Stink and the Hairy Scary Spider

by Megan McDonald

  “Stink, that frog is still out in the backyard somewhere,” said Judy. “Go get it.”

  Stink glanced out the back window. “I’ll do three things from your Chore Chart and you can keep the dollar if you go get it.”

  “Feed Mouse, clean litter box, take out recycling,” said Judy.

  “Done,” said Stink. “Check Cootie Corner—that’s where I last saw it.”

  Judy ran outside. She was gone a long time. When she came back, she had leaves in her hair and scratches on her arm and grass stains on her knees.

  “Whoa. You look like you were attacked by Spiderzilla!” said Stink

  Judy grinned and held up the dollar-bill frog. “Dollarzilla!”

  At school that day, Stink had spiders on the brain. He saw them crawling down the hall, up the classroom wall, in the bathroom stall. The hourglass in science lab reminded him of a black widow. The violin in the music room reminded him of a brown recluse. Riley Rottenberger’s striped shirt reminded him of a zebra tarantula.

  Stink stayed inside during recess. He folded an origami paper boat. He folded a fox face. He folded a shark face.

  Webster, Sophie of the Elves, and Riley Rottenberger came to find him.

  “Come out on the playground with us,” said Webster. Sophie nodded.

  “Did you get in trouble or something?” asked Riley.

  “Or something,” said Stink, imitating his sister Judy. He folded a ninja star.

  He folded another ninja star, and then another. He gave one each to Webster, Sophie, and Riley.

  “This isn’t about spiders, is it?” asked Webster.

  “There are bazillions of spiders out there. Quadrillions! Spiders are everywhere. You told me one acre of land can have up to one million spiders! If our playground is half an acre, that’s half a million spiders!”

  “I used to be scared of spiders,” said Riley. “But now I pick them up in my bare hands.”

  “For real?” asked Stink.

  “For real. If I even saw a spider I’d scream my head off.”

  “How did you get cured?” asked Stink.

  “It took a while,” said Riley. “I did it in baby steps. First, I just thought about spiders . . . on purpose . . . a lot.”

  “Done,” said Stink. “Spiders are about the only thing I can think about since I found Spiderzilla in my yard!”

  “Then I looked at pictures of spiders. Spiders in magazines, spiders in books, even spiders on the nature channel.”

  “We tried that,” said Webster. “We also sang the Itsy-Bitsy Spider song and told spider jokes. Even the Charlotte Factor didn’t work.”

  “Then it’s time to touch a spider,” said Riley. “It tricks your brain into thinking you’re not afraid. It works for fear of blood, fear of snakes, and fear of dirt, too.”

  Stink made a horror face.

  “I didn’t touch a spider right away. I had to work up to it. First I touched it with a paintbrush. Then I touched it with a glove on. Then I touched it with my bare hands.”

  “Maybe you could try petting something hairy first,” said Webster.

  Stink reached inside his desk. “How about an Abe Lincoln beard from when I was Abe Lincoln?”

  Riley nodded.

  “And you always carry that fuzzy yeti in your backpack,” said Sophie.

  Stink closed his eyes. He stroked the Abe Lincoln beard. He petted the yeti. All of a sudden, he jumped up out of his seat and shook his head. “It feels creepy!”

  “Okay, forget closing your eyes. We need something that looks more like a real spider to trick your brain. Something you can touch with your eyes open.”

  Sophie held up an origami bug. “What if you made an origami spider?”

  “Yeah! Origami spiders look real,” said Webster.

  “That’s it!” said Riley.

  “Just one problem,” said Stink. “Origami spiders are hard to make. They’re Level Medium.”

  “Time to graduate to Level Medium,” said Riley.

  Webster came over after school. Stink took out two squares of origami paper. They stared at the directions for a long time.

  “There are two halves to the spider: the head and the body. Each half has four legs. Which one do you want to make?” asked Stink.

  “Head,” said Webster.

  Stink started his half with a frog base. Easy-peasy! He turned the paper top to bottom. He grabbed two flaps and pulled them apart. He made a mountain fold. He made a valley fold. He made an inside reverse fold.

