by Mark Tatulli
“Well, we can’t have that,” says Mr. Turkle, who sees Ricky through the narrow window of the door. Ricky suddenly notices Mr. Turkle looking and smiles. Then he does that imaginary elevator thing until he’s out of sight.
“Hmmm . . . OK, yes, that sounds like an idea. Go together then, boys. And Scott, you make sure there’s no dilly-dallying!”
That’s my cue. I jump up and bolt through the door, shutting it behind me to put some space between me and Scott. The last thing I need is him reporting on my dilly-dallying.
15 even worse news
When I was doing my week-long run of epic Monster Magic shows, I was allowed to go into the school art supply closet to get whatever I needed. The closet has this special keypad lock and everything, and Principal Badonkus personally gave me the code! Since then, it’s sort of become my secret hideout.
Get it? Like the Bat Cave . . . only, like, with art stuff. OK, so maybe it is a stupid name. But until I come up with something better, that’s what I call it, so deal!
And right now, the Art Cave is the perfect hiding spot for me and Ricky.
“I went into that management office trailer–thingie, and the guys in there told me the whole story! They bought a new super–fast roller coaster to replace your ride! Going to start building it after the summer! They showed me a model and everything!”
“But what are they going to do with the Mountain Full of Monsters?” I ask.
So much for my super-secret hideout.
“And I know all about it,” boasts Scott. “Because it’s my dad’s company that’s doing the blowing up! They’re gonna put the bombs in, and then they’re gonna set them off!”
Once again, Scott wants to take something that’s mine. Only this time, he wants to blow it into a million pieces. I’ll give him this: he thinks big!
Everybody in school knows Scott’s dad works for a demolition company because, you have to admit, exploding stuff for a job is pretty cool.
So I’m kind of sure Scott’s telling the truth, even the part about pushing the button to start the explosions! He’s sort of a mini-celebrity because of it . . .
“This is going to be the most awesome one of all,” giggles Scott. “I get to blow up Desmond’s favorite plaything!”
Scott may get to push the button that blows up the Mountain Full of Monsters, but I still control the switches and pulleys in the Art Cave! And the shower of spiders and skulls sends him screaming back to the Jug room.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” says Ricky, sitting on a giant economy-size jar of paper paste. “Looks like there’s no stopping the end of the Mountain Full of Monsters. At least we have it until the end of the summer.”
Ricky’s right. But then I start to get a tiny idea as I look at the skulls jouncing on their springs . . .
16 the monster fund
“They’re going to let the monsters get blown up anyway, so what if I try to buy them? And when they see all the money, how can they say no?”
“You really think people are going to give you cash to save a bunch of ratty plastic monsters?” asks Becky, again looking at me like I spit in her ice cream sundae. “And just when I thought you couldn’t out–weird yourself. Good luck, bro.”
Becky has an odd way of calling me “genius,” but I know what she means.
So Ricky and I get busy taping up flyers all over town and at school.
Then we sit back and wait to collect.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
All for a big fat nothing.
Well, that’s not totally true. We did get one donation. From Mr. “Moneybags” Needles.
One penny. Hilarious.
And then I see Scott Seltzer at the end of the hall.
As far as worthy causes go that people want to give money to, “Save the Monsters” is pretty low on the importance scale.
But miracles always come in ways you least expect . . . and this time it’s Tommy Templeton!
“That was really cool,” Tommy continues. “And I heard about that awesome scare you gave your sister’s slumber party. My sister Nadine was there and she still talks about it!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re a fan!” I say, holding out the big empty bucket and jingling Mr. Needles’s single penny. “Care to contribute to our ‘Save the Monsters’ fund?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” says Tommy, really thinking about it. “I would have to see what you plan to do first. But how’s about maybe twenty bucks?”
“Twenty . . . dollars?!” I gasp excitedly. “Just to scare your kid brother?!”
I spin around and shake Ricky’s leg.
17 back to the magic
Of course, getting the old gang back together isn’t as easy as I think . . .
Today is the last day of school and it looks like everybody already has summer plans. The Wickerstool twins are all wrapped up in their new classics reading group; Becky is being a weird girl (though I’m pretty sure that’s not a summer thing . . . I don’t know what planet she’s on these days); and Ricky is . . . well . . . just Ricky. Clown School? Really?
So I grab my overstuffed spiral notebook of super scary monster effects and gross ideas, and I get to work planning the first scare of my new business.
A “window scare” is when you can’t actually get in the house, and in this case Tommy says inside is off–limits. So all the frights have to happen at the outside windows. And the more windows, the more screams!
