The Monstrous Memoirs of a Mighty McFearless

by Ahmet Zappa

  “I am a McFearless and I'll never give in to your trickery, beast!” My father spat directly into the creature's face. That wasn't the best idea—the ramifications were severe. The horned beast began to beat my father with its cruel claws.

  I wanted nothing more than to wake myself from this nightmarish vision, but I couldn't. I was trapped. Just like my father—trapped.

  Then, with a snap of its fingers, the fiend signaled for its Swoggler and let it loose upon my father's mind.

  “SSssyesSS, SSssmaster, SSssthank SSssyou, SSssmaster,” said the Swoggler, drooling.

  Why couldn't I wake up? I didn't want to see this.

  The Swoggler opened its saber-toothed sucker mouth wide to reveal thousands of tiny serrated needle teeth. Saliva dripped down my father's face from the Swoggler's constricting lips as it positioned its wormy mouth around his head, creating the suctioning seal necessary to extract the nourishing information its master wanted—and its own tummy craved. My father's scream was horrifying (the memory of it haunts me still) and marked the first time I had ever seen tears fall from his eyes. Both monsters found this hilarious and savored his agony.

  “SSsslet SSssme SSssin SSssto SSssyour SSsshead, SSssMcFearlessSS,” hissed the Swoggler. “SSssmy SSssmaster SSsswantsSS SSssthe SSsscombination.”

  My father tried as hard as he could not to answer the inquisitorial demands of the beast, but nothing was safe from the Swoggler's giant, leeching mouth. It feasted from a fountain full of my father's first McFearless memories and stole precious moments he held hidden in his heart. It was futile for my father to resist. The Swoggler savagely sucked and sucked until the answer it needed came easily out of my father's head.

  “You may stop now, slave. I may need something more from him later,” said the hateful shark-eyed creature. “I'm afraid you may already have ruined him.”

  “SSssyesSS, SSssmaster, SSssasSS SSssyou SSsswish,” the Swoggler said obediently, and released my barely breathing father from its mouth.

  Now that the gargoyle monster finally had the combination to the Bewilder Box, nothing could stop it. Its giant fingers worked the tricky patterns and grooves until the box was open. But what should have been a victorious sharp-toothed smile was instead an ice-cold deadly frown. “Where is it, Manfred?” shrieked the beast with terrible fury, crushing a useless marble between its long, powerful fingers.

  When my father realized what his mischievous son had done, a faint smile came to his face. “Max,” he whispered to himself. Then his heart stopped beating.

  “No!” I screamed wildly, bolting awake with my heart pounding and my body drenched in sweat. Max was so shocked by my outburst that he flung his arms about and unfortunately knocked the reins of our horse-drawn cart right out of Mr. Devilstone's paws.

  “Nice work, Max,” said the coyote unhappily, holding on to his top hat while he fished for the fallen reins. To make matters worse, the diamond around Mr. Devilstone's neck began to glow, and the horses became spooked by something, no doubt evil, hiding in the woods. They whinnied and reared up on their hind legs, violently kicking into the night air. Under no one's control, the horses began to pick up speed and zigzagged in a panicked frenzy.

  “Do something!” shouted Ms. Monstranomicon desperately, opening and slamming her cover with each syllable. Max held on to the front railing while he tried his best to grab hold of Ms. Monstranomicon. The cart wildly jolted up and down, and I was launched into the air. I tumbled head over heels across the damp earth and through the tall grass of Fangswood Forest. Eventually, I came to a hard stop and watched the others speed off uncontrollably down the road without me.

  Thousand-year-old trees loomed eerily above me. Their trunks had grown so tremendously thick over time that the distance between them was only inches. Some had even grown into one another and cast horrifyingly twisted shadow shapes across the ground.

  Finding Max's satchel, not too far away from me, barely brightened my spirits. It had somehow followed me off the cart and wound up wedged in a jagged stump. Once I had the pack in my hands, I pulled out one of Max's clean shirts and happily used it to wipe away as much of the muddy dirt as I could, hopefully leaving a permanent stain. Now, that made me feel a whole lot better. I also found a few large strips of peppered buffalo jerky, which I hungrily put in my mouth.

