Spiders Don’t Wear Pink
Cootie Corner
The Charlotte Factor
Close Encounters of the Spider Kind
Frankenspider
Super Spider Spies
Halle-Lula
Stink Moody, O.S.H.
Kiki the Superbad
Hairy!
Scary!
Be wary!
Stink was on a kick. Stink was on a roll. Stink was in the zone. The paper-folding zone. Stink was cuckoo-crazy for origami.
Fold. Crease. Press. Turn. Flip.
He folded an orange origami fish. He folded a purple origami pinwheel. He folded a red origami ladybug.
Stink could not stop folding. He folded junk mail into a string of sailboats. He folded sticky notes into an army of ants. He even folded candy wrappers. He made a candy-bar dog, a bubble-gum ring, and a lollipop bow tie.
Easy-peasy!
Stink practiced folding Beginner Level origami. One day, he was going to advance to Level Medium.
Then Stink took out his lunch-money dollar bill. He folded it in half. He folded the corners down. He flipped it over. He folded the bottom up and the sides in. He folded the back legs. He folded the front legs. He made a zigzag fold and ta-da!
His dollar-bill jumping frog was ready to hop.
Stink took the origami frog outside. He pressed the back of the frog. It jumped across the deck. He pressed it again. It leaped across the yard. Again. It leaped into the tall weeds at the corner of the fence.
Stink ran over to get his jumping frog. Where was it? Stink pushed apart some tall weeds, when what to his wondering eye did appear?
Something in the grass. Something pink!
Was it a flower petal? A jelly bean? Doughnut sprinkles? An old piece of pink play clay? Maybe the pink thingy was a rare pink-flamingo mushroom!
Stink peered closer. Wait just a leap-frog second!
The pink thingy moved! The pink thingy was not just one pink thingy. It was several pink hairy things. And the pink hairy things were attached to even bigger, hairier . . . legs!
And the legs were attached to an even bigger, hairier . . . body.
And the body was attached to a giant, hairy . . . head.
And the hairy head had a bazillion and one eyes.
The pink thing in the weeds was a giant . . .
hairy . . .
scary . . .
spider!
Stink had never seen a spider so hairy. He had never seen a spider with so many eyes. Were those fangs?
He had never seen a spider with pink toes!
This was some kind of monster spider. A mutant spider that had escaped from a top-secret super-scientific radioactive lab.
Creature from the Pink Lagoon!
“Run!” Stink yelled to nobody but himself.
He ran. He ran into the house and through the kitchen and down the hall and up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door shut. He pulled a blanket around himself.
Bwaaaa! He shivered. Stink did not, would not, could not, like spiders. He had been meaning to get over his fear of spiders, but he had never gotten around to it.
What was a giant mutant spider doing in his very own backyard anyway?
Frogs? Yes. Toads. Definitely. Snails, slugs, and skinks? You betcha. Backyards would be boring without them.
But spiders made him shiver. Spiders made his skin crawl. Spiders felt like a thousand tiny prickly feet marching up and down his arms and legs.
Stink did not, would not, could not, go back out into the yard. But he had to get his jumping frog back. After all, it was one whole dollar bill!
If only he knew somebody who was NOT afraid of spiders. Hmm.
Eureka! Stink did know somebody who was NOT afraid of spiders.
Judy Moody!
His big sister thought wolf spiders were “cute.” She was not a Squisher. She was a Saver who set spiders free when they got inside the house. She once held a daddy longlegs in her bare hand.
Spiders had eight legs and about a million eyes. Okay, eight eyes. But in The World According to Stink, eight of anything was too many.
He was not, no way, no how, going back out there alone.
Stink found Judy in her room making a pet rock. “Hey, Judy! Are you up for a scare?”
“Always,” said Judy. “What did you have in mind? Telling spooky stories?”
“Scarier,” said Stink.
“Looking for a ghost in Grandma Lou’s basement?”
“Scarier,” said Stink.
