Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Sneak Peek
About the Author
Copyright
“AAAAAHHHHHHCHOOOOOOOOO!”
It was the sneeze heard around the world. Or if not the world, at least the neighborhood. And it didn’t stop at one, either. It was followed by two more, each blast more powerful than the last. Billy Broccoli had never heard Hoover Porterhouse III sneeze before. In fact, he never even knew a ghost could sneeze, but apparently they can, and with the force of a hurricane.
“Holy moly,” Billy said to the Hoove. “At least cover your mouth.”
“I did,” the Hoove answered. “But I blew my hand right off. That’s the kind of power I possess. Besides, I can’t help myself. My delicate system is allergic to paint fumes.”
“Well, we’re redoing my room this weekend, so you better get used to it.”
Billy reached down and stirred the can of paint his stepfather, Bennett Fielding, had just brought in. It was a medium shade of blue, dark enough to cover the pink-and-lavender nightmare walls Billy had been living with for the past eight weeks since his blended family had moved into the new house.
“And why wasn’t I informed about this particular painting situation?” the Hoove asked. “It happens to be more my room than yours. Don’t make me remind you that I was the one who lived here ninety-nine years ago when this was nothing but an orange grove and a ranch house. I think I deserve to know when my room is being painted and when it isn’t.”
“How could I tell you? You haven’t been around, as usual,” Billy snapped. “I looked for you everywhere — behind every door, inside every drawer. I even checked the laundry hamper.”
“And what gives you the impression that a young ghost with my dapper personal style would choose to hang out with soiled garments? Or worse yet, fold myself up in your underwear drawer?”
“Because last time I looked for you, I found you all scrunched up in my jar of colored markers.”
“If you don’t want me in there, don’t get the fruity-scented ones. I happen to enjoy the fresh aroma of the lemon-lime green and the strawberry red. The combination sends my nose on a field trip to Pleasureville.”
Billy could see that this argument was going nowhere, so he turned his attention back to stirring the can of paint. The Hoove floated across the room, trying to keep his distance from the smell.
“I’m glad to see you getting right down to work, Bill,” Bennett said as he came back in with a drop cloth, two rollers, and a brush for the trim. “Painting this room will be a very fulfilling experience for us. Like the kind of satisfaction I get from filling a cavity. There is nothing more exciting than bringing a tooth back to health.”
Bennett Fielding was a dentist who lived for teeth, not to mention healthy gums. He could talk about them for hours — and often did at the dinner table, which made digestion a challenge for the other family members.
What Billy didn’t notice as he stirred the paint was that the Hoove’s nose was starting to twitch, gearing up for another massive sneeze. This one out-blasted the first three.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHCHOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The gust of wind from the Hoove’s sneeze was so strong it blew across the room like a tornado, taking off Bennett’s hairpiece in the process. Bennett reached up to catch it, but it was already in midair, spinning like a Frisbee across Billy’s room. It landed on the jar of Billy’s markers.
“Well, I certainly won’t be going back in there anytime soon,” the Hoove said.
Billy was astonished. He hadn’t known that his new stepfather was hair impaired … otherwise known as bald as a bowling ball.
“Wow, Bennett,” he said, as he watched Bennett bolt for his wig. “I didn’t know you were … uh … uh … you know … um …”
“Bald?” Bennett said.
“Yeah, that’s the word I was looking for. Does my mom know?”
“Of course. She helped me pick out this new wig. Before we started dating, I wore a curly one, but she felt I looked too much like Clarence the Clown. Now she helps me apply the head tape. It’s something we like to share in the mornings before coffee.”
The Hoove made a gagging sound.
“Well, let me share this with you,” he said. “I can no longer allow my essence to remain in this room. The very mention of hair tape on your stepdad’s scalp makes me want to get as far away from his toupee as possible. Let’s say, New Jersey.”
“You can’t leave now,” Billy said. “You were going to help paint.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m here, son,” Bennett said, thinking Billy was talking to him (which was a natural thing to think, since the Hoove was invisible to everyone but Billy). “Let’s get started. Grab a roller, I’ll do the same, and off we go.”
“And off I go,” the Hoove said, propelling himself out the window. It was a lovely day in Southern California. The Hoove floated over to the Brownstones’ house next door, past the elaborate bed of Mrs. Brownstone’s prizewinning hydrangeas and into the middle of the backyard, where he saw Rod Brownstone practicing making a citizen’s arrest using his eight-year-old sister, Amber, as a pretend lawbreaker.
“Up against the wall,” he barked at her. “Hands over your head.”
“Okay, but you better not tickle me.”
“I’m an officer of the law,” Brownstone snapped. “We don’t tickle people. It’s a violation of the policeman’s code. Now, you have the right to remain silent.”
“Don’t tell me to be silent, you big stupid gooney bird,” Amber said. “This is America, and I’ll talk when I want to. I can even scream. And I think I will.”
