Super Soccer Freak Show
Page 1
In memory of Dan Hooker, super agent and believer in Grampa
Special thanks to:
Ashley & Carolyn Grayson, Suppasak Viboonlarp, Mark Mayes, Jim Jeong, Joe Kocian, Hiland Hall, Steve Deline, Jackie Greed, the mezz crew-Woo Woo!
Andrea, Sangeeta, Saho, Alison, Elizabeth, Tina and the Little, Brown crew-hooray!
And a super deep-dish thanks with extra cheese to Diane and Corey Scroggs and Harold and Betty Aulds.
Copyright © 2007 by Kirk Seroggs
All rights reserved.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
First eBook Edition: December 21
ISBN: 978-0-316-05595-6
Contents
Meet the Ghoulish Cast:
CHAPTER 1: Pick a Card, Any Card
CHAPTER 2: The Drawbridges of Carpathian County
CHAPTER 3: Bend It Like Blech-em!
CHAPTER 4: Dog Day Afternoon
CHAPTER 5: Canine Intervention
CHAPTER 6: The Professional
CHAPTER 7: Grampa, What Sharp Teeth You Have
CHAPTER 8: A Dog in the Fog
CHAPTER 9: League of Extraordinary Quilters
CHAPTER 10: C.S.I.: (Gingham County
CHAPTER 11: Wanted by the Mob
CHAPTER 12: Silence of the Hans
CHAPTER 13: You Gotta Be Kidding!
CHAPTER 14: Fun with Mucus
CHAPTER 15: The Maim Event
CHAPTER 16: Rebooted
CHAPTER 17: Wiley Coyote
CHAPTER 18: Meet the Berserkers
CHAPTER 19: A Hair-Raising Development
CHAPTER 20: We Are the Champions
Crackpot Snapshop
Wiley & Grampa's Creature Features
MEET THE GHOULISH CAST:
Master zombie fighter and dangerous amateur chemist.
Keeper of the Park Cracklins. Trained in the fine art of napping.
Queen of the Rumbling shifty-Foot technique highly skilled in covert rescue operations.
Master scratcher of furniture and hacker-upper of hair balls.
Beloved mascot of the Carpathian Coyotes. Loves children...especially with a tangy marinara sauce!
CHAPTER 1
Pick a Card, Any Card
Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the press, and dog lovers everywhere… BEWARE! I, Madame Wiley, have consulted the tarot cards, gazed into my crystal ball, read the star charts, and checked the Internet, and they all say the same thing…. He who cracks open this book shall be doomed forever!
If you foolishly decide to proceed, I suggest you pack your silver bullets and, of course, a fresh pair of drawers. The creatures of the night await you …
We begin our story with the gruesome transformation of a man into a werewolf! Please take note of the bulging eyes, the uncontrollable drool, and the slimy, sweaty skin.
No, wait! That's just Coach Haunch, the surly, burly coach of the Gingham County Cracklins, the state's 100th-ranked soccer team–out of 50.
“You kids quit being rowdy on the bus!” screamed Coach Haunch. “I've only had one cup of coffee today and you hooligans are working my last nerve!”
That's me, Wiley, and my best friend, Jubal, winners of the Least Valuable Player Awards for three years straight. If we look nervous, there's a good reason–our bus was on its way to Carpathian County, where we would face the most dreaded team in all of Texas–the Carpathian Coyotes!
Carpathian County was Texas's least popular vacation destination–a dreary mud puddle of a place known for its high crime rate, terrible weather, and old women with facial hair.
The Carpathian Coyotes were the state's top soccer team, and the players were famous for their monstrous abilities.
“Some folks say the Coyotes devoured the last team that challenged them,” said Chucky Frewer, our team's star kicker.
“Others say they use a stuffed human head for a soccer ball!” said Bjorn Dasher, the team goalie.
“I hear their players aren't even human. They're made from the parts of other kids, sewn together by a mad scientist!” said Scrawny Mitchell, team marketing consultant.
“Now! Now!” said Coach Haunch. “We all know those frightening and outlandish stories are absolutely 100 percent TRUE, but that won't stop us from having a good time!”
As our bus approached Carpathian County Elementary, the sky grew dark and the terrain became treacherous. Boulders bounced off the roof of the bus.
The road was a winding nightmare. Strange howls and the smell of dead skunk filled the air.
“AAAAHHH!!!” screamed Wilky Jenson from the back of the bus. “We're being followed by a couple of wrinkled zombified freaks!”
Everyone ran to the back of the bus to take a look.
“Those aren't zombified freaks!” I yelled. “That's my Grampa and Gramma! They're coming to watch the game!”
“Look!” said Grampa, waving from his car. “The children are so happy to see us, they're screaming with delight!”
CHAPTER 2
The Drawbridges of Carpathian County
Carpathian Elementary was about as inviting as a haunted castle full of rabid wolverines.
“Hey!” I said. “They've got a moat with real alligators!”
“I tried to get us alligators,” said Coach Haunch, “but it wasn't in our budget.”
Grampa and Gramma walked me to the field.
