26 - My Hairiest Adventure

by R. L. Stine

  “Going on a trip?” I asked, struggling to catch my breath. The pain in my side kept throbbing, refusing to go away.

  They didn’t answer. Mr. Vonn groaned as he hoisted a heavy suitcase into the trunk.

  “Where’s Lily?” I asked. I handed him one of the smaller bags. “She wasn’t in school today.”

  “We’re going away,” Mrs. Vonn said quietly from behind me.

  “Well, where’s Lily?” I repeated. “Is she inside?”

  Mr. Vonn frowned, but didn’t reply.

  I turned to Lily’s mom. “Can I see her?” I asked impatiently. “Is Lily inside?”

  “You must have the wrong house,” she replied softly.

  My mouth dropped open. “Wrong house? Mrs. Vonn—what do you mean?”

  “There’s no one here named Lily,” she said.

  23

  For some reason, I burst out laughing.

  Startled laughter. Frightened laughter.

  Mrs. Vonn’s sad expression cut my laughter short—and sent a chill down my back.

  “Is Lily—?” I started to say.

  Mrs. Vonn grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it. She lowered her face close to mine. “Listen to what I’m telling you, Larry,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “But—but—” I sputtered.

  “There is no Lily,” she repeated, squeezing my shoulder hard. “Just forget about her.” She had tears in her eyes.

  Mr. Vonn slammed the car trunk. I jumped out of Mrs. Vonn’s grasp, my heart pounding.

  “You’d better go,” Mr. Vonn said firmly, coming over to join his wife.

  I took a step back. My legs felt weak and shaky.

  “But, Lily—” I started.

  “You’d better go,” Mr. Vonn repeated.

  At the side of the garage, I spotted the red-brown dog. She whimpered sadly, her head hung low.

  I whirled around and ran, as fast as I could.

  Mom and Dad acted so strange at dinner. They refused to discuss Lily or the dog or Lily’s parents.

  Mom and Dad kept glancing at each other, giving each other meaningful looks that I wasn’t supposed to see.

  They think I’m crazy! I realized. That’s why they’re refusing to talk about it. They think I’m losing my mind. They don’t want to say anything to me until they decide how they’re going to handle me.

  “I’m not crazy!” I shouted suddenly, dropping my fork and knife onto the table. I hadn’t touched my spaghetti and meatballs.

  How could I eat?

  “I’m not crazy! I’m not making this up!”

  “Can’t we talk about it another time?” Mom pleaded, glancing at Dad.

  “Let’s just finish our dinner,” Dad added, keeping his eyes on his plate.

  After dinner, I called Jared and Kristina over to give them the bad news. I didn’t want them to think that I was crazy. So I simply told them that Lily had gone away.

  “But what about tomorrow?” Jared cried.

  “Yeah. What about the Battle of the Bands?” Kristina demanded. “How could Lily leave on the day before the contest?”

  I shrugged. We were sitting in the living room. Kristina and I sat on opposite ends of the couch. Jared was sprawled in the chair across from me.

  Jasper brushed over my feet. I leaned down and lifted her into my lap. Her yellow eyes stared up at me. Then she closed them and settled against me, purring softly.

  “Where did Lily go?” Kristina asked angrily, drumming her fingers on the couch arm. “On vacation? Why didn’t she tell us she was going to miss the contest?”

  “Howie Hurwin will jump for joy when he hears this news,” Jared muttered glumly, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know where Lily went,” I told them. “I saw her parents loading suitcases into the car. Now they’re gone. That’s all I know. I’m sure Lily is very unhappy. I know Lily wanted to be with us. I don’t think she had a choice.”

  I had a sudden urge to tell them everything that had happened. But I didn’t want them to start laughing at me. Or worrying about me.

  I felt so mixed up. I didn’t know what I wanted to do.

  I wanted Lily back. And Manny. That I knew.

  And I wanted the ugly hair to stop sprouting all over my body.

  If only I had never found that bottle of INSTA-TAN.

  This was all my fault. All of it.

