Hank Zipzer 10

by Henry Winkler

  “I’ll go and get some duct tape,” Ashley offered. “My dad has tons of it in the bottom drawer where he keeps hammers and rope. He calls it his tool drawer, but I call it his throw-everything-in-here-when-you-don’t-know-where-else-it-goes drawer.”

  “Bring his fishing rod too!” I hollered after her. “And some rope.” I wasn’t sure exactly what we would use rope for, but I knew we’d need it.

  “Let’s record the scary sounds while Ashley’s gone,” Frankie suggested.

  “I like the way you’re thinking,” I said. “Here, Cheerio!”

  There was no answer, no pitter-patter of little dog feet on the carpet.

  “That’s strange,” I told Frankie. “Cheerio always comes when I call him.”

  “He probably can’t hear you over your dad’s snoring,” Frankie said. “Hey, Zip, I was going to ask you anyway – would it be OK if I recorded the sounds instead of Cheerio?”

  “Can you howl?”

  “Check this out.”

  Frankie let loose with what has to be the strangest sound I’ve ever heard come out of a human mouth. It started out like a creaking door blowing in the wind, then turned into a creepy ghostly moan and ended in a truly scary wolflike howl.

  “Where have you been keeping that?” I asked him. I mean, you know a guy your whole life, you think you know all the sound effects he can do. Car engines, helicopters, sirens, explosions – the usual. Then he pulls out something amazing like that crazed wolf howl, and you have to wonder what else you don’t know about him.

  “What was that?” said a voice that sounded very much like my sister Emily’s. That’s because it was Emily’s.

  I turned round and there she was, standing with her hands on her hips and her pet iguana, Katherine, on her shoulder. “Whoever made that awful screech should know that you scared poor Katherine. Look. She’s shaking.”

  I looked at Katherine. She was giving me the big stink eye as she flicked her lizardy tongue from side to side. She didn’t look scared to me. Just ugly.

  “That sound reached quite a high decibel level,” Robert chimed in. He had followed Emily into the living room. I noticed that his voice sounded especially nasal. Maybe he was allergic to his pus costume. Without grossing you out entirely, let’s just say Robert has a major, no really, a major sinus problem. It’s like he’s got a nasal flood going on all the time. I bet the guy who invented Kleenex could buy his own baseball team just from the money he’s made out of Robert’s nose river.

  “The iguana is extremely sensitive to sudden changes in the audio environment,” Robert went on, as if anyone besides Emily cared.

  “Thanks for the science lesson, little man,” I said, nudging him aside. “But unfortunately we don’t have time right now for an in-depth discussion of iguana feelings. We’re on a deadline.”

  Before I could stop her, Miss Know-It-All and her shoulder lizard were poking around in our construction site.

  “What’s going on here?” Emily asked.

  “Stuff that wouldn’t interest you.”

  “Mum and Dad are going to kill you,” Emily said. “Do you want to explain what the coat rack and the lamp are doing in the middle of the living room?”

  “No.”

  “Hank, you’re making a horrible mess.”

  “Emily, I don’t need criticism right now,” I said. “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.”

  Papa Pete always says that to me, and it felt great to have the chance to say it myself.

  “We’re building a haunted house,” Frankie told Emily and Robert. “It was all Hank’s idea. Cool, huh?”

  “You’re going to be grounded until next Halloween,” Emily said in her usual positive, helpful, creative tone of voice. “You never learn, do you?”

  Katherine hissed at me. She copies everything that Emily does, and when Emily gets mad, Katherine does too.

  “Calm yourself, Kathy,” I hissed back at her. “You’re prettier when you smile.”

  “Please don’t make fun of Katherine’s looks,” Emily whispered. “Her feelings get hurt very easily.”

  In case you hadn’t noticed, my sister is extremely tuned in to the psychology of the female iguana. I believe that’s because she’s half iguana herself. Don’t ask me which half.

  “For your information, Lizard Girl,” I said to Emily, “I am doing this for you too.”