We walked up to two grave-looking women watching over a table of delicious baked goods (that is, if you think blood sausage fritters, sheep's brain pie, and crickets in a blanket are delicious).
“Oh, looky!” said Gramma. “A bake sale!”
“Beware!” said one of the pale women. “Beware the full moon! Go! Leave before it is too late! And one more thing…. Please buy some of our cookies.”
The Coyotes were a huge, hulking, ghoulish bunch. Coach Cretorious, the Coyotes’ creepo captain, laughed at us. “Hee hee! Look at what we have here! I must warn you, my boys are hungry and they looove the taste of Cracklins!”
“Hey, coach!” said Grampa. “Looks like your team already got beat…with an ugly stick!”
Grampa's taunting angered their team mascot, Curly the Coyote, and he came over to us.
“You don't scare me, you overgrown Chihuahua,” said Grampa angrily.
“Cool it!” said Gramma. “Your doctor said no more fighting with team mascots. You remember what happened with the Garland County Grackle? That bird put you in the hospital for two weeks!”
The Carpathian Coyotes’ soccer field also served as a graveyard, which made sense, because we were about to get slaughtered!
We looked like wimpy little munchkins compared to those thugs.
Coach Haunch gathered us together for a pep talk before the kickoff.
“I know it looks hopeless, boys. The other team is bigger, they've never lost a game, and they've sent hundreds of boys like you to the hospital, so I've just got one bit of advice… I think it would be a good idea to fill out these Last Will and Testaments before we begin.”
CHAPTER 3
Bend It Like Blech-em!
At last it was time for the kickoff; and I was the one doing the kicking. The game was afoot!
The game was a total disaster! We were kicked around.
Stomped on like grapes!
We were juggled like bowling pins in a circus freak show!
In the end, we were left in a broken heap on the field.
But the game's most shocking moment came from the stands. The tension between Grampa and Curly the Coyote exploded into a full-fledged brawl.
&nbs
p; “This mangy mutt ate my crickets in a blanket!” yelled Grampa.
When all was said and done, we lost twenty-seven to zero, I had a minor head wound, Jubal required sixteen stitches, and Grampa suffered a nasty bite on his arm and was charged with third-degree mascot assault.
“Other than that, it was a great game!” said Coach Haunch.
CHAPTER 4
Dog Day Afternoon
Days later, we were back home in Gingham County and life returned to normal. The air was crisp, birds were chirping, all was well…
That is, until Gramma came running in and interrupted a very important science experiment on Merle, the cat.
“Wiley!” she yelled. “I'm worried about your Grampa! I think he's lost his mind, or what's left of it!”
Gramma proceeded to tell me a tale of utter madness.
“It all started the other morning when Grampa brought me the daily paper with his mouth. I guess I should have noticed that wasn't normal.
“And I didn't think anything was odd when he chased poor Merle up a telephone pole.
“Or when he slept at the foot of the bed. Frankly, it was a relief. Your Grampa snores like a congested wildebeest.
“But when he took third prize at the WestMunster Dog Show, that was just too much! I'm afraid your Grampa thinks he's a dog! And a show dog at that!”
CHAPTER 5
Canine Intervention
That night we asked Grampa about his behavior.
“Nonsense!” he said. “I'm perfectly normal. Now, if you'll excuse me–I'm going out with Esther and Chavez to chase raccoons and dig through Old Man Copperthwaite's garbage cans.”
The next morning we confronted Grampa again.
“After careful analysis,” I declared, “we have determined that you are suffering from Caninus Envialus, which means you wanna be a dog.”
“You need help,” added Gramma, “from a professional.”
“Whatever you say,” said Grampa, finishing his breakfast, “but I still think you guys are crazy.”
CHAPTER 6
The Professional
We decided to take Grampa to a real expert on animal behavior–Nate Farkles, Gingham County's top veterinarian.
But Nate was at a loss. “I don't know what's going to be more difficult: determining why your Grampa thinks he's a dog or having to look at him in his underwear all day. This job can be pretty tough sometimes.”
Nevertheless, Nate ran extensive tests on Grampa. He took a rather large saliva sample.
Then he drew Grampa's blood.
While Grampa had a flea bath, Nate gave us his professional opinion: “I'm stumped. I'd like to run a few more tests, and I have a few more needles I'd like to stick in him. I'll have the results back to you in a few days. Until then, if he starts to act like a dog, you might just wanna smack him with a rolled-up magazine.”
CHAPTER 7
Grampa, What Sharp Teeth You Have
That night, Grampa was under strict orders to get some rest and relaxation. So, while Gramma was out at her Friday night quilting session, we kicked back to watch The All-Night Mega Monster Scare-a-thon.
“Hi there, kiddos! I'm Claud Bones, your rotten horror host. Tonight's lineup is looking a little HAIRY! Yes, it's werewolf night! We'll start off with I Was A Preschool Werewolf, followed by Honey, I Ate the Kids, and top it off with the classic The Mange of La Mancha.
“Tonight's show is brought to you by Swipe, melon-scented deodorant. Remember, if you're smelling ripe, give those pits a Swipe.”