“What’s scarier than that?” Judy asked.
“A ginormous, hairy, scary, radioactive mutant spider!”
“Cool,” said Judy. “Does it glow in the dark?” Judy tickled Stink’s arm with a feather. “The itsy-bitsy spider went up—”
Stink shook her off. “There is nothing itsy-bitsy about this spider. It has a million furry legs and a billion buggy eyes and venom-dripping fangs. It even has pink toes.”
“There’s no such thing as a pink-toed spider,” said Judy. “First of all, spiders don’t have toenails. Second of all, spiders do not wear pink.”
“You gotta see this thing. Up close and for reals.”
“No thanks.” She glued a googly eye onto the rock.
“Are you telling me that you, Judy Moody, have a chance to lay eyes on the world’s hairiest, scariest spider—I mean, we’re talking museum-quality spider here—but you would rather sit here and play with a rock?”
“Yep.”
“I’m telling you, this thing is gargantuan. It’s tarantulan!”
“Tarantula? Why didn’t you say so? Tarantulas are the coolest.”
“I double-dog-pink-toe dare you to come see the hairiest, scariest spider ever.”
Judy put down her pet rock. “Challenge accepted!”
Stink pulled Judy into the way-back corner of the yard. He pointed to the tall weeds. “That’s right where it is. Cootie Corner.”
“Cootie Corner?” asked Judy.
“I just named it that, because it has cooties now. Big, fat spider cooties.”
Judy pawed through the tall grass. “There’s nothing here, Stink.”
“Nothing big and hairy?” said Stink.
“Nope.”
“How about something with a hundred pink toes?” said Stink.
“Nope,” said Judy. “Maybe it was just a leaf. Or a piece of bark or something. Besides, tarantulas don’t live around here anyway.”
“Where do they live?”
“I think they live in the desert. Like in South America. Or Texas.”
“This one lives in Virginia,” said Stink. “It was right here. I swear.”
“I’m going back inside,” said Judy.
“But we didn’t find my dollar-bill frog!” called Stink, running after her.
Stink called his friend Sophie of the Elves. Sophie came right over. Stink led her straight to Cootie Corner. But the spider was not there. No tarantula. Nothing. So Sophie went home.
Stink called his friend Webster Gomez. Webster came right over. Stink led him straight to Cootie Corner. But the spider was not there. No tarantula. Nada.
“It was here, honest,” said Stink. “And guess what. It had pink toes.”
“I believe you,” said Webster. “My cousin Marcos has a red-knee tarantula. He knows about all kinds of tarantulas. He told me all about pink-toe tarantulas. They live in trees instead of on the ground, and they’re nocturnal. They come out at night. They are one of the hairiest of all tarantulas, and they live in South America.”
“So what’s a South American pink-toe tarantula doing in my backyard?”
“I bet it escaped!” said Webster. “Tarantulas a
re super fast. They’re escape artists. One time my cousin was cleaning his tarantula’s cage, and he left the screen at the top open just a crack. The tarantula got loose and was missing for a whole day.”
“How did they find it?”
“They put out some crickets and it came out when it got hungry. His tarantula was just hiding—inside his sneaker!”
“Phew. Luckily my sneakers are too stinky even for a tarantula,” said Stink.
“Did you hear about the tarantula that went to college?” asked Webster.
“He liked to surf the web?” Stink asked.
Webster cracked up. “No. It’s not a joke. This girl took her pet tarantula to college and it got loose in her dorm and crawled down three flights of stairs. They found it in the bathroom trying to climb into the toilet to get water.”
“Yikes!” said Stink. “I’m never going to college now.”
“Another time a lady was on a plane and she was watching a movie and she felt something crawl up her leg, and it was an escaped pet tarantula!”
“I’m never riding in a plane, either.”
“Yep. You have arachnophobia.”
“If that’s fear of spiders, I’ve got it bad,” said Stink.
“Just think,” said Webster. “Maybe your pink-toe tarantula is somebody’s pet. And it escaped and went on a wild adventure and ended up in your backyard.”
