“Supermarket, Emery! Do you have any money?”
“On me? No.”
“How about at home?”
“Some. I think four dollars. Why?”
“I have some, too. Let’s get our money and go to the supermarket.”
“Why?”
“When I tell you my plan, you’ll see why.”
As the boys hurried back home to get their money, Philip explained his plan.
“What time are they supposed to get here?” Philip whispered to Emery as they huddled together that evening on the sofa in Emery’s living room.
“Seven-thirty. Same as your family. What do you think his wife looks like? If he’s the werewolf, she must be the Dracula. I wonder if she’ll wear her cape. A lady Dracula and a baby Frankenstein daughter,” Emery moaned. “The daughter’s probably got lines all over her.”
“Lines?”
“You know. You saw the movie. The monster had lines where they sewed him together. The little girl probably has them, too. Maybe we can pull her apart at the seams.”
“Emery, we’re not going to pull her apart and have blood and skin and stuff flying all over your living room. Did you check to see if the supermarket stuff is where we hid it?”
“I did. It’s all there. It’s . . .”
DING-DONG
Philip and Emery looked at each other. Dracula, Wolfman, and baby Frankenstein had arrived!
Chapter Eleven
Emery’s mother passed by on her way to answer the doorbell. The two boys heard the door open, some grown-up chatter, and then Lawrence Talbot appeared. After he handed his coat to Emery’s father, he turned and saw the boys huddled on the sofa and smiled at them.
Philip and Emery didn’t return the smile. They could only stare at the tall, fuzzy-bearded man dressed in black slacks and a white shirt looking back at them. Emery’s father said, “This is Mr. Talbot, boys. This is my son Emery and his friend Philip. Honey, take Larry into the den.”
Mr. Talbot spoke to the boys in a deep voice. “I’ll want to meet you later—in private.” Emery’s mother accompanied Mr. Talbot to the den, leaving the boys staring at their backs, eyes wide, mouths open.
“Did he say he wanted to eat us later in private?” Emery whispered in a panic.
“I don’t know,” Philip replied anxiously. “I couldn’t pay attention. I think he said he wanted to meet us, but it could have been eat us.”
“Yeah. Meet us to eat us,” said Emery.
A woman stepped into the living room. Emery’s dad took her coat and introduced the two boys. “This is Ms. Moster, boys, Mr. Talbot’s wife. The boys seem to be a little shy tonight. This is my son Emery and his friend Philip.”
The woman, tall and thin like her husband, wore a black dress and bright red lipstick. She smiled at the boys and said, “It’s going to be such a nice night.” She turned to attend to her daughter.
“Nice bite! Did she say nice bite?” whispered a panicky Emery.
“I thought she said bite. But maybe she said night. I don’t know. She could have said fight, sight, right, or schmight. I can’t pay attention.”
“Did you see her bloody mouth? Maybe she ate already and won’t want to suck us dry.”
“That was lipstick, wasn’t it?”
“Was it? Oh,” moaned Emery. “Here comes baby Frankenstein.”
A little girl no more than three years old handed her coat to her mother, who handed it to Emery’s father. The little girl began jumping up and down. “Go play with the boys,” said Emery’s father, and he escorted Ms. Moster down the hallway to the den.
The little girl stopped jumping and studied the boys. She clutched a small bag to her side. She took two more jumps, and each time she jumped, Philip and Emery’s hearts jumped, too. The girl stood still and studied them some more.
“Stay right there,” said Emery. “Don’t come any closer. What’s your name?”
“One, two, fwee.” She made one last big jump and got near enough to touch the boys, who sat in frozen horror a mere foot away from her.
“You got lines?” Emery cried, pulling his legs up under him.
“Put out your hand,” Philip ordered.
“You see any lines?” Emery whispered.
“Not yet. Ask her her name again.”
“What’s your name, little girl?”
She jumped up and said, “One, two, fwee. Me Fwankie. Fwankie, Fwankie, Fwankie.”
“Fwankie? I mean Frankie?” said Emery. “It’s really Frankie? You got lines? You do, don’t you. Are you all sewn together?”
The little girl bent over and reached into her bag. Emery and Philip gasped.