  Voilà! NOT!

  “Something’s not right,” said Stink. “My half looks more like a four-legged pretzel!” Stink and Webster cracked up.

  Webster started his half with a frog base. He made a valley fold. He repeated the fold, just like the directions said. He turned it over. “My spider head looks like Darth Vader’s helmet.”

  “Maybe if we put the two halves together it will look right,” said Stink. He attached the Darth Vader head to the pretzel body.

  Frankenspider!

  Stink and Webster started over. They tried again. And again. They folded and refolded. They creased and double creased. They reverse folded and repeated.

  Finally, Stink had four legs and a body. Webster had four legs and a head. Webster blew into the spider body. Poof! He inserted the spider head into the body.

  At last! An eight-legged, not-creepy, origami tarantula.

  “We did it!” said Webster. “We’re the best.”

  “We climbed Level Medium and conquered it like Mount Everest,” said Stink.

  Webster took out a marker and colored the tarantula’s toes pink.

  “Freaky,” said Stink. “It looks so real.”

  “It’s just paper,” said Webster. “Remember, you made it yourself. So it’s not scary.”

  “It wasn’t scary when it was a pretzel,” said Stink. “But now it’s a spider!”

  Webster set the origami spider on Stink’s desk. “How about if you start by staring at the spider for three minutes without looking away?”

  Stink stared at the origami tarantula. He blinked. He blinked some more. But he did not look away.

  “Good,” said Webster. “Now I’m going to make it crawl on your shoe. Ready?”

  “Ready,” said Stink.

  Webster made the paper tarantula crawl across Stink’s stinky sneaker.

  “I didn’t even get a shiver!” said Stink.

  “Next the tarantula will crawl up your leg to your knee.”

  “Check me out,” said Stink.

  “No problemo,” said Webster. “Now the tarantula will crawl up your arm.”

  “Wait? What?”

  Webster marched the origami tarantula up Stink’s arm. “How’s it feel?”

  “I only got two shivers and three goose bumps!” said Stink. “Hand me the paintbrush.”

  Stink touched the origami tarantula with a paintbrush. He touched it while wearing a glove. He touched it with his bare hands!

  “You did it!” said Webster. “Now let’s go search for the real thing. Ready?”

  “Ready,” said Stink. “Operation Search-and-Rescue Pink-Toe Tarantula will begin in five, four, three, two, now!”

  Webster headed for the door. Stink did not move. His feet were glued to the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Webster.

  “Maybe I should, um, touch just one more hairy thing with my eyes closed?”

  “Okay, but that’s all,” said Webster.

  “And one more hairy thing with my eyes open.”

  “And that’s all?” asked Webster.

  “Then make the origami spider crawl up my arm one last time.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “That’s all,” said Stink.

  At last, it was time. Time to find that South American pink-toe tarantula.

  “Ready or not, here we come,” called Stink. He crept across the grass, slow as a snail, carrying a critter case and inching his way over to Cootie Corner.

 
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” called Webster. They searched in the tall grass and under piles of leaves. They turned over rocks and crawled along the fence line on hands and knees.

  “We’re tarantula detectives,” said Stink. “Our mission is to locate the suspect and return it to its rightful owner.”

  “We’re super spies. Spider spies. You can’t say spi-der without saying spy.”

  “Look for something pink. And hairy,” said Stink.

  Webster kicked at the leaves. “I spy with my little eye . . . something pink!” He picked it up.

  “Rats,” said Stink. “Just an old sandbox shovel.”

  Holes had been dug here, there, and everywhere. “Are all these holes from when you were searching for a prehistoric saber-toothed cat tooth?” asked Webster.

  “Yep,” said Stink. “Hey! Maybe Lula is hiding in one of the saber-tooth holes.”

  “How do you know the spider’s name is Lula?” Webster asked.

  Stink shrugged. “I don’t. I just thought she looked like a Lula.”

  Webster peered into each hole. Stink poked a stick inside one, then another. No Lula.

  “We have to think like a tarantula,” said Webster.

