
Maybe it’s even better.
No one could sleep last night—we were too excited. So we arrived at the bus early in the morning.
The door was open, and I climbed onboard two steps at a time. But I let out a startled cry when I saw Patty and Peter Perfect sitting in the first two seats.
“We got here last night,” Patty said. “We wanted to be sure to sit up front. You know, because it’s the most fun.”
“We should get ten points for sitting in the most fun seats,” Peter Perfect added. “We’re already having the most awesome time.”
“We’re even having fun waiting here, and it’s been hours,” Patty said. “Because we’re perfect. By the way, do you like our T-shirts. They’re handmade. I’ll bet you can’t guess what the P is for.”
I ignored her. “Where is the bus driver?” I asked.
“We haven’t seen the driver yet,” Peter answered. “But we’re having the most fun anyway.”
I took a seat behind the Perfects, and the others began to pile in.
Nervous Rex was trembling and grabbed the back of my seat. “Buses make me nervous,” he said. “I never know which is the sunny side and which is the shady side.”
“Why do you care?” I asked.
“I don’t,” he said. “It’s just something else to worry about.”
Junkfood John squeezed onto the bus and started down the narrow aisle. He carried a large red bowl in front of him. “What’s in the bowl?” I asked.
“It’s this new snack food,” John said. “They’re called grapes.” He popped a few into his mouth.
“Grapes?” Nervous Rex asked.
John nodded. “Yeah. They’re weird. They don’t have any chocolate or nuts or salt on them or anything. They’re very squishy. Although sometimes they crunch.”
“Those are the seeds,” I told him. “You know, grapes are a fruit.”
John scrunched up his face. “Fruit? What’s fruit?”
“Did you ever eat an apple or an orange or a banana?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. I pretty much just eat stuff that comes in cartons or plastic bags.”
“Why did you bring those grapes with you?” Nervous Rex asked him.
Junkfood John shrugged. “I thought they might be fun to throw at people. But I’ve already eaten half of them.”
Rob Slob grabbed a handful of grapes from the bowl. He raised them high in the air and squeezed the juice onto John’s head. “Hey, cool,” Rob said. “This snack makes juice.”
John wiped his hair with one hand. “Why did you do that?”
Rob Slob shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did it.”
Adam Bomb climbed onto the bus next. “Are we having fun yet?” he asked. He squeezed beside me and took the window seat.
It always takes Adam a day or two to get himself together after he explodes. I was glad he came back in time for our trip to Six Thrills.
Junkfood John tossed a grape at Wacky Jackie. She caught it between her teeth and spit it back at him. “I knew these things called grapes would be fun!” John exclaimed.
Jackie stopped beside my seat and made a face. “Look, Janey. My T-shirt doesn’t fit at all.”
I studied it. Then I rolled my eyes. “Jackie, you put it on upside down,” I said.
“Oh, thank goodness!” she said, and laughed. “I thought I was standing on my head.”
“How do you put a T-shirt on upside down?” I asked her.
“It takes work.”
“It’s also inside out,” I said.
Jackie frowned. “Does it really make a difference?”
The bus driver’s seat was still empty. “Has anyone seen the driver?” I asked.
No one answered.
“Peter and I are having the most fun waiting for him!” Patty Perfect called from the front seat. “We’re having the best time. Ten more points for us! Yaaay.”
Adam Bomb poked me in the side and pointed out the window. “Uh-oh,” he murmured. “Here comes trouble.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I leaned over Adam and peered out the window. The other Garbage Pail Kids had arrived.
Windy Winston stepped onto the bus and waved at everyone. “The party can start now,” he said. “The Big Five are here!”
Junkfood John bounced a grape off Winston’s head.
“Check this out!” Winston shouted. He stuck out his chest so we could all see his T-shirt. It said: BEST TIME NEVER!
“It’s supposed to say ‘best time ever!,’” Winston said. “But the T-shirt place messed up.” He sighed. “We’re all wearing it anyway because our other shirts are dirty.”
Nasty Nancy followed him down the bus aisle and made a disgusted face. “Why does this bus smell so bad?” she groaned.