  Time passed without any sign of Max, Mr. Devilstone or Ms. Monstranomicon, and the forest seemed to grow darker and more sinister while I waited. And it also made me nervous. In the quiet of the darkness, my heartbeat was the only thing that kept me company. That was when I noticed that there were no more bugs chirping and the night birds no longer hooted at the moon. Everything had suddenly grown deathly still, and a distinctively bad feeling that I was being watched crept over me.

  “Owahroooo ow ow owrooo!” I heard the guttural howl of an unknown creature coming from somewhere behind me.

  The savage wailing cry conveyed hunger and a thirst for blood. I spun around to see if I could catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise, but it was too dark.

  “Owrooo, I'm coming for you!” Another snarling howl came, closer than the last.

  It was very unsettling. I moved around in slow circles with my guard up, waiting for whatever was stalking me to show itself.

  “I've missed you, McFearless,” whispered a scratchy animal-like voice, even closer still, reverberating off the trees in all directions. Whoever or whatever was doing this enjoyed toying with me and was trying to scare me out of my mind before it attacked. Guess what? It was working.

  “Here I come, Minerva,” threatened the mystery monster voice.

  I had very little time before the monster came for me; I was sure of that. If I was going to stand a fighting chance, I needed a weapon. I dove for Max's satchel just as the sound of fallen leaves being crunched by quickly running monster feet caught my attention. Before I reached the pack, I was yanked upside down by my ankles.

  “Owahrooo! Not a chance, my little meaty morsel. Who knows what kinds of danger you might have stored in there?” said the all-too-familiar voice of the Howleewoof.

  My face turned red as all my blood suddenly rushed down toward my head. The Woof's viselike monster hands tightly held me suspended in the air while I pounded on its thick, hairy, mangy coat with my bare fists.

  “Hello, McFearless. Have you missed me since my last uninvited visit? I know I missed you—missed not eating you, that is.” The Howleewoof exhaled putrid bursts of hot stink into my face through its fangs. The odor burnt my eyes as if I had been cutting thousands of raw onions inches away from my eyelids.

  “Put me down!” I screamed, writhing within its grip. “And where is my father? What have you done with him, you fiend?”

  “How about no? And in answer to your second and third questions, boo-hoo for you, my master's got him,” barked the Woof condescendingly, without taking its huge, unblinking yellow eyes off me. “He just couldn't wait any longer to get at what was in your father's Bewilder Box, so he flew all the way down here, snatched him up and took him back to Doominstinkinfart to torture—which means, sadly for you, that your daddy has probably already gone bye-bye. Sorry, my little snack!” The news of my father scared me and made me think that the vision I'd had of him earlier wasn't just a dream. No, I thought, it couldn't have been real. But my father needed me, and I needed to escape.

  “If you value your life, monster, then you'll let me go, because my friends will be here any second with some reinforcements from Whistlesqueak!” I lied, trying to scare the Howleewoof.

  “Would these be the same people whose horses I spooked, which led to me having you here? The same ones who won't be able to hear your screams while I'm eating you?” said the Howleewoof mockingly as droplets of its spittle landed on my cheek. “Your lies don't scare me, Minerva. And for your information, I highly doubt that anyone will be leaving Whistlesqueak or living there ever again. You see, my gargantuan friend Greblor is there right now as we speak and is probably finishing
off the last of the Whistlesqueakians as I'm saying this, having tracked down anyone dumb enough to stay in town.” The stench of the Woof's hot, fetid breath made me gag.

  “You are in serious need of a mint, did you know that?” I said, secretly eyeballing Max's satchel.

  “What are you talking about? My breath is fantastic,” said the Woof, intentionally blowing its hot, stinky breath directly at my nose. “All the lady Woofs love it.” It was torture.

  “No, your breath is absolutely killing me—kind of like the way Max and I killed your fat friend Greblor,” I said, moving my head back and forth in search of spots of fresh air, trying desperately not to smell the beast's bad breath.