  “If you were big and hairy, where would you hide?” asked Stink.

  “Up in a tree?” said Webster.

  Stink tapped the side of his head. “Smart thinking, Webster.”

  “Well, I am named after a dictionary,” said Webster. Stink cracked up.

  Stink and Webster climbed the old oak in Cootie Corner. They looked up. They looked down. They looked all around.

  “Hey, there’s Judy,” said Stink. “Hide!” Stink pulled a branch down in front of them and hid behind the leaves.

  Judy ran over to the oak tree. “Stink. I know you’re up there. I can see the leaves shaking.”

  “That’s just a squirrel,” said Stink.

  “Squirrels don’t talk, Stinkerdoodle. I came to tell you to come inside. Now. Mom and Dad said it’s chore time, and you have to do my chores for me. Remember?”

  “But we’re being Super Spider Spies,” said Stink. “Super Spider Spies don’t do chores.”

  “If you don’t do my chores, you’re going to be up a tree for real. Get it?”

  “Hardee-har-har,” said Stink. He and Webster scrambled down out of the tree. “Sorry, Webster. I have double chores because I have to do Judy’s. Long story.”

  “I can help,” said Webster. “Then it will go twice as fast and we can keep looking for Lula.”

  “Don’t forget to feed Mouse, clean the litter box, and take out the recycling,” said Judy.

  “I know, I know, I know,” said Stink.

  Webster followed Stink inside. They fed Mouse. They scooped poop out of the litter box. P.U.!

  “Doing chores is even harder than being tarantula detectives,” said Webster.

  “And way more stinky,” said Stink. “Thanks for helping.”

  Next they went out to the garage to get the recycling. “If you carry one bag, I’ll take the other,” said Stink. “Then we can search for Lula some more!”

  Stink and Webster took the bags over to the big blue bin. They lifted them into the air. Stink was just about to dump his bag full of jars and papers and cardboard and cans when something moved.

  Stink jabbed a finger at an old tuna-fish can. “Did you see what I saw?”

  “If you saw something move, then I saw what you saw.”

  “What was it?” Stink stuck his head inside the blue bin.

  “I think that tuna-fish can is alive,” said Webster, pointing.

  Stink reached to grab the can. He pulled it out of the bin. He turned it over.

  “AARGH!” yelled Webster.

  “AARGH!” yelled Stink, flinging the can to the ground.

  The tuna-fish can moved. The tuna-fish can scurried across the yard. The tuna-fish can did push-ups. The tuna-fish can lifted itself up!

  Out crawled a South American pink-toe tarantula named Lula.

  Free at last! Lula started legging it across the backyard.

  “Help! She’s getting away!” yelled Stink.

  Webster ran after her. “She’s making a run for it. Hurry. Before she hides!”

  Lula was fast. She was making a beeline for the Toad Pee Club tent. Webster pounced. Too late! “Oh, no! Looks like she went under the tent.”

  Stink poked his head in. He watched a lump crawl along the tent floor.

  “Try to catch her when she comes out the other side!” said Webster.

  If he was going to rescue Lula, he had to do it . . . now.

  “There she is!” yelled Webster. “Get her!”

  Stink had to act fast. He did not stop to find a paintbrush. He did not stop to put on a glove. EEK! Stink chased after that tarantula and scooped it right up in his bare hands!

  AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!

  Webster opened the lid to the critter case. Stink tossed the tarantula inside.

  “Hallelujah!” said Webster.

  “Halle-Lula!” said Stink.

  “I can’t believe you touched it!” said Webster.

  “Me either!” said Stink.

  “You just shook hands with a hairy, scary spider,” said Webster. “You, Stink Moody, touched a tarantula. With your bare hands! ¡Qué fantástico!”

  “I have the Tarantula Touch now.” Stink held up his hands. “I’m never washing my hands again. Call me Edward Spiderhands.”

  Webster picked up the critter case. “This hairy Houdini almost got recycled! We better get her some food and water, and take her inside where she’ll be safe.”