She let out a piercing scream that almost sent the Hoove into a tailspin. It also alarmed a nearby lizard, who was sunning himself on a twig. The lizard was so frightened he bolted off the twig and scurried up Rod’s pant leg.
“I’m being attacked,” Rod screeched in a voice that was even louder than his sister’s. “Somebody get this mini alligator off me.”
“It’s just a little lizard, you scaredy-pants.” Amber laughed.
“Whatever it is, it has four legs running in circles around my kneecap, and I want each and every leg off me right now.”
Amber was no help. She was laughing too hard. The Hoove found Brownstone’s situation highly amusing as well. Rod was a real bully, and it was great to see that underneath his menacing exterior, he was a blubbering baby inside. The Hoove was lucky enough to spot a second lizard hanging on the stucco wall of the Brownstone house.
“Come with me, my fine four-legged friend,” the Hoove said. He picked up the little reptile and flew over to where Rod was still whimpering. With an impish grin, he dropped the lizard on Rod’s head, where it promptly burrowed into his thick black hair.
“Oh no, they’re multiplying,” Rod screamed, dropping to the ground and rolling around in the grass. “I hate creepy crawlers. Get these things off of me!”
“Sorry, buddy,” the Hoove said as he drifted off down the block, feeling very satisfied with himself. “I’d love to help, but I got a movie to catch.”
The Hoove was a big fan of the movies. Although he liked the stories, mostly he loved sitting in the dark where the Higher-Ups — the ghostly grade givers who decided whether he’d move on or remain grounded forever — had trouble finding him a
nd didn’t usually ask him to do anything. The movies were his escape from responsibility. Lucky for him, three screens of the Cineplex were within the boundary of where he was allowed to go.
Hoover floated up to the theatre to see what was playing, but he was disappointed with his choices. Screen One was showing some stupid romantic comedy. Screen Three had another kissy-face film that looked like it didn’t even have a single car chase. Screen Seven was showing a black-and-white documentary on why zebras could not live in Iceland.
Reluctantly, he chose Screen Three and promised himself that he’d cover his eyes when the kissing started. Which didn’t work out so well, because when he covered his eyes, he could still see through his own hands. That was one of the drawbacks of being a ghost. He did, however, get to sit next to a mother and her teenage daughter who were sharing a big tub of popcorn. Even though the Hoove couldn’t eat it, he loved the aroma, and every now and then, he’d lean in to catch a whiff of it.
It wasn’t long before the kissing started on-screen, and to amuse himself, the Hoove reached over and gently blew a wisp of the girl’s hair.
“Stop it, Mom,” she said in an annoyed voice.
Her mother didn’t answer. She was busy watching the film’s couple strolling hand in hand along a sandy beach saying gooey things to each other in gooey voices. When the woman turned to the guy and said, “The wet sand beneath my feet feels gooey … like my heart does for you,” the Hoove reached out and blew on the girl’s hair again.
“Mom, leave me alone,” she snapped. “It’s not funny. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“I don’t like your tone of voice,” her mother snapped back. “Keep that up and we’re leaving.”
The Hoove let out a belly laugh. He loved causing trouble.
But the Higher-Ups, who were constantly monitoring his behavior, were not laughing. They were not pleased with the Hoove. He had abandoned Billy as soon as he found out work was involved. He had taken advantage of Rod’s fear of lizards. And now he’d gotten this girl in trouble with her mom. In their eyes, this was the behavior that had given him another failing grade in Responsibility to Others. As far as they were concerned, unless he could pass Responsibility, he would never earn his freedom and be able to travel outside of the boundaries he had lived in for the last ninety-nine years. And they decided it was time Hoover knew just how serious his situation was.
When the I-love-yous on the screen started to come fast and furious, and the violins in the background swelled to a deafening pitch, Hoover had had enough. He took one last sniff of the popcorn and floated out of the theatre.
As he circled the parking lot, the Hoove pondered what to do next. He didn’t want to go back to the house yet because Billy and Bennett were probably still hard at work painting. He decided that maybe he’d float over to the hardware store and say hello to Sid, an older ghost who had worked there during his life and was spending eternity sorting different-size nuts and bolts into their proper bins.
The Hoove flew down Mammoth Street to Ventura Boulevard, where the hardware store was located. Suddenly, he ran smack into something. Yet when he looked up, he saw nothing. How could nothing feel like something? He backed up and tried again, but found that he thumped into an invisible wall. The third time he sailed higher into the air, thinking he would just float over whatever was blocking his path, but once again, he smacked his head into something solid.
“What’s going on here?” he said to no one in particular.
“You’re grounded,” said a voice from below. He looked down and saw a brown sparrow on the pavement pecking at a piece of a discarded granola bar.
“Did you say something?” the Hoove asked the bird.
“Yeah,” the bird answered. “I said you’re grounded. They put up a wall here. That’s why you can’t go any farther.”
“Who put up a wall?”
“Who do you think? The Higher-Ups.”
“Wait…. are you one of them?”
“Use your eyes. I’m a sparrow. Let’s just say I have friends in high places. And you might want to read this.”
The bird lifted its wing and with its beak pulled out a note that was folded in the shape of a paper airplane. The minute the note was exposed to air, it puffed up and up and up, until it was the size of a jet-shaped watermelon. “Here it comes,” the bird said, launching the note with its left wing. It sailed toward the Hoove, doing a series of backward triple loops in the air and leaving a glittering trail of silver smoke behind it that spelled out the words Special Delivery!
Fortunately, the Hoove had spent much of his life playing baseball and was a great catcher. He reached out and scooped the note out of the air before it collided with the street sign.
“You’ve got to work on your aim,” he said to the bird.
“Oh yeah? Well, you’ve got a lot to work on yourself.” Then the bird took off, flying through the invisible wall and soaring off out of sight into the sky.
Hoover opened the note. The paper was completely blank … at first. Then, with a sudden flash, sparkling silver letters appeared on the page.
“Progress Report,” it said.
The Hoove looked up at the sky. “I just had one of these two weeks ago,” he hollered. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do?”
There was another flash of light, and more words appeared on the page. They said:
“You are hereby notified that as of this second, your boundaries have shrunk. You will return to the Broccoli-Fielding house immediately, and you will not be allowed to leave until we see marked improvement in your ability to accept responsibility.”
“You can’t do this to me!” the Hoove shouted defiantly into the sky.
He put his head down and charged into the invisible wall, thinking he could power his way through it, but as hard as he tried, it was impossible. He was going nowhere.
“Fine, I’ll go the other way,” he shouted. And he took off in the other direction, sailing down toward Moorepark Middle School, until he bumped up against another invisible wall. No matter which direction he tried to go, walls popped up to stop him. He felt like a caged animal. The only direction he could go was back toward Billy’s house.
“I can’t believe this,” the Hoove shouted into the air. “I am the picture of responsibility. My middle name is Responsibility. I couldn’t be any more responsible.”
The small sparrow flew in from nowhere and perched on the Hoove’s shoulder.
“Trust me, you’re not going to win this one. I used to be a bald eagle, and look what they did to me.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t turn me into a scrawny feathered thing. I’m Hoover Porterhouse the Third, the ghost with the most, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh yeah. Well, notice this, tough guy.”
And with that, the bird hunkered down, deposited a drippy dropping on the Hoove’s shoulder, then spread its wings and disappeared into the distance.
“Okay,” the Hoove called out to the sky. “So I’m grounded. You win round one. But you haven’t heard the last of me! Oh, and by the way, where do I send the cleaning bill?”
“Billy, we’ve got to talk,” the Hoove said as he zoomed in through the window of Billy’s room. “I have an urgent situation here that is completely unacceptable for ghost or human.”
Billy and Dr. Fielding had finished painting two of the four walls. With half the walls a medium blue and the other half a screaming lavender, the room looked like a sunset over the Pacific Ocean. Dr. Fielding, of course, was unaware of the Hoove’s abrupt entrance, but did notice that Billy had stopped painting and seemed to be staring at the window.
“Bill, attention to the task at hand,” he gently reprimanded. “Daydreaming never gets anything accomplished. Do you think Henry Ford would have perfected the automobile if he allowed himself to daydream? No, he would have stopped at three wheels and ended up with a tricycle.”
“Billy,” the Hoove interrupted. “Can you tell this guy to take a lunch br
eak? We have got to talk … now.”
Billy put down his roller and wiped his hands on the rag in his back pocket.
“Hey, Bennett, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a fruit juice break. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Make that seven minutes, Bill. Remember the tricycle.”
“Absolutely, Bennett. I’ll be right back with that fourth wheel. And I’m going to look into power steering while I’m gone.”
Bennett threw his head back and let out a big belly laugh.
“I like your sense of humor, Bill.”
“Thanks, Ben. I like that you like it.”
“Will you wrap up this lovefest and come with me right now,” Hoover snapped. “I have a major problem that happens to be life altering. At least, it would be if I were alive.”
The Hoove flew through the door and passed by Billy’s stepsister Breeze’s room, where she was hunched over her guitar with a pencil in her teeth and a notepad by her side, writing a new song for her band, the Dark Clouds.
“Did somebody just open the window?” she said as he flew by. “It suddenly got freezing in here.”
“Sorry, Breeze,” Billy called to his stepsister. “It’ll warm up in a minute.”
The Hoove was so agitated that the cold wind that followed him everywhere he went was even more intense than usual. As he passed Billy’s mother, who was making tuna salad in the kitchen, she pulled her cardigan sweater a little tighter around her.
“The weather report didn’t mention it was going to be this chilly,” she commented to Billy as he ran into the kitchen. “Oh and, honey, while you’re here, will you taste this tuna? I’m not sure the tuna to mayonnaise ratio is right.”
“This is no time to be calling your taste buds into action,” the Hoove yelled from the back door. “Outside, pronto.”