“Hot dog!” shouted Grampa. “A triple feature! This calls for some triple-spicy Pork Cracklins!”
“Werewolves!” I said. “That's it! Grampa, ever since you got that bite at the soccer game, you've been acting like a canine. You might be turning into a werewolf!”
“It's a good thing there's not a full moon,” said Jubal.
Suddenly, Blue Norther, channel 5’s smarmy weatherman, made an announcement: “Hi, folks! Our lunar experts say there's a full moon out tonight, and you know what that means–crazies! And lots of ’em! I don't want to alarm you but, right now, your backyard could be crawling with werewolves and lunatics, probably carrying sharp objects, looking for their next victim. Have a wonderful evening!”
Just as I feared, Grampa jumped up and let out a horrendous howl.
“Boy, those Cracklins really must be spicy!” said Jubal.
“No!” I said. “Can't you see? Grampa's turning into a werewolf!”
Grampa began to transform in front of our very eyes. First, his teeth grew sharp and his eyebrows sprouted like weeds!
Then his hairy toes burst out of his shoes!
“Dude!” said Jubal. “Somebody get him some toenail clippers, quick!”
Then Grampa began to snarl, and he must have drooled at least 3 pints of saliva. (That's a full pint more than usual!)
Finally, he sprouted thick, white, disgusting ear hair. Oh wait, that's always been there.
Grampa leaped through the front window and ran off into the night.
“We've got to find Gramma and tell her about Grampa's new look!” I said. “Jubal! Merle! Quick, to the bicycles!”
CHAPTER 8
A Dog in the Fog
We hopped on our bikes and set out after Grampa, who had already left a trail of destruction. We used Merle's keen sense of smell to track the elusive half beast/half old guy.
We came upon the Gingham County dogcatcher's truck. To our surprise, the back door was open and all the lucky canine prisoners were making their escape.
“Where's Dirk, the dog catcher?” asked Jubal.
We found Dirk, shaking and babbling with fright.
“Dirk!” I said. “What's the matter, man?”
“B-b-b-biggest dog I ever seen!” stuttered Dirk. “It had white hair, bony elbows, and a terrible smell…like–like medicated ointment. I haven't met a dog that terrifying since the Great Chihuahua of Logan's Lane!”
Dirk the dogcatcher was too far gone to be of any use to us, so we headed to the Gingham Gulch Shopping Plaza.
“There's the crafts store!” I yelled. “Gramma's in there with her quilting group. Let's get her!”
“I'm waiting outside,” said Jubal. “No small boy should have to enter that place!”
CHAPTER 9
League of Extraordinary Quilters
I wanted to make sure I didn't alarm Gramma too much, so I quietly snuck up behind her.
“Gramma!” I screamed, shaking her vigorously. “Grampa's turned into a werewolf and he's terrorizing the countryside!”
“Wiley!” she yelped. “Don't ever sneak up on a woman while she's sewing! I could have sewn my thumb to the table!”
“Did you say werewolf?!” asked Cleta Van Snout as the Ladies’ Quilting League pulled out crossbows with wooden spikes.
“Actually,” I said, “Grampa was bitten by a coyote in Carpathian County.”
“A were-yote!” said Cleta. “Half man, and half coyote! That's even worse than a werewolf! Ten times as mean, three times as hairy.”
“The only way to kill a were-yote is to shoot it full of silver-tipped wooden spikes dipped in my famous honey mustard garlic dressing!” said Martha Archer.
“How do you ladies know so much about werewolves and were-yotes?” I asked.
“By day, we quilt. By night, we hunt werewolves,” said Martha. “It supplements our incomes nicely.”
“Thank you, but I think we'll find Grampa ourselves,” said Gramma as we backed away from the granny werewolf killers.
We hopped into Gramma's car and set out to find Grampa. The streets of Gingham County were in total chaos!
Grampa was causing a massive panic. “I think I know where your Grampa's headed!” said Gramma as she stepped on the gas.
Gramma did a fancy cop-show maneuver and skidded to a halt at the foot of Grampa's favorite establishment—The Gingham County Pork Cracklin Plant.
CHAPTER 10
C.S.I.: (Gingham County
We inspected the Cracklin plant, searching for any sign of Grampa.
Gramma dusted for coyote prints while Jubal collected fiber and whisker samples.
“Hey, look!” I shouted. “I found some muddy footprints!”
“And this looks like your Grampa's back-pain medication!” said Jubal.
Suddenly, we heard a horrible snarling sound from the next room.
“Prepare yourselves, people,” I whispered nervously. “Who knows what horrors await us beyond this door.”
I slowly pushed the door open to find …
Grampa was napping. The horrible snarling sound was actually more of a horrible snoring sound.
“That's your Grampa, all right!” said Gramma.
CHAPTER 11
Wanted by the Mob
Gramma wrapped Grampa in a lovely quilt and we quickly headed home. We opened the front door and found …
An angry mob of townspeople was in the living room.
“Turn him over!” they yelled. “Give us the werewolf!”