  Emily pointed her index finger at me, just the way my dad does when he gets mad.

  “You’re making a total mess of our house, and you claim it’s for me? Explain, please.”

  “We’re building this whole haunted house to scare one special guest. And that would be his bullyness, Nick the Tick McKelty.”

  “He’s coming here?” Emily’s mouth flew open. Katherine’s did too.

  “At seven thirty on the dot.”

  “Well, let’s get going,” Emily said, grabbing the coat rack. “Where do you want this baby?”

  “Boy, you’ve changed your tune awfully quick. I thought you just said I was going to get grounded for this.”

  “That was before I realized how important your plan is for the benefit of all mankind,” Emily said. “Getting even with Nick McKelty should be the number-one priority of the human race.”

  “Emily,” Robert said, “much as we’d like to help, we don’t have time. We have to meet your grandfather at Mrs Fink’s in ten minutes.”

  “Oh, you’re right, Robert. Our costumes aren’t even ready yet.”

  “Sure they are, dudes,” Frankie said. “I saw you in the parade. Your costumes are all done.”

  “We’re not wearing those costumes,” Emily said.

  “You’re telling me you’re giving up on the flu-germ concept?” Frankie said. “What’s Halloween without a pus pocket?”

  “That Nick McKelty was so mean that we don’t want to risk being made fun of again,” Robert said. “So we’ve made new costumes. I’m going as a knight.”

  “No way,” I said.

  “Yes way,” Robert answered. “I used two and a half rolls of tinfoil to make my armour and shield.”

  “And I’m going as a princess,” Emily said.

  “You can’t!” I protested. “There are millions of princesses on the streets. But only one flu germ – and that’s you, Emily.”

  “Besides, you should be yourself,” Frankie added.

  “Trust me, Emily, deep inside you’re much more of a pus pocket than a princess,” I chimed in, just to be annoying.

  “Do you really think so, Hank?” Emily asked. She sounded really happy with my observation. Even Katherine seemed to be flashing me the old iguana grin.

  “Absolutely. Now you march yourself right back in your room and put on the right costume. You too, Robert. Get in there and think pus.”

  “I don’t know, Hank. Let me ask Katherine what she thinks. What do you think I should wear?” Emily whispered to Old Kath.

  My sister is undoubtedly the only person in the world strange enough to ask a lizard for fashion advice. And what’s even stranger is that we all stood there waiting for the answer.

  “What’d she say?” I finally blurted out.

  “Katherine’s still thinking about it,” Emily said. “We’ll let you know what we decide.”

  “You do that, Em,” I said. “Now if you three will excuse us, we have a house to haunt.”

  Just then, Ashley came running into the flat, carrying an armful of supplies – duct tape, rope, a hammer, a fishing rod and a big white plastic skeleton.

  “Whoa, where’d that dude come from?” Frankie said. “He looks like he could use a meal.”

  “My dad used him at medical school to study bones and stuff,” Ashley told us. “He lives in the hall cupboard behind a box of plastic body organs. There’s a heart in there, a couple of lungs, a liver and something that’s yellow.”

  “Well, are we going to stand here discussing body parts, or are we going to build a haunted house?” I said.

&nbs
p; That needed no answer. There was work to be done, and I, for one, couldn’t wait to start.

  THE TEN COOLEST THINGS WE PUT IN OUR HAUNTED HOUSE

  Can you guess who came up with these plans for our haunted house? Try to figure it out as you read each one. Good luck! I hope you get all ten right.

  1. We hung the black light on the skeleton’s ribs, so the entire bony dude glowed a creepy whitish-purplish colour.

  2. We tied all the rubber spiders on to Ashley’s dad’s fishing rod and hung it in the corner, so when people walked past, we could drop the spiders into their hair. That would make the hair on their necks stand to attention.

  3. We recorded Frankie’s scary howl on a tape recorder. Then we slowed the tape recorder down so when we played it back, the howls turned into spine-chilling shrieks.

  4. We peeled grapes so they had the perfect texture for eyeballs and put them in a bowl of slimy egg whites as if the eyeballs had just spewed their gooey insides into the bowl.

