“Actually, I’m getting a second wind,” I said. “Let’s meet at the museum at four.”
“No need. We can ride over together,” said Martha. “I brought my tandem bicycle.”
“You brought it. To school,” I said with a sigh. “The place where everyone I know is. That’s—that’s fantastic.”
I grabbed my backpack, put my head down, and followed Martha. From the office I called my mom at work to tell her she wouldn’t need to pick me up today. After a lot of questioning I grudgingly admitted I was going somewhere with an acquaintance who happened to be a girl. My mom giggled and told us to “have fun” in a weird voice, and my face got red. Seriously, calm down, Moms.
Thankfully, no one saw me and Martha ride off together down the street on her weird double bicycle. My newfound popularity was safe.
“I’m very close to finding Hamstersaurus Rex,” said Martha as we pedaled down the street.
“Did some new evidence come to light?”
“I analyzed Beefer’s frayed sweatpants drawstring under my microscope. It was gnawed by the same second set of pointed teeth.”
“But that’s not Hamstersaurus Rex. It’s some kind of freaky lizard, right?”
“Yes, but the tooth prints are too similar to discount. And I haven’t seen any new hamster gnawings since early last week,” said Martha. “I’m starting to think that the Hamstersaurus Rex we knew has changed somehow.”
“Huh? No way,” I said. “Here’s what I think happened: somebody got a baby crocodile and tried to keep it as a pet, but it was too hard to take care of so they released it into the school sewer system and then it ate Hamstersaurus Rex and went to Florida so you don’t need to worry about it anymore. The end.”
“If only life were that simple, Sam,” said Martha. “The fact is, I failed at being Hamster Monitor when I let Hamstersaurus Rex escape. Now it’s up to me to find him. If his teeth are pointy now, who knows what else might have changed. He could even be dangerous.”
“He’s not dangerous!” I said. “I mean, he’s just a hamster, right?”
Martha nodded, but she didn’t seem convinced.
We rode past the SmilesCorp international headquarters. It was an ultra-modern campus of buildings, all glass and brushed metal, on a hill overlooking town. I’ve been there a few times with my mom. The place always creeps me out.
Turns out the Maple Bluffs Antique Doll Museum was even creepier. It was housed in a run-down old mansion on an empty street near the edge of town. A faded banner out front displayed the museum’s slogan: “Dolls Are Our Silent Friends!” Everything about the place made me feel like I was being watched. Once, I caught a faint whiff of something odd on the wind. Garlic? I glanced over my shoulder but there was nobody there.
“Great,” said the ticket taker, sighing, as she saw us approach. “Martha Cherie: the reason we can never close early on Fridays.”
“Good afternoon, Patricia,” said Martha. “One child’s ticket and one member.” Martha held up her season pass. It was, of course, on a lanyard.
I unzipped my backpack to get my admission fee, and I was very surprised to see a little pair of eyes shining back at me.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at Hamstersaurus Rex. “You hitchhiked? You should be at school!”
He made a little growl and waggled his stump arms and tried to look cute.
“No! Not cute! This is a disaster—”
“What’s a disaster?” said Martha.
I quickly closed my backpack. “Nothing. I forgot, my, er, admission fee. Looks like I don’t have five dollars, so I can’t get into the museum. Sorry, I’ll just catch the bus back—”
“Nonsense,” said Martha. “I’ve prudently saved every dollar of birthday money I’ve ever received. I’m happy to cover you.”
Martha pulled out a thick wad of bills and peeled off a five, which she placed on the counter. Patricia handed me a ticket.
Inside, the ADM was even spookier. The twisting, dusty halls were deserted. It seemed like we were the only patrons. Maybe ever.
“This place is really informative, but it’s a lot of fun, too,” said Martha. “The exhibits start with the world’s oldest dolls and each works its way forward in time. For example, this doll was made by the ancient Hittites.” She pointed to a shriveled clay figurine behind a glass case.
“Cool,” I said. “Do they have any, like, action figures here?”
Martha burst out laughing.
“Okay,” I said. “Guess not.”
We wound our way through corridor after corridor of musty old dolls. Many had patchy hair, missing limbs, and weird makeup on their faces. They ran the gamut from ominous to unsettling. Martha seemed happy, though.