“It didn’t—until you got on!” Cranky Frankie exclaimed.
“No fighting,” Nat Nerd scolded. “We’re here to have the best time, so let’s all remember our manners!”
Cranky Frankie stuck a leg out and tripped him. Nat Nerd fell on his face.
“No worries,” he cried, and pulled himself up. “No worries. I’m having the best time. Plus, I think I should get ten points for falling down and still having fun!”
“Is it hot in here or is it me?” Brett Sweat asked. His face was dripping. He grabbed Wacky Jackie’s T-shirt and mopped his sweat with it.
“Hey—” Jackie protested.
Brett Sweat blinked. “Oh, is that your shirt? Sorry, I thought it was a towel.”
“Remember, we’re here to have fun!” Nat Nerd called from the back of the bus.
“I put my T-shirt on upside down,” Jackie told him.
“That’s funny,” Brett replied. “This morning I put my jeans on upside down and fell out the window!”
“That happens,” Jackie said.
Disgustin’ Justin pulled himself onto the bus. He had dark stains all over the front of his BEST TIME NEVER! T-shirt.
“Hey, Justin,” Cranky Frankie called. “Is that your breakfast all over your shirt?”
Justin scowled angrily and waved a fist. “No, you’re my breakfast!”
Cranky Frankie sank back in his seat. “Just asking,” he said softly.
“I don’t even know how I got these gross stains on my shirt,” Justin growled. “That how disgustin’ I am!”
“We like you anyway!” Brett Sweat said.
“No, we don’t!” Nasty Nancy chimed in.
Disgustin’ Justin stopped beside Junkfood John. Justin grabbed a grape from his bowl and pushed it up John’s left nostril.
“Hey!” John cried. “Why’d you shove a grape up my nose?”
“Who says I did?” Justin replied, leaning over Junkfood John.
“You did too! And you know you did!” John exclaimed.
“Can you prove it?” Justin asked.
“Of course I can prove it,” John said. “I have a grape up my nose. Why’d you do it?”
Disgustin’ Justin shrugged. “Just having fun. We’re supposed to be having fun, right? And so far, I’m having more fun than yo
u. So ten points for me.”
Junkfood John shook his head. “I’m just glad I didn’t bring a pineapple!” he muttered, then snorted out the grape and ate it.
I glanced at the time. “Hey, everyone, we’re late,” I yelled. “We were supposed to leave for the amusement park ten minutes ago.”
“But where’s our driver?” Adam Bomb asked, looking out the window.
“Yea, where’s our driver?” I repeated.
“Where’s our driver? Where’s our driver? Where’s our driver?” Handy Sandy, Luke Puke, and Babbling Brooke began to chant.
Then I heard a roaring sound. “Hey, look!” I cried, and pointed out the window at the yellow school bus that came rumbling past us.
An empty yellow school bus.
A school bus with just a driver in the front. And row after row of empty seats.
It raced past us and picked up speed as it disappeared ahead.
Even though I’m a brainiac, it took me a few seconds to figure out what had happened.
“Guess what, guys?” I said. “We got on the wrong bus.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Mayor Crumbum had to make all new plans for us. Two days later, we were ready once again to set off for Six Thrills Amusement Park.
The night before, we had a house meeting. “We don’t want Patty and Peter Perfect to sit in the first row on the bus,” Adam Bomb said. “They had too good of a time.”
Everyone agreed. We definitely didn’t want the Perfects to win the contest.
Adam turned to me. “Janey, you’re the brainiac. How can we keep the Perfects from getting in the front seat?”
I thought about it for ten minutes. “What if we get there early and take out the front seat?” I said.
“Awwwwk. Brilliant!” Ptooey squawked from his perch. “Brilliant for a bird brain!”
Handy Sandy raised her hand. “Uh . . . Janey,” she said, “I think it’s a pretty good idea. But if we take out the front row of seats, doesn’t the second row of seats become the first row?”
I thought about it for a while. “So, Sandy, what you’re saying is we should take out all the seats? That would definitely keep Peter and Patty from taking the ones up front.”