  5. We made a human brain by boiling spaghetti until it was mushy and mixing it with Marshmallow Fluff so the brain would stick to kids’ fingers when they touched it. Nobody wants to walk around with grey matter stuck to their fingers.

  6. We lined my old Mets cap with clingfilm and put the brain mixture in it. When kids stuck their hands in that hat, they would think someone had taken their hat off and that their brain had come off with it. (I’m even grossing myself out now.)

  7. We made Emily’s bedsheet into a ghost, and then we put a fan under it, so it would billow out and look like it was about to take off and fly around the room.

  8. We went through three large economy-sized bottles of ketchup, covering anything you can think of with fake ketchup blood – including a roasting fork, gauze bandages and an old vest of my dad’s.

  9. We saved the last bottle of ketchup to add a bloody spot to the ghost’s chest area, where its heart would have been.

  10. We put Ashley’s head through the cardboard from my Italian table costume. Then we squirted Ashley’s cheeks with ketchup and threw a napkin over her head. We gave her a torch to hold under her chin whenever someone uncovered her head.

  Answer Key

  1. Hank***

  2. Hank***

  3. Hank***

  4. Hank*** (although Ashley peeled the grapes)

  5. Hank***

  6. Hank***

  7. Hank*** (Frankie pulled the sheet off the bed)

  8. Hank***

  9. Hank***

  10. Hank***

  *** I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m bragging, taking the credit for all the ideas, but I felt really proud of them. It’s not every day that I actually get to say I’m proud of my brain. So excuse me for getting a little excited.

  When we finished, it was six forty-eight, according to Frankie’s watch. Boy, when you’re inspired, you work fast. It’s like your hands and feet are attached to a million bodies all working together.

  We were so focused on putting the haunted house together that we didn’t even see Emily and Robert leave. They just shouted goodbye, and not one of us even popped our heads through the sheets to see them in their costumes or to find out which ones they were wearing. The best news was that I thought I heard my dad shout goodbye along with them. That meant that either I wasn’t going to get grounded at all, or at least not until he came back. I had a feeling that Emily had talked him into letting us make the haunted house. She becomes a great sister sometimes when I least expect it. I can’t figure girls out.

  When we looked at what we had made, we felt really proud. The haunted house took up almost half of our living room. True, it didn’t look like much from the outside, just a bunch of sheets and bedspreads tied together. The inside, though, was full of scary, fun things. Ashley made a sign that said: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. We hung it up over the door flap. Then we turned on the black light inside the skeleton dude. It made the sheets glow like those iridescent fish that live at the bottom of the ocean. When we dimmed the living-room lights, our little haunted house looked like it was a floating alien spaceship. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to us.

  “McKelty is going to be scared out of his mind,” I said.

  “That’s if everything works OK,” Frankie said. “Don’t forget, Zip, it’s never been tested.”

  “We should get some kids to test it out before McKelty gets here,” Ashley said.

  “There’s not much time for that now,” I said. “Who lives near by?”

  “Heather Payne lives on 78th Street and West End Avenue,” Frankie said.

  Ashley and I both shot him a look that said “Since When Are You Hanging Out with Heather Payne, the Girl Who Cries if She Doesn’t Get an A-Plus on Every Extra-Credit Project She Does?” (Which, by the way, is all of them.)

  Frankie could read our minds, because he added quickly, “Hey, don’t even go there, guys. We did a science project together. That’s all. Remember, we created an earthworm farm?”

  “Right. I remember now.” I snickered. “The Biggle Wiggle Worm Wigwam.”

  Ashley and I both cracked up. Frankie wasn’t so amused.

  “Listen, man, the name was her idea,” he said. “I wanted to call it something cool like the Worm Crib. But she flat out refused.”

  “Well, since you and Heather are such close personal Biggle Wiggle Worm Wigwam buddies, why don’t you call her and tell her to come here as soon as possible?” I suggested.