“The best one is at the very end,” said Martha. “An original 1958 Ginny Gossamer, informally known as history’s most fragile doll. She’s not behind any glass or anything. You feel like you could almost reach out and touch her, except that’s totally against the rules.”
On the second floor we passed a security guard, leaning against a wall.
“Good afternoon, Norton,” said Martha.
“Argh!” cried Norton, apparently surprised to see another human being inside the Antique Doll Museum. “Oh, hi, Martha. Who’s your little friend?” I noticed that he was holding an unopened bag of Flavor-Wedges.
“His name’s Sam, and he’s interested in becoming a doll collector,” said Martha.
“It’s not just a hobby but also an investment,” said Norton to me.
“So I hear,” I said.
Norton tore open his Flavor-Wedge bag, and I felt something stir. Not in my heart, but in my backpack. Hamstersaurus Rex sensed junk food nearby.
“You’re going to love the Ginny Gossamer,” said Norton, shoving a Wedge into his mouth and crunching down. “She’s as delicate as a butterfly wing made of snowflakes—”
Against my will, I flew three feet toward him, backpack first. Norton blinked.
“Uh, hello again,” I said.
“Hi,” he said, taking an awkward step backward.
“Come on, Sam, next up is a really wonderful exhibit,” said Martha. “It’s called ‘Dolls of the Eighteen Hundreds Whose Eyes Seem to Follow You.’”
I turned to go as Norton bit down on another Flavor-Wedge. Once again, Hamstersaurus Rex flung me toward him.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Is something wrong, Sam?” asked Martha.
“Nope! Actually, come to think of it, I need to go to the bathroom,” I said as I dashed off.
Of course, the bathroom was doll-themed (the paper towel dispenser was a giant porcelain clown face!). I unzipped my backpack. Hamstersaurus Rex looked half-crazy with hunger.
“Listen, dude,” I said. “You’ve got to keep it together! You can’t rampage. Not here. Not in front of Martha! Okay?”
Hamstersaurus Rex growled low and loudly. His pupils were fully dilated. His foot was twitching. What was it about junk food?
Just then, I heard movement behind me. I zipped up my backpack and turned around. Was someone else in the bathroom? I checked under the doors of all the stalls but saw no feet. The freaky towel dispenser face grinned at me from the corner. I shuddered and left.
I found Martha on the second-floor mezzanine, near the railing.
“Look at that,” said Martha, admiring a grimy old doll with milky eyes under a glass case. She stepped from side to side. “They really do seem to follow you.”
“Neat,” I said. “But I should probably get going.”
“Wait,” said Martha, crossing her arms. “Sam, I think I know what’s happening.”
I paused. “You do?” I was ready to run.
“Absolutely,” she said. “I saw how you kept lunging for Norton’s food. I heard growling noises.”
“You did?”
“Sure. You’re famished. I’m a little hungry, too. Normally I choose healthy snacks like fresh beets or dried beets but there aren’t any available, so I went to
the first-floor vending machine and got us some snacks.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out an array of prepackaged junk food.
“Wait!” I said. “No, that’s not what I—”
But she’d already torn open a bag of Cheez Wallets. The salty artificial smell wafted toward me. I felt my backpack shudder.
“Stop!” cried a voice from the shadows.
Martha squinted toward the darkness. “You might be new here, but if this is about eating in the museum, I have special permission,” she said, pulling out a handwritten letter from the board of trustees.
It was no doll museum security guard, however. Instead, Beefer Vanderkoff stepped out from behind a display case. He was wild-eyed and filthy, like he hadn’t bathed the whole time he’d been absent from school. Weirdest of all, he had several strands of whole garlic cloves hanging around his neck. So someone had been following me after all.
“Oh,” said Martha. “It’s just you, Kiefer.”
“Heed my words, Martha. You’re not safe,” said Beefer. “I just heard Sam talking to himself in the bathroom mirror. He was trying to convince himself not to ‘rampage.’ But then I heard him growl. Sam’s a werewolf, and he wants to turn you into a werewolf just like him. Martha, he wants you to become his eternal wolf bride!”