  “So I guess The Geeks have to pull out of the band contest tomorrow,” I said glumly.

  “I guess,” Jared repeated, shaking his head.

  “No way!” Kristina cried, surprising both of us. She jumped to her feet and stood between Jared and me. She balled both hands into fists. “No way!” she repeated.

  “But we don’t have a singer—” Jared protested.

  “I can sing,” Kristina replied quickly. “I’m a pretty good singer.”

  “But you haven’t rehearsed any of the songs,” Jared said. “Do you know the words?”

  Kristina nodded. “All of them.”

  “But, Kristina—” I started.

  “Listen, guys,” she said sharply, “we have to go onstage tomorrow. Even if it’s just the three of us. We can’t let Howie Hurwin win tomorrow—can we?”

  “I’d like to wipe that grin off Howie’s face,” I muttered.

  “Me, too,” Jared agreed. “But how can we? Two guitars and a keyboard? Howie has his full band. He’ll blast us out of the auditorium.”

  “Not if we play our hearts out!” Kristina exclaimed with emotion. “Not if we give it our best.”

  “Let’s do it for Lily!” I blurted out. The words just tumbled from my mouth. As soon as I said it, I felt embarrassed.

  But Kristina and Jared picked right up on it. “Let’s do it for Lily!” they both cried. “We can win! We really can! Let’s win it for Lily!”

  So it was decided. The Geeks would go onstage tomorrow afternoon. Could we win? Could we beat Howie and the Shouters?

  Probably not.

  But we’d give it our best shot.

  “Let’s go up to my room and practice a little,” I suggested.

  Jared started toward the stairs. But Kristina didn’t move.

  I turned and found her staring at my face in horror.

  “Larry—!” she cried, pointing. “What’s that on your forehead?”

  24

  I gasped in horror.

  My hand shot up to my forehead.

  The ugly black hair—it had grown back, I knew. And now Kristina and Jared were both staring at it. They both saw it—saw that I was becoming some kind of hairy monster.

  I rubbed my forehead with a trembling hand.

  Smooth.

  My forehead was smooth!

  “It’s right there.” Kristina pointed.

  I hurried over to the hallway mirror and gazed up at my forehead. I discovered an orange smear near my right temple.

  “It’s spaghetti sauce,” I moaned. “I must have rubbed my face during dinner.”

  I rubbed off the orange spot. My entire body was shaking. Kristina had scared me to death! Over a dumb spot of spaghetti sauce!

  “Larry, are you okay?” she asked, standing behind me and staring at my reflection in the mirror. “You look kind of weird.”

  “I’m okay,” I replied quickly, trying to force my body to stop shaking and quaking.

  “Hey—don’t get sick,” Jared warned. “Kristina and I can’t go on the stage by ourselves tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there,” I told them. “Don’t worry, guys. I’ll be there.”

  The next afternoon, the whole school jammed into the auditorium to watch the Battle of the Bands.

  Feeling really nervous, I stood backstage and peeked out through the curtain. The lights in the auditorium were all on, and Mr. Fosburg, the principal, stood in front of the curtain, both arms raised, trying to get everyone quiet.

  Behind me, Howie Hurwin and his band were tuning up, adjusting the amps, making sure the sound was right. Marissa was wearing a very short, sp
arkly red dress over black tights. She caught me staring at her and flashed me a smug smile.

  The Geeks should have dressed up, I realized, watching Marissa. We didn’t even think of it. The three of us were wearing T-shirts and jeans, our normal school clothes.

  I turned and gazed at Howie’s new synthesizer keyboard. It was about a mile long, and it had a thousand buttons and dials on it. It made Jared’s keyboard look like a baby toy.

  Howie caught me staring at it. “Cool, huh?” he called, grinning that gruesome grin of his. “Hey, Larry—after we win the contest, you can have my autograph!”

  Howie laughed. So did Marissa and the rest of the Shouters.

  I turned and slumped away to join Jared and Kristina at the side of the stage. “We’re total losers,” I moaned, shaking my head.