  “Not in my room, though,” said Stink. “Nah-uh. No, siree, bobcat tail! I might have touched a tarantula, but no way am I sleeping with one in the same room.”

  “You should keep it in the bathroom,” said Webster. “My cousin turns on the shower till it’s hot and steamy. That’s how tarantulas like it.”

  In the bathroom, Stink turned on the hot water till the mirror got steamy. He set the critter case with the tarantula on the back of the toilet. He closed the door.

  A little while later, Judy went down the hall to the bathroom. She opened the door.

  “AARGH!” She tore out of the bathroom, screaming her head off.

  Mom came running up the stairs to see what was the matter. She went into the bathroom.

  “AARGH!” Mom came running out, too.

  Dad raced up the stairs. “What’s all the screaming about?” Mom and Judy pointed to the bathroom.

  Dad stepped into the bathroom.

  “AARGH!” He came rushing out, too.

  Stink and Webster came out into the hall. “What’s wrong? You’re not afraid of a little spider, are you?” Stink teased.

  “F-f-first of all,” Judy stuttered, “that thing is not little. Second of all, that thing is hairy!”

  “It’s a South American pink-toe,” said Stink.

  “I’m all for spiders,” said Judy, “but that giant hairy thing could give a person a heart attack.”

  “I thought you weren’t scared of spiders,” said Stink.

  “I’m not,” said Judy, “but Mom and Dad might be. We have to think of them.”

  “You can’t keep a tarantula, Stink,” said Mom.

  “Why not?” asked Stink.

  “Because you’re scared of spiders, Stinkerbell!” said Judy.

  “Not anymore.”

  “We don’t know how to care for it,” said Mom.

  “It’s probably somebody’s special pet, Stink,” said Dad. “I say we take it to Fur & Fangs, and see if they know anything about it.”

  “Dad’s right,” said Mom. “Somebody around here might be missing a South American pink-toe tarantula.”

  “Webster and I could go look for signs on telephone poles,” said Stink. “Like ‘Lost Dog’ signs. If somebody lost their tarantula, maybe they put up a sign. Then we can contact the owner.”

  “Fine,” said Mom. “I’m willing to give it on
e more day. But if you don’t find the owner by tomorrow, it’s got to go.”

  Stink and Webster raced to the corner. Signs were stapled up and down the pole. “Wow. Three ‘Lost’ signs and one ‘Found,’” said Stink. They read the first sign.

  “That’s funny!” said Webster. “Check this one out.”

  “They don’t even want their cat back!” said Stink.

  “Duh! Look at the picture. It’s a raccoon, not a puppy!” Stink and Webster could not stop laughing.

  “There’s one more,” said Webster.

  “Lost bird, cat, crab, and one found puppy-raccoon, but NO spider,” said Stink.

  “Poor Lula. What if her owner doesn’t even know she’s missing?”

  “I got it!” said Stink. “I’ll make a ‘Found’ sign.”

  After Webster went home, Stink drew a picture of Lula at the top of his sign.

  Stink ran to the corner and tacked the sign on the pole.

  That night he said, “Time for a bedtime story, Lula.” He read that spider a chapter from Charlotte’s Web. He told that spider a story about Anansi the Spider that he’d heard at the library. He sang Lula a lullaby—“The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” in Spanish—until he lulled that spider to sleep, even though it was nighttime and tarantulas are nocturnal.

  At school the next day, it poured rain. Class 2D had indoor recess. Stink went up to his teacher’s desk. “Mrs. D.,” said Stink, “can I borrow a dollar?”

  “Did you forget your lunch money, Stink?” asked Mrs. D.

  “No. I’m not going to keep it. I’m going to make you a money tree. I’ll give it right back. I promise.”

  “Money tree,” said Mrs. D. “I like the sound of that.” She took out a dollar bill and handed it to Stink.

  “Thanks!” said Stink. Stink folded an origami dollar-bill tree. That’s when he found a spider hiding on Mrs. D.’s dollar bill.

  Stink showed his friends. He pointed to the corner of the dollar bill.

  “That’s not a spider, it’s an owl,” said Webster, squinting.