“You’re right,” said Stink. “What if some kid took her tarantula to school and it escaped out of her backpack and climbed up into her hair and she stuck her head out the bus window and the spider got blown off and sailed through the air over houses and trees and rooftops and PA-LOP! It landed right here on Croaker Road.”
Webster’s eyes were the size of mega marbles. “¡Qué padre!”
“Just saying,” said Stink.
“We have to rescue it,” said Webster. “Somebody around here is missing their pet. And if it is a pet, it might not be able to survive very long in the wild.”
Stink had rescued guinea pigs. But they were cute and furry, not hairy and scary. “To rescue it we have to find it. It’s kind of hard to look for something I don’t really want to find because it gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“It might be hard to find. One acre of land can have up to one million spiders.”
Gulp!
“Hey, maybe it’s up in a tree,” said Webster. “Pink-toes like to climb trees.”
Stink was standing right under an oak tree. He imagined a giant pink-toe tarantula falling out of the tree and landing smack-dab on top of his head.
“AAAAAAGGGH!” Stink ran inside the house as fast as he could run.
Webster ran after him. Stink shuddered just thinking about that spider. “Help! I gotta get over my arachno-thingy.”
“Maybe I can talk you out of being afraid of spiders,” said Webster. “You like facts. Let’s start with some spider facts. Tarantulas are called hairy mygalomorphs. Sounds cool, right?”
“Sounds big and scary to me.”
“They have fangs. And they have hairs with pokey things like cactus spines. If an owl or skunk threatens them, they can shoot hairs at them.” Webster pretended to be attacked by a thousand tarantula hairs. “RAHHHH!”
“That’s kinda cool,” said Stink. “You sure know a lot about spiders.”
“My name is Web-ster. Just call me the Web Man.”
Stink grinned.
“Tarantulas are afraid of people, just like you’re afraid of them,” said Webster.
“Really?”
“In some countries, people eat fried tarantulas. My cousin says they’re gooey like peanut butter and taste like crab cakes.”
“Eww. Hairy peanut butter,” said Stink. “What else you got, Web Man?”
“Spider blood is light blue, like raspberry ice-pops or puppy eyes. That’s not scary.” Webster scratched his head. “Are you cured yet?”
“Not yet,” said Stink.
“Let’s try the Charlotte Factor. Here’s how it works. I’ll read to you from Charlotte’s Web. Charlotte is a good spider who tries to cheer up Wilbur the pig by writing kind words like terrific in her web. If you like reading about Charlotte, maybe you’ll start to like spiders.”
Webster read one whole entire chapter. “Are you cured yet?”
“Not yet.”
Webster taught Stink how to sing “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” in Spanish.
“Are you cured yet?” asked Webster.
“Not yet,” said Stink.
“I’ll tell you a spider joke!” said Webster. “Then spiders will seem funny, not scary. Why do spiders make good baseball players?”
“Why?” asked Stink.
“They catch flies!”
Stink cracked up.
“See? It’s working!” said Webster. “What happened when the girl bit into a sandwich with a daddy longlegs in it?”
“It became a daddy short legs!” said Judy, popping into Stink’s room.
“Hey, no spying on us,” said Stink. “We’re doing something.”
“Maybe I want to do it, too,” said Judy.
“You don’t,” said Stink.
“I’m helping Stink to get over his arachnophobia,” said Webster.
“Fear of spiders,” said Stink.
“You can help,” said Webster.
“No! She can’t!” said Stink.
When Stink wasn’t looking, Judy crossed her thumbs and wiggled her eight fingers in front of the desk lamp. “Stink! Look!” she cried.
Stink saw the shadow of a giant spider creepy-crawling across the wall. “AARGH!” yelled Stink. He hopped up and ran around in circles.
“It’s just Judy making hand shadows,” said Webster.
“Out!” said Stink, pointing to the door.
“I was just trying to help,” Judy said with a sly grin as she left the room.