  “Good attitude, Larry,” Jared replied sarcastically.

  “Maybe Howie’s giant keyboard will blow out all the fuses,” I said glumly. “That’s our only chance.”

  Kristina rolled her eyes. “They can’t be that good,” she muttered.

  But they were.

  The auditorium lights darkened. The curtain slid open. Howie and the Shouters stepped into the red-and-blue stage lights. And began blasting out the old Chuck Berry rock-and-roll song “Johnny B. Goode.”

  They sounded great. And they looked great.

  Marissa’s dress sparkled in the light. They had worked out dance moves, and they all danced and moved as they played.

  We should have thought of that, I told myself glumly, watching from the side of the stage. When we play, the three of us just stand around—like geeks!

  The kids in the auditorium went crazy. They all jumped to their feet and began clapping along, moving and dancing.

  They stayed on their feet for all four of the Shouters’ songs. Each song came louder and faster than the last. The old auditorium rocked and shook so hard, I thought the floor might cave in!

  Then, as Howie and Marissa and the others took their bows, the auditorium erupted in wild cheers and shouts of, “More! Moooore! Mooooore!”

  So Howie and the Shouters did two more songs.

  Jared, Kristina, and I kept casting tense glances at each other as they played. This wasn’t doing a whole lot for our confidence!

  Finally, Howie and Marissa took several more bows and ran off the stage, waving their fists high above their heads in triumph.

  “Your turn!” Howie called to me as he ran past. He grinned. “Hey, Larry—where’s the rest of your band?”

  I started to reply angrily. But Jared gave me a hard shove, and the three of us moved uncertainly onto the stage.

  I bent down and plugged my guitar into the amp. Jared worked quickly to adjust the sound level of his little keyboard.

  Howie’s giant keyboard had been pushed to the back of the stage. It seemed to stare at us, reminding us how good—and loud—the Shouters had sounded.

  Kristina stood tensely at the microphone, her arms crossed in front of her T-shirt. I played a few chords, testing the level of the amp. My hands felt cold and sweaty. They slipped over the strings.

  The audience was talking and laughing, restless, waiting for us to start.

  “Are we ready?” I whispered to Jared and Kristina. “Let’s do ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ first. Then go into the Rolling Stones song.”

  They nodded.

  I took a deep breath and steadied my hands on my guitar.

  Jared leaned over the keyboard. Kristina uncrossed her arms and stepped to the microphone, jamming both hands into her jeans pockets.

  We started the Beatles song.

  Shaky at first. All three of us sang on this one. And the harmony was off.

  My guitar was too loud. It was drowning out our voices. I wanted to stop and turn it down. But of course I couldn’t.

  The audience sat quietly, listening. They didn’t jump to their feet and start dancing.

  They applauded loudly as we finished the song. But it was polite applause. No loud cheering. No real enthusiasm.

  At least we got through it! I told myself, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans legs.

  I stepped forward as we started the Rolling Stones song.

  I had a really long guitar solo in this number. I was praying I didn’t mess up.

  I nodded to Jared and Kristina. Kristina grabbed the floor microphone with both hands, leaning close to it. Jared started the song on the keyboard.

  I started my solo. Badly. I messed up the first chords.

  My heart started to thump. My mouth was suddenly too dry to swallow.

  I closed my eyes and tried to shut out everything—to concentrate on my fingers, on the music.

  As I played, the audience started to cheer. A few shouts at first. Some scattered applause.

  But then the cheering grew louder and louder.

  Happily, I opened my eyes. Several kids were on their feet, shouting and laughing.

  I bent my knees and let my fingers move over the frets, the pick moving automatically now over the strings.

  I was starting to feel good—really good.

  The cheers grew louder. I realized that several kids were pointing at me.

  What’s going on? I wondered.

  And I suddenly knew that something was wrong. The cheers were too loud. The laughter was too loud. Too many kids were jumping up and pointing fingers at me.

  “Great special effects!” I heard a boy shout from the first row.

  “Yeah. Great special effects!”