“Werewolves aren’t real,” said Martha.
“Yes they are!” cried Beefer, putting himself between me and Martha. “It’s all right here!” He held up the dog-eared “Werewolf Issue” of Pustule magazine.
My backpack was shaking wildly now, whipping back and forth on my shoulders. Hamstersaurus Rex was going crazy in there.
“It’s cool, Martha,” I said, backing away. “I’ll just go.”
“Sam, wait,” she said. “You haven’t even seen Ginny Gossamer yet!”
“Begone, foul beast-creature!” cried Beefer, waving a strand of garlic at me as he shoved Martha back.
“Garlic is for vampires,” said Martha, “not werewolves.”
“Really?” said Beefer, scratching his head.
“How can you not know that? Did you even read that magazine?” she asked.
“I skimmed it,” admitted Beefer.
I started to run, but my backpack jerked me back toward them. Hamstersaurus Rex was losing control.
“Wait, Sam,” said Martha. “At least eat your Cheez Wallets!” She shook the bag over her head, behind Beefer.
It was too much for Hamstersaurus Rex. He let out a thunderous dino roar.
“Oh no!” cried Beefer, pointing out the window. “The full moon rises! Sam is changing!”
The events of the next two seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. Hamstersaurus Rex burst through my backpack—he actually tore a hamster-shaped hole right through the canvas, like a cartoon—and I heard a high-pitched shriek. It wasn’t Martha screaming, though. It was Beefer. A frenzied Hamstersaurus Rex hit the ground once and then leaped ten feet, right at the bag of Cheez Wallets in Martha’s hand. A startled Beefer squealed, his garlic necklaces spinning around his neck. He stumbled backward and then disappeared over the mezzanine railing.
There was an instant of silence. Then I heard a crash below.
I ran to the edge of the railing. On the first floor Beefer lay on the ground on top of the remains of a splintered display stand. His eyes were wide open, staring up at nothing.
“Beefer, are you dead?” I cried.
He blinked and sat up. Not dead.
“Oh nooooooo,” came Norton’s pained wail, as he jogged toward Beefer on the floor below. “He landed on Ginny Gossamer. He landed on Ginny Gossamer!” Tears streamed from Norton’s eyes as he stopped to pick up a single tiny doll arm. “She was too fragile for this world,” he whispered with a sob.
“Got him!” cried Martha behind me.
I turned. Martha Cherie had taken a bulletproof glass case off the milky-eyed doll and capped it over Hamstersaurus Rex, who was still devouring the last of the Cheez Wallets.
As he licked his lips, Hamstersaurus Rex seemed to come to his senses. He looked around and realized that he was trapped. He charged at the glass. No effect. He roared, but the sound was weak and muffled. I saw panic in his little eyes.
“I can’t believe it,” said Martha, her eyes gleaming as eerily as any doll in the place. “I finally captured Hamstersaurus Rex!”
CHAPTER 15
IT WAS A gray Monday. I came to school with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My locker dinosaur habitat was sadly empty; the stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches moldy and uneaten; the toy dinosaurs unchewed.
I made my way to homeroom without talking to anyone. When I got there, Martha Cherie stood at the front of the class grinning. Mr. Copeland was behind her, arms crossed. On the corner of his desk was a boxy shape covered by a drop cloth. Beefer glowered at me from the back row, one of his arms in a cast.
“Hello, children,” said Mr. Copeland as we took our seats. “Martha requested permission to hold a short press conference this morning before class. Obviously, I said ‘No, that would be a terrible use of our time’ and ‘Sixth graders don’t call press conferences.’ But then her mother complained to the principal, so here we are. Martha, the floor is all yours.”
“Thank you, Arnold,” said Martha, reading prepared remarks from a set of note cards. “Good morning, classmates.”
No one said anything.
“It is with great satisfaction that I report to you that our long, classroom-wide nightmare is over. On Friday night, at the Maple Bluffs Antique Doll Museum, I apprehended our escaped pet, Hamstersaurus Rex.”
Martha whipped off the cloth, revealing a shiny new cage. Inside was Hamstersaurus Rex. His eyes darted around, stricken with fear. I felt like I might throw up my morning cinnamon toast. Martha waited, as though expecting applause. The room was silent.