This scare is pretty simple. Still, it’s tricky to pull off by myself. But I can do it! First, I turn their TV to static with an outdoor remote control. Then I start making sounds outside so they’ll all begin looking out the windows . . . and that’s when the fun begins. I just run from window to window with silhouette cutouts of monsters, lighting them up from behind with my Hollywood-grade studio flashlight. And then finally, to the back patio for the three pole ghosts that—
Dang! I’m so wrapped up in my plans that Mom snuck right up on me! I hope she didn’t see my work.
It won’t be good if she finds out I was scaring for money . . . especially if she tells Dad.
“So I was wondering why on such a beautiful sunny day my son is inside,” Mom says in that all-knowing mom voice. “I should’ve figured you were planning your next scare-fest.”
Yeah, that’s just what an eleven-year-old wants to hear. That he used to wear diapers. Thanks, Mom!
“Please don’t tell Dad, OK, Mom?”
“Aw, c’mon, I won’t tell . . . who do I look like, Mr. Needles?”
Mom’s starting to win back some points.
“I don’t mind your hobby, Desmond. As long as nobody gets hurt, it’s fine with me. I think you’re really creative, and that’s always a good thing!”
“Well, it’s still early,” she says. “I’m sure they’ll come back around. At the very least, this summer will be a nice break from Mr. Needles, right?”
But Mom is already gone, shutting the door behind her. That was weird . . . what did she mean by that?
Oh, well, whatever. It’s getting late and I have to finish getting ready for the scare tonight.
I put the final touches on the master plan. Then I gather up all my monster silhouettes, tuck them in my magic bag of tricks, grab my night-vision goggles, and head for the door to make my way to Tommy Templeton’s house.
Once again, I get that excited/scared feeling in the pit of my stomach that I know means only one thing . . .
18 scaring for dollars
It’s a quiet, cool summer night and the streets are empty. I carefully make my way through the neighborhood, ducking in and out of the shadows.
I’m really good at ducking in and out of shadows. If I wasn’t so into monsters, shadow-ducking would be my second career choice.
The houses o
n Decatur Lane all sort of look the same, especially in the dark. I reach into my bag of tricks for a small flashlight and a scrap of paper.
I switch over to my night–vision goggles and start scanning the mailboxes for house numbers.
“Hot dog, there it is!” I whisper to myself as I dart across the street toward the Templeton house.
I feel my way down the boards of the tall fence . . .
. . . the gate is unlocked, just like Tommy said!
I duck into the shadow of the bushes (see, again with the ducking into shadows, because, like I said, I’m a total expert) and I peer out at the small sun porch where the sleepover is happening.
Now the boring part. The sitting and waiting for the lights to go out. But Tommy said that should be in about an hour, and he’s been right so far. So I settle down with my new issue of Hugo the Boy Zombie Wizard and wait.
Ten. Thirty. Fifty minutes pass. And then ping!
It’s showtime! I pull out the silhouettes and ready the turbo flashlight. Hopefully Tommy got the pole ghosts into position like he said he would. I start to crawl out from the darkness of the bushes.
And suddenly, I hear a snort. Then a deep, low, rumbling ggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrowwwwwwlllllll.
And I’m absolutely sure I would have remembered if good ol’ Tommy said something about . . .
That’s a bad detail to leave out.
Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs. And normally they love me.
So I squeeze up into a tight ball and get ready to be ripped apart. Though, seriously, can you really prepare for that?
And just like that, the dogs are gone! Disappeared! For a second I think maybe they were neverreally there. But no, I can still smell their doggie breath. Just no doggies!
“Sheesh, boy! You don’t know nothing about handling no hound dogs, do you?”
“Good thing we showed up when we did! Look that way to you, Jessup?”
“And how, Jasper! They was about to turn him into little bitty Desmond meatballs!”
“Ricky! What—” I gasp.
“Aw, your Mom called my grandma because she was worried about you,” Ricky says, rolling his eyes. “And I called everybody else.”
“Everybody?” I ask.
“All right, y’all, let’s be honest now . . . we all know the real tar that holds this old row boat together . . . ”
“Enough with the love–fest, already,” says Becky. “There’s a bunch of creepy nine–year–olds in there waiting to get the snot scared out of ’em!”
19 a bloodcurdling business blooms
I don’t care what kind of social networking you think is the best, nothing tops the big mouth of Tommy Templeton.
And it isn’t long before our little scare business is booming!
Suddenly kids from everywhere are running up to me on the street or in the store to ask about my spooky services.