  Huh? I thought. What special effects?

  It didn’t take me long to figure it out.

  As Kristina started to sing, I reached my hand up and rubbed it over my face.

  I cried out in horror as I felt the stiff, prickly hair.

  My face was covered in it. My chin, my cheeks, my forehead.

  The thick, black hair had sprouted over my entire face.

  And the whole school was staring at it, staring at me.

  The whole school knew my horrible, embarrassing secret.

  25

  “We won! We won!” I heard Jared and Kristina shouting gleefully behind me.

  But I set my guitar on the stage floor, turned away from them, and started to run.

  The kids in the auditorium were still shouting and cheering.

  We had won the contest because of my amazing hairy transformation. “Great special effects!” that kid had shouted. The “special effects” had won the day.

  But I wasn’t feeling like a winner.

  I felt like an ugly freak.

  The bushy hair had covered my face, then spread down to my neck and shoulders. Both hands were covered in bristly fur, and I could feel it growing up my arms. My back began to itch. Was it growing on my back, too?

  “Hey, Larry—Larry!” I heard Kristina and Jared calling. “The trophy! Come get your trophy!”

  But I was out the stage door, the wild cheers of the audience ringing in my ears. Out the back door of the school. Into a chilly, gray afternoon. Dark clouds low over the trees.

  Running now. Running blindly, my heart thudding.

  Running home. Covered in thick, black fur.

  Running in panic, in shame. In fear.

  The houses and trees passed in a gray blur. As I turned up my driveway, I saw Mom and Dad back by the garage. They both turned to me, surprise on their faces.

  “Look at me!” I shrieked. “Look!” My voice burst out, hoarse and terrified. “Now do you believe me?”

  They gaped at me, their mouths wide open in shock and horror.

  I held my hands up so they could see my arms. “Do you see my face?” I wailed. “See my arms? My hands?”

  They both gasped. Mom grabbed Dad’s arm.

  “Now do you believe me?” I cried. “Now do you believe that the INSTA-TAN lotion makes hair grow?”

  I stood staring at them, my chest heaving, panting loudly, tears in my eyes. I stood waiting, waiting for them to say something.

  Finally, Mom br
oke the silence. “Larry, it isn’t the tanning lotion,” she said softly, holding tightly onto Dad. “We tried to keep it from you. But we can’t any longer.”

  “Huh? Keep what from me?” I demanded.

  They exchanged glances. Mom let out a sob. Dad slipped his arm around her.

  “It isn’t the tanning lotion,” Dad said in a trembling voice. “Larry, you have to know the truth now. You’re growing all that hair because you’re not a human. You’re a dog.”

  26

  I bent down and lapped up some water from the plastic water bowl Mom and Dad put on the front stoop for me. It’s so hard to drink without splashing water all over my snout.

  Then I bounded down the steps on all fours and joined Lily over by the evergreen shrubs. We sniffed the shrubs for a while. Then we loped off to the next yard to see if there was anything interesting to sniff.

  It’s been two weeks since my human body vanished and I turned back into my real dog identity. Luckily, before I changed back, Mom and Dad—or, I should say, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd—were nice enough to explain to me what had happened.

  They work for Dr. Murkin, you see. In fact, everyone in town works for Dr. Murkin. The whole town is kind of an experimental testing lab.

  A few years ago, Dr. Murkin found a way to change dogs into children. He discovered a serum that made us dogs look and think and act like people. That’s what my shots were. He gave me fresh serum every two weeks.

  But after a while, the serum doesn’t work anymore. It wears off. And the children go back to being dogs.

  “Dr. Murkin has decided to stop testing the serum on dogs,” Mom told me. “It just doesn’t work. And it causes the families too much pain when the children turn back into dogs.”

  “He’s never going to work with dogs again,” Dad explained. “The serum just doesn’t last long enough with dogs. So, no more dogs.”

  It was nice of the Boyds to explain to me what had happened. I felt so grateful, I licked their hands. Then I ran off to find Lily and show her that I was a dog, too.