I’d called her several times over the weekend, trying to convince her that if she put Hamstersaurus Rex back in the classroom, he would fall prey to Beefer’s revenge. Each time Martha assured me that he would be safe, and, more important, he would never escape again. Ever. She kept trying to change the subject to which antique doll was my favorite.
“Please, please. No need to thank me,” Martha continued to read from her notes. “I was just doing my job, trying my best to live up to the sacred oath I swore on the day I became your class Hamster Monitor.”
“Give me a break,” muttered Dylan.
“Um, excuse me, but why was the hamster at some creepy museum, miles from the school?” asked Tina Gomez.
“That’s an excellent question, Tina,” said Martha. “Hamstersaurus Rex had—unbeknownst to Sam—hitched a ride inside of his backpack.”
“Wait, you and Sam were at the museum . . . together?” said Omar.
“That’s correct, Omar,” said Martha. “We rode a tandem bicycle there. It was a date.”
Everyone was looking at me now.
“Seriously?” said Dylan.
I shrugged and sank down in my seat. Somewhere behind me, I heard Beefer’s teeth grinding.
“So what’s going to stop Hamstersaurus Rex from escaping again?” asked Tina.
“Another excellent question,” said Martha. “Mr. Copeland, may I give Tina a unicorn sticker?”
“Nope,” said Mr. Copeland.
“The answer,” said Martha, “is this.” She waved toward Hamstersaurus’s cage. “It’s called the PETCATRAZ Pro™. I purchased it myself. Forged of unbreakable titanium, it’s rated the world’s strongest small-rodent cage. No hamster has ever escaped from a PETCATRAZ Pro™, that’s the PETCATRAZ Promise. There are only two keys to this cage. As Hamster Monitor, I will keep one.” Martha held up a key and then clipped it to the Hamster Monitor lanyard around her neck. “And Arnold will have the other.” She handed a second key to Mr. Copeland, who frowned and dropped it into his desk drawer.
“Are there any other questions?” asked Martha.
“Why does Hamstersaurus Rex look so gross now?”
asked Caroline Moody.
“We’re checking into that matter as part of an ongoing Hamster Monitor investigation,” said Martha, scanning the room for more raised hands. “Jared?”
“Hypothetically, if someone did eat a pencil,” said Jared Kopernik, “is it possible that person might gain magic pencil powers, such as the ability to erase time?”
“I’ll handle this one, Martha,” said Mr. Copeland, stepping forward. “No, Jared.”
The day wore on. Martha allowed Hamstersaurus Rex only the food portion recommended by her uncle Tony, the hamster zoologist: half a lettuce leaf, twice daily. I knew that it wasn’t nearly enough for Hammie Rex’s mutant monster appetite.
Occasionally he threw a spectacular rampage inside of his cage, kicking up pine shavings and pummeling his hamster wheel into an unrecognizable shape. But the PETCATRAZ Pro™ lived up to its promise. Even his incredible dino strength couldn’t bend the bars.
After my tandem-bicycle, antique-doll “date” with Martha, I was once again relegated to the ranks of the uncool. I might be a loser, but at least I still had friends. Well, one friend. At lunch, I sat down beside Dylan.
“I have to think of a way to get Hamstersaurus Rex out of that cage,” I said.
“Oh. And now you want me to help?” said Dylan.
“Well, yeah, I mean—”
“You’re such a liar, Sam!” said Dylan. “You expect me to believe Hamstersaurus Rex was just hanging out in your backpack ‘unbeknownst’ to you?”
“Seriously, I had no idea,” I said. I felt awful for deceiving my best friend yet again. “It’s really weird, right?”
“You’ve been hiding Hamstersaurus Rex the whole time, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve been acting so weird these past weeks. Sneaking around. The extra food. You’ve been keeping him a secret from me.”
“No way, I— Yeah. You’re right.” I sighed.
“Sam, we’ve been best friends for seven years,” said Dylan. “Whenever you got made fun of, I stuck up for you. When everybody was so mad about those caricatures you drew, I defended you. Even when no one else would, I stood by you. But I guess you don’t trust me. And now I can’t trust you.”
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