No matter how much money they have, I can find a scare that works for their price. And we have different frights for different ages: “Kiddie Kreepy” (ages 5—7, pretty tame), “Middle Monster Mayhem” (ages 8—13, scary), and “The Dr. Shock” (14 and up, full–blast, in–your–kitchen horror). We haven’t pulled out “The Dr. Shock” yet, and I’m almost afraid for anyone to ask!
When the Wickerstool twins print this ad in their neighborhood newsletter, things really go crazy and we realize we’re definitely going to need an extra set of claws.
Ding dong!
“I’ll get it,” I yell from behind the mound of monster ideas piled on my desk.
“It’s not me, though,” Tina says quickly.
“Oh,” I say, trying not to look like my whole world was just crushed like a soda can. “I didn’t think—”
If I were wearing a set of fangs, I definitely would have swallowed them.
“Desmond, meet Keith, a big fan . . . and my kid brother.”
“Well, haha, good one, Keith,” I say, hoping nobody notices that I almost pooped myself. “Nice to meet you . . . I think.”
“He’s so excited, Desmond! When I heard you were looking for another monster for your team, I immediately thought of him.”
“I even have all my own masks and everything! And I’m already kind of a pro! My specialty is scaring little kids and really old people!”
“Congratulations, Keith! You’re hired!”
“Gosh, thanks, Mr. Desmond! Let’s shake!”
Yeah, the master didn’t even see it coming! But that’s OK, because the kid seems to know what he’s doing. And I need him! We’ve got a million and two scares lined up and it’s already the end of June! Time is running out on the Mountain Full of Monsters!
20 summer full of screams
OK, I’m no math wiz, but by my calculations, every scream we get is worth about twelve cents. And the screams are really piling up!
The Anderwood sisters’ birthday pays off big time. That’s a daylight scare with twenty partygoers, so the effects have to be big and dramatic! Keith Schimsky’s dad is a house painter, so he has these really awesome strap-on stilts. So I borrow them . . .
. . . and enter The Towering Beast from Behind the Shed! Yes! Another successful backyard fright–fest!
And then there’s the Graduation Spider Cake . . .
. . . a really cool design with this remote control spider–robot baked into a cake. The legs burst out through the icing and the whole cake creeps off across the table!
It’s awesome! More screams! More bucks!
And the hits keep on coming!
The bride was not amused.
Of course, the big surprise this summer is Tina Schimsky’s brother, Keith! He is a great addition to the Monster Magic team. Most of the new ideas are his, though I have to keep the kid under control.
Yeah, Keith’s pretty sharp about the scare ideas, but I’m definitely going to have to keep an eye on him.
Anyway, it’s the third week in July and we’ve raised a bucket of dough to save the monsters!
I think I’m ready to make my offer!
Now I just need to find a ride back to Crab Shell Pier . . .
21 the bus kid
My sister Rachel doesn’t drive, but her boyfriend Kyle does. Which means after I’m done begging Rachel to let Kyle give me a ride, I have to deal with Kyle. And dealing with Kyle usually means . . .
As you can see, Kyle and Rachel have a lot in common. Their annoyingness is off the charts.
I would ask Mom or Dad for a ride, but the last thing I need them to know is I’m planning on buying all the creatures from the Mountain Full of Monsters. So I’m stuck with Kyle. Or as we all know him:
Yes, you heard right . . . Kyle the bus kid. Some people collect action figures, some people love sneakers . . . this kid is totally and completely into buses. All kinds of buses. Passenger buses. School buses. Double-decker and flexi-middle city buses. You name the bus, and Kyle can tell you all about it.
And Kyle drives this big clunky van, which I think is from The Land Before Time. It’s also the closest thing he could find to an actual bus.
Believe it or not, I actually like Kyle when he isn’t being a noodge. I can totally understand a guy who’s into something that most people think is pretty weird.
Of course, it’s hard for me to like him right now, when his armpit is in my face.
We pile into the van (Ricky and Becky are coming, too) and we sit facing each other in a space that looks like some crazy person’s living room exploded.
Kyle starts the van with a roar, Pink Floyd rock music blasting from the speakers, and screeches away from the curb. Somewhere, I know my Dad is groaning.
But I wouldn’t even care if we were driving with Mr. Needles in a clown car . . .
. . . we’re heading back to The Crab and we’re going to rescue some monsters!
&n
bsp; 22 making a monster deal
I never actually saw someone laugh until he choked before. And if I never see it again, that will totally be OK. Especially if it’s Mr. Humphries doing the laughing and choking.