  “Spare me your tall tales, little liar,” the Howleewoof snarled. “Like I said, I'm sure Greblor's eaten up everybody in Whistlesqueak by now and grown even more monolithically monstrous in the process. You could never have stopped him and his insidious appetite. Even I get scared of him sometimes.”

  “No, it's true.” I gasped the words while I fought to keep myself from gagging. “We tricked him into eating himself, and when he shrank to a bite-sized coyote chomp, our friend ate him up. Now, I'm begging you, please let me go. Haven't you ever heard of brushing your teeth?”

  “How dare you keep making up those impossible fibs about one of my best fat ferocious friends. Now, I want you to just shut up and be delicious,” the Woof growled, then used its warm, smelly, wet tongue to lick a disgusting thin layer of stinky hot saliva all over my face. (This was the worst. Its dirty mouth germs had gotten all over me. It was unbearable.) “After I bite off your head and slurp out your insides, I think it'll be rather fun for me to turn your outsides into a snazzy coat for me to parade around in. A reminder that it was I who put an end to the lying little McFearless girl who'd never shut up.” Then the Howleewoof hoisted me above its snout and positioned me over its salivating open mouth, giving me a very clear, unwanted view down its throat. There was no way I was going to give this beast an easy meal, so I started squirming as wildly as I could. “Hold still so I can bite your head off without damaging the rest of you. Otherwise you'll ruin my coat idea,” said one very annoyed Howleewoof.

  “NO!” I screamed as loudly as I could.

  That was also all the time I needed to reach into the pack and pull out … a smelly pair of boots?

  “They're forty yards east of here and roughly three minutes away if they hurry, but it doesn't matter. You'll be torn open by then,” the Howleewoof said, chuckling and licking my entire face again with its sour-smelling slimy tongue as if I were a human lollipop, which was really the last straw.

  “Hey, barf breath, I want to give you something,” I said through pursed lips as I dodged his licking tongue.

  “Oh, and what's that?” said the Woof.

  This! I shouted, and punched the Howleewoof square in the nose like a boxer would have. But instead of boxing gloves, I had slipped a pair of python boots around my fists. When my punch connected with the monster's snot-filled, greasy black nose, a fire erupted on the Woof's face and it screamed.

  “Oww! Oh, no, Stinkfeet Talismans!” moaned the Howleewoof in severe pain, instantly dropping me to the ground. I was more than pleasantly surprised by the incendiary effect that the boots had on my flea-ridden foe. And I hate to admit (because of how badly I was ignored back in Whistlesqueak) how thankful I was that Max and Ms. Monstranomicon had foresightedly made up batches of the anti-Woof recipe (because if they hadn't, I probably wouldn't have a face).

  “Who's scared of who now?” I taunted.

  “Oww, it burns, you evil little brat. I'll never be able to smell again!” howled the Howleewoof, frantically patting its face with hairy hands to snuff out the flames around its snout—which caused its hands also to go up in flames. “I'll get you for this, McFearless! Mark my words, this isn't over! You are one dead child!”

  “Oh, yeah? You want some more?” I threatened, and advanced toward the burning Woof. But it'd had enough and cowered away from me.

  “Please, no more!” shrieked a very terrified and very flaming Howleewoof as it ran into the safety of the forest to lick its wounds.

  I had done it! I had defeated my very first monster, all by myself. Where was a witness when I needed one? I had just finished that thought when I heard the slightly muffled sound of fur-covered paws clapping. I turned to see Mr. Devilstone casually resting his back against a tree.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I asked, surprised.

  “Long enough,” he said. “Good job. You won't be seeing that monster anytime soon. Your great-great-great-grandfather would be proud of you.”

  “Really, you think?” I said.

  “Oh, I know he would. How's your shoulder feeling, by the way? All better?” asked Mr. Devilstone, sounding concerned.

  I wiggled it around before I answered him. “Perfect,” I said.

  “That's good; glad to hear it. Max and Ms. Monstranomicon should be here very soon, and we should set up camp for tonight. I'm sure we could all use the rest—especially you, oh, mighty monster hunter!” said Mr. Devilstone with a wink and a half-cocked, crooked smile.