  “Don’t say I never do anything for you, Zip,” Frankie said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen.

  “And Luke Whitman lives around the corner on Amsterdam Avenue!” I shouted out. “While you’re at it, call him too.”

  “Eeww, he’s so gross,” Ashley moaned. “The other day, I saw him take a used piece of cheese out of the rubbish bin, smell it and then eat it.”

  Frankie disappeared into the kitchen to use the phone.

  “Do you think two kids are enough to test everything out?” I asked Ashley.

  “It’d better be,” she said. “It’s what we have.”

  At exactly six fifty-three, the front door flew open. I was hoping it was Heather or Luke, but no, it was just my mum.

  “I haven’t missed any of the trick-or-treaters yet, have I?” she said, flinging off her coat with the big, green pickle embroidered on the back. She had those coats made last year as a Christmas present for all the people who work at The Crunchy Pickle. “I’ve made a special batch of prune taffy to give out tonight.”

  “Wow, Mrs Z.,” Frankie said. “Don’t let that out or every kid on the Upper West Side will be queuing up round the block.”

  “Do you really think so?” my mum asked.

  “Prune taffy. The name alone has my mouth watering,” Ashley said.

  “I knew it’d be a crowd-pleaser,” my mum said. She just doesn’t get it that not everyone is as thrilled with prunes as she is. “And I wrapped each one individually in clingfilm with a little orange-and-black ribbon. Don’t they look sweet?”

  I was waiting for her to notice the living room. It took her a minute, I guess because her head was still in her prune-taffy ribbons, but when she finally looked around, her eyes almost fell out of her head.

  “Hank, where did you put our living room?”

  “It doesn’t exist any more, Mum. You have entered the chamber of horrors.”

  “That’s my bedspread,” she said, pointing at the wall we had made for the haunted house.

  “Your bedspread had the honour of being selected from all the bedspreads in the house to form the front wall of the scariest place on the planet,” I told her.

  “Hank, honey,” she said, “this is so creative.”

  You have to meet my mum someday. She really is a lot of fun. She almost never gets mad when I make a mess, because she says creativity and neatness don’t go together. It’s like she can see deep inside me.

  “Vlady,” she called out, running into the hall. “Bring the plates of prune taffy and come and see what Ha
nk and his friends have made!”

  Vladimir Olefski has worked for my mum at The Crunchy Pickle ever since he came to New York from his home in Russia. He is known for making the best sandwiches on all of the West Side because he stacks them up really high with meat and then adds a special zingy red sauce that the customers love so much that they write my mum letters about it.

  Vlady came into the living room. He was carrying two big trays of the prune taffy. It looked like chunks of dark brown shoe leather topped with little pieces of yellow fuzz. You don’t even want to know what the yellow fuzz was, because it was probably something weird like dandelion pollen. From looking at that tray, I had a pretty strong feeling that we were going to have plenty of prune taffy left over.

  “Hello, little ones,” Vlady said in his thick Russian accent.

  You have to understand that everyone is a “little one” compared to Vlady. He’s so big, I didn’t think he was going to fit through the haunted house flap door. But he didn’t have to, because he looked right over the top of the sheets and stared down at what we had created.

  “This look like Babushka’s place back home in Poltava,” he said.

  “What’s a babushka?” Ashley asked him.

  “Not what. Who. Babushka is Russian word for ‘grandmother’.”

  “Your grandma lives in a haunted house?” Frankie said. “Wow. She must be cool.”

  “That stuff,” Vlady said, pointing to the mushy brains in the baseball cap. “That look like Babushka’s breakfast porridge.”

  I could see Ashley trying not to laugh.

  “And that guy,” he said, pointing to the skeleton, “remind me of Olga, our cow back in Poltava. There was no grass in our meadow so she was … how you say … skinny like a toothpick. Maybe two toothpicks.”

  That did it. We cracked up. Vlady didn’t laugh, though. I guess he was still thinking about Olga the Cow.

  “What you need is vampire,” Vlady said. “There are many vampires in my country. My grandfather Boris, for example.”