“One, two, fwee. I got birdie.” She pulled a metal bird from the bag and shot her arm stiffly up into the air.
Emery and Philip reared back and let out short screams.
“What is it?” Emery gasped.
“Birdie, birdie, birdie,” the girl answered.
“It’s a birdie, birdie, birdie,” said Philip.
“Birdie fwy. See birdie fwy.” The little girl shook the toy bird up and down and seemed thrilled to death to watch the wings flap up and down. She ran around the room shaking the bird wildly until the wings fluttered up and down so fast they were hard to follow.
Emery’s father appeared and said, “Come on, Frankie, Philip, Emery. We’re going to eat. Take her into the dining room, Emery.”
“Wait, Dad. We’ll go with you.” Emery leaped from the sofa, and Philip leaped with him.
“Fwy your birdie, birdie, birdie this way,” said Philip, and little Frankie followed the boys into the dining room.
Soon, the three families sat around the table. Philip and Emery took seats next to one another diagonally across from Lawrence Talbot. Ms. Moster sat across from her husband, next to Emery. Frankie sat in a highchair by her mother’s side.
“Ask if her name’s really Frankie,” Philip whispered to Emery as everyone watched Frankie wriggling and giggling in her seat.
Emery leaned forward toward his father, who sat across from him. “Is the little girl really named Frankie?”
Ms. Moster heard him and turned to Emery. “We named her Frances, but somehow we ended up calling her Frankie.”
“She got lines?” Emery asked, and Philip whacked Emery in the ribs with his elbow.
“Lines?” Ms. Moster’s forehead wrinkled.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Philip.
Frankie started screaming, “Eat boys. Eat boys.” She started laughing too hard to say any more.
Philip and Emery turned slowly to one another. Emery nodded. Philip rose and walked to the china closet. He pulled open the door and reached way back behind the blue dishes his mother never used. He took out two cardboard shakers and brought them back to the table.
“She’s always so noisy at dinnertime,” Ms. Moster explained. “We tell her when she eats not to make any noise. She’s saying eat and noise.”
“She said, ‘Eat boys,’” Emery argued, unconvinced. “Philip and I are the only boys here.”
“I don’t think she wants to eat the two of you,” Ms. Moster said with a chuckle.
“Ha, ha,” Emery said coldly.
“She can’t say the word noise yet,” Ms Moster explained.
“Eat boys. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Frankie, no noise,” Lawrence Talbot said severely, and Frankie quieted.
“She’s scared of him,” Emery whispered to Philip.
“So am I,” Philip whispered back.
“Philip, what have you got there?” Philip’s mom had discovered the shakers.
“Uh, stuff we like for our food,” said Philip.
Mr. Felton reached for Philip’s shaker. He sniffed at it. “Uhh. Garlic? Is this garlic?”
Philip and Emery had bought two shakers of garlic powder on their visit to the supermarket earlier. They knew from the movies that garlic protected people from vampires. They had taken off the paper wrapper identifying it as garlic, hoping no one
would notice.
“Uh, yeah, Dad. Garlic. The teacher said garlic was . . . was good for you. Said we should eat it at every meal. We love it, don’t we, Emery?”
Emery nodded rapidly and smacked his lips. “Oh, yeah. Love that garlic.”
“Your teacher said garlic was good for you?” Mr. Talbot repeated doubtfully.
Philip let Emery deal with Mr. Talbot while he reached across the table to take a roll from a basket of rolls. He broke the roll in half and shook his garlic shaker over the two pieces of roll. He handed one piece to Emery.
“Not so much . . .” Emery’s mother began.
Emery and Philip bit into their rolls. Immediately, their mouths filled with a taste so sour they could hardly stand it. The taste made both boys take deep breaths through their noses, and a lot of the loose powder went up their noses along with the air.
“AAHH CHOOO!” Philip exploded, the bread in his mouth sailing across the table and landing on Lawrence Talbot’s plate. “AAHH CHOOO!”
“AAHH CHOOO!” Emery echoed, the bread in his mouth sailing across the table and plopping into Lawrence Talbot’s water glass.
“AAHH CHOOO! AAHH CHOOO! AAHH CHOOO! AAHH CHOOO!” the two boys chorused.
Emery’s mother and Philip’s mother jumped up and rushed to their sons, napkins in hand. Philip and Emery took the napkins, finished their sneezing, and wiped the sneezing tears from their eyes.
“Maybe we’ll just save this for later,” said Mr. Felton, putting the boys’ two shakers of garlic out of reach.
Emery’s mom picked up the two crumpled napkins Mr. Talbot had folded in front of him, one holding Philip’s bread, the other holding Emery’s soggy bread.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, her face turning pink. She hurried into the kitchen to throw the napkins away and get Mr. Talbot a new glass of water. When she returned, she held two Popsicle sticks bound together with a rubber band to make a cross.
“I’ll take that, Mom,” said Emery.
“What is it? I took four of these out of the refrigerator earlier.”
Philip and Emery had also bought a big box of craft sticks at the supermarket and had spent much of the afternoon making crosses and hiding them in strategic places around the house.
Emery put the cross down in front of him. Philip slowly reached over and slid the cross next to his plate.
“Hey,” said Emery.
“It’s one I made,” Philip whispered insistently.
“What is it for?” asked Philip’s father.
“School,” Philip answered nervously. “We need it for school.”
“School?” Lawrence Talbot said in a puzzled voice. “What kind of a school makes you eat garlic and need Popsicle stick crosses?”
“Well, it’s . . . it’s like . . . well, tell him, Emery.”
“Well, like Philip said, it’s . . . it’s like . . . well . . .”
“Yeah,” said Philip, seeing Emery going nowhere. “Just stuff we do. You know.”
“Hmmm, what kind of a school . . . ?” muttered Lawrence Talbot again before his voice trailed off.
“Have some salad,” said Mrs. Wyatt, placing a large bowl of greens onto the dining table along with a big pair of plastic spoons attached like scissors to serve the salad.
Philip’s father looked at Philip and smiled. “Would you like some garlic on yours? How about you, Emery?”
“Oh, well no, Dad.”
“No, thanks,” said Emery.
“Garlic, anyone?”
A tiny laugh went around the table. Philip noticed, though, the laugh stopped at Lawrence Talbot who merely sat in deep thought.
Suddenly, little Frankie started shouting, “Stick, stick, stick. See big stick.”
She pointed as she shouted.
“No, noise,” said Lawrence Talbot.
Emery’s mother looked toward the corner where Frankie pointed and saw two yardsticks tucked against the wall.
“What in the world? Who put them there?” Mrs. Wyatt mumbled. She walked over and lifted up the two yardsticks, the bottom end of each covered with bulging layers of aluminum foil held on with rubber bands. She brought them back to the table. “Emery? Now what?” The boys had gotten yardsticks and aluminum paper at the supermarket also.
“School, again?” Lawrence Talbot asked with growing surprise. Philip couldn’t understand the look on the man’s face. Frightened, angry, puzzled, entertained? It was a weird, weird look, though, on a weird, weird face. That’s all Philip knew.
“Well, yeah. Philip and I . . . we . . . we’re. Tell them, Philip.”
“Well, it’s for a show.”
“Yeah, it’s for a show.” Emery nodded in agreement.
“And what kind of a show would that be?” Lawrence Talbot asked, smiling, it seemed to Philip, most devilishly.
The look on Lawrence Talbot’s face drove all thoughts out of Philip’s mind. He could only stare and wonder what this man would do next. It was already dark outside, and he could probably change anytime he wanted to if he didn’t mind doing it front of all these people. Philip wondered whether werewolves were shy. He bet they probably weren’t.
Emery came to the rescue. “It’s a . . . a dancing show.”
“Dancing?” Philip tried hard to not make it sound like a question.
“Yeah, right, remember. Come on.” Emery rose and took the two sticks from his mother. He handed one to Philip. “Get up. We’ll show them. Get up!”
What is Emery talking about? Philip asked himself. Show them what? He stood up, though, and watched Emery.
Emery started banging the wooden end of his yardstick on the rug, holding tightly to the aluminum at the top. As he banged the yardstick up and down, he hopped quickly in a circle around it, alternately landing flat on his left foot, then on the toes of his right foot.
“Come on,” said Emery, and Philip could see the panic rising in his friend’s eyes.
Philip started banging his yardstick and hopping around in a circle, his right foot landing on the toe, his left hitting flat.
“It’s a singing and a dancing show,” Emery called over the noise of the stick. “We didn’t learn the song yet, but it’s a good dance. Watch.”
As he danced and hopped, he moved across the dining room toward the stairway to the second floor. Philip followed him, hopping and dancing crazily. Philip felt like an idiot and thought Emery looked like a moron. He didn’t look at his parents because he knew what they must be thinking. Like Emery, though, he wanted to get away from the table and away from Lawrence Talbot.
“What in the world is going on in their school? I found a yardstick just like those outside my house,” Philip heard Lawrence Talbot say as he and Emery danced out of the room to the bottom of the stairs. Philip heard Lawrence Talbot’s voice again. “Can I go talk to them?”
“Be my guest, if you don’t think it will spoil your appetite,” Emery’s father responded.
“He’s coming,” Philip cried, and he and Emery charged up the stairs. “Where’ll we hide?”
“The babies’ room. The babies’ room.” They ducked into the middle bedroom, and the boys dove behind one of the two baby cribs. They heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Outside their bedroom door they heard Lawrence Talbot’s voice, “Philip. Emery. Where are you?”
Emery’s mouth moved quickly, but Philip couldn’t make out in the dim light what he said. Finally, he heard Emery cry, “One, two, three.” Emery burst out from behind his crib and ran to the door. Philip could think of nothing else to do but follow him. They leaped out into the hallway.
“Oh, there you are.”
“Ahhhh!” Emery turned and tossed his yardstick at Lawrence Talbot.
“Hey!”
Philip ran straight ahead and stuck the aluminum foil end into Lawrence Talbot’s stomach like a sword.
“Ouch! What . . . ?”
“The basement,” Emery screamed and down the stairs the boys pounded.
Philip followed Emery around
the corner from the dining room and down into the dark cellar. Emery grabbed Philip and pulled him into a tiny closet his father had built to store cans of food and rolls of paper goods. They stood quietly in the dark and caught their breath.
“Maybe the silver-headed walking sticks finished him,” Emery whispered.
“How could they? They weren’t silver. They’re only aluminum foil.”
“Aluminum foil’s silver. It’s silver enough. It better be.”
“We left our crosses at the table,” Philip said between breaths.
“Maybe we can breathe garlic breath on him.”
“If he’s close enough for us to breathe garlic on, we’re dead ducks.”
The lights flashed on. Both boys sucked in great breaths and held onto them. Footsteps descended the stairs. When the footsteps stopped, Emery whispered in as small a voice as he could manage.
“When I say three, up and through the dining room and out the kitchen door. One, two three.”
Emery threw the door open and ran up the cellar stairs, charging past his father, Philip right behind him. Emery slipped going around the corner from the basement to the dining room, and Philip tumbled on top of him. They scrambled to their feet quickly, Philip now in front, and tore straight into the dining room toward the kitchen.
“Ahhh! He’s here,” Philip cried, seeing Mr. Talbot back in his dining chair and screeching to a stop. “Turn around! Turn around.”
“We’re trapped,” Emery shrieked.
“Turn around!” Philip pushed his way past Emery as Mrs. Wyatt approached the table holding a tray full of bowls with steam rising from them.
Emery grabbed Philip and tried to get in front again. Philip pushed him away and together they smashed into Mrs. Wyatt, who stood still as a statue, amazed at the spectacle of the two horrified boys. The tray went one way, and the bowls went the other. The tray clanked against the table before coming to rest on the floor. The bowls crashed down on the table right in front of Lawrence Talbot. They bounced and hit him in the chest and arms, and one rolled gently into his lap.
“Yow!” Mr. Talbot cried and jumped up.
“Philip!” shrieked Mrs. Felton. “Look what you’ve done! You just covered the new assistant principal of your school with hot chicken noodle soup!”
Philip and the Monsters (9781619500464) Page 5