  When Max and Ms. Monstranomicon arrived, Max gave me my satchel, which I was so thankful for since I'd be able to wash up. Once I had cleaned up to my satisfaction, using canteen water and a lovely lemon-scented bar of soap, I decided to tell everyone about my horrible vision. They gathered around me by the fire Mr. Devilstone had made for us, and I began. I told them of the two beasts I'd seen torturing my father— the Swoggler and the other, more supremely evil creature, which I couldn't name. Mr. Devilstone's ears perked up, and his eye began to glow a furious red. Or it could've been the reflection of the fire's crimson flames in his eyeball playing tricks on me.

  “Do you know who that other monster was?” I asked curiously.

  “Perhaps,” said Mr. Devilstone, but I could tell he was holding something back.

  “Well, do you think our father is okay?” I said, my curiosity growing.

  “Perhaps,” said Mr. Devilstone once again, broodingly deep in thought. Why wasn't he telling what he knew?

  “Perhaps what? What do you mean?” I said, desperately confused. I knew he knew something, and I needed more of an answer than just “perhaps.”

  “No more questions for tonight, children,” was Mr. Devilstone's response. “You both need your sleep.” Then he pointed toward our tent.

  Neither Max nor I was happy with the coyote's mysterious answers, but I was too exhausted by my ordeal to argue—and Max was still very upset after hearing about my strange vision.

  “Max, I want you to know that I think Dad is okay,” I said with as much hope as I could muster. “And what I saw was just a dream. If he had died, I think we would've felt his passing in our hearts. And I know that I've felt no such thing. We're going to get him back.”

  “Yeah, I think you're right, Mini,” Max said as he wiped away a tear. Then he grabbed me and hugged me as hard as he could. His loving gesture strengthened the belief I had in my own words, and I squeezed him back even harder.

  So Max and I grabbed some blankets and snuggled up with Ms. Monstranomicon. I was pretty sure that the Howleewoof wouldn't show his mangy face around there again, but I decided to read up on the beast, just in case.

  As I lay there, imagining the constellations above us, I really began to miss my mother—and feared for my dad's safety even more. But having Max by my side helped a lot and brought comfort to my worrying mind. It took me a while, but I finally fell asleep, holding Max's hand.

  depths. In his mind, there'd be a giant pirate ship with his name on it, waiting patiently for its captain (Max). I hate it when he's in pirate mode, and he was in it full force that day. “All ye chickenhearted landlubbers can't catch me, for I am the dreaded pirate Maxwell McFearless, captain of the stormy seven seas.” I felt like stuffing my sweaty feet-flavored socks down Max's pirate throat, I wanted him to shut up so bad. But I didn't have to.

&n
bsp; Thankfully, he shut himself up once we made it to our shallow swampland destination. He was so disappointed by how unlike an ocean it was, he was rendered speechless. I guess the dreaded pirate Maxwell McFearless, sadly, would have to set sail some other time. But I too was upset, for different reasons. The mosquito-riddled watery wasteland before me was worse than I ever could have possibly imagined. Noxious fumes invaded our noses, and biting bugs nibbled at our warm necks. I hated the thick spoiled-egg smell of it all. Only insects and alligators could survive these queasy conditions year-round. Humans weren't made, in my McFearless estimation, to withstand much time in these polluted parts.

  I couldn't take it anymore. I searched through our satchels and found some extra pieces of clothing. I quickly tore a cotton undershirt into two pieces and tied half around my nose and mouth, trying to cover as much of my face as possible. Then I held the other half of the shirt out to Max and instructed him to do the same. But he just stared at me like I was a crazy person. I figured the fabric would act as a filter and keep most of the miserable marshland's harmful inhalants out of our systems. Then I rolled down my sleeves to my wrists, even though the temperature was extremely warm, pulled my socks up as high as they would go and piled on layers of clothing until the only parts of me not covered were my hands and a slit around my eyes so that I could see. I wished that this weren't the case, that I'd had the foresight to bring gloves and goggles. I was sure that I looked like some sort of strange Bedouin child or an escapee from an insane asylum, but I didn't care. I didn't want the diseases that the Marshlands of Mold could give me.