“How about if you try looking at a picture of a spider?” Webster suggested.
“I have a book about spiders,” said Stink. “But I hid it in my Shark Attack game because it creeps me out.”
Webster went into the closet and pulled out the game with the Big Head Book of Spiders. “We’ll start small.” He flipped through the pages.
“So. Many. Spiders.” Stink flinched. He shielded his eyes.
“See this spider? The Samoan moss spider. It’s the smallest spider in the world. It’s only the size of a pencil point.”
Stink the Science Nut perked up. A spider the size of a pencil point was interesting. A spider the size of a pencil point was fascinating. A spider the size of a pencil point was scientific!
He peered at the spider. “That’s not so scary,” said Stink.
“Have you ever heard of a rainbow-hued peacock spider? It’s only as big as a fingernail. They can wave their rainbow-colored butts in the air and dance.”
“Whoa. A dancing spider?” Stink peered closer at the picture.
Before you could say hairy mygalomorph, the science in Stink won out over the scared in him. Stink had his head in a book. Not just any book. A book about . . . hairy, scary spiders.
The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout . . .
But the spider was NOT itsy-bitsy. The spider was not teensy-weensy. It was biggy-wiggy. Fangy-wangy. Hairy-scary! Freaky-deaky!
The monster-sized spider was all leggy. It inched its way down from the ceiling on a single silk thread. It hung right above . . . Stink’s mouth!
Open wide and say “Ahh!” Stink’s mouth was open. Wide open. Stink’s mouth was stuck! H-E-L-P! He could not get his mouth to close.
Yikes! Stink E. Moody ate a spider! A biggy-wiggy, all-leggy monster spider.
Stink woke up. He threw off the covers. Spiders were creepy-crawling all over him! Stink squirmed. Stink itched. Stink scratched his spider bites.
Wait just a creepy-crawly second! Stink looked at both of his arms. Stink checked his legs. Stink lifted up his pajama top.
Phew! There weren’t any real spiders on him. He didn’t
really eat a monster spider. It had all been a dream. A bad dream. A nightmare.
A spider-mare!
Stink could no way, no how fall asleep now. There was a tree right outside his window. What if that pink-toed hairy beastie threw out some silk and swung from that tree and parachuted over to Stink’s window and squeezed through a crack right into Stink’s room and crawled into his race-car bed?
Stink hopped out of bed. He locked the window. He pulled the curtains shut. The house was quiet. Clock-ticking quiet.
Stink got rid of all things spider.
He hid his spider ring in his desk drawer. He turned his Spiderman sleeping bag inside out. He put the Big Head Book of Spiders back inside his Shark Attack game. The spider plant by the window would have to live in the closet for tonight.
At last, his room was spider-free.
Stink crawled back into bed. He hugged his stuffed yeti and hunkered under the covers, all snug in his bed. But visions of fangs and spinnerets still danced in his head.
Next thing he knew, Stink was being attacked by a goliath bird-eating tarantula named Blondie. “I’m going to eat you alive, Shrimp!” said the tarantula.
“Not if I can help it, Blondie!”
Blondie rubbed her hind legs and made a hissing noise that sounded like pulling apart Velcro. The spider released a cloud of prickly hairs. “Take that, Porcupine,” said Blondie.
Stink headed her off—Zing! Zing! Zing!—with his pool noodle. “You’ll not make Swiss cheese out of me, Blondie.” Blondie was just about to take a bite when . . .
Morning! Light poured through the crack in the curtains. Spider dreams gave Stink the heebie-jeebies. He took his pool noodle down to breakfast, just in case.
At the table, Stink folded origami cranes to take his mind off of spiders. “Mom, I need a dollar for lunch money.”
“I just gave you two dollars yesterday,” said Mom.
“I know,” said Stink, “but I may have turned my extra dollar bill into an origami jumping frog, and it leap-frogged away from me.”
Stink and the Hairy Scary Spider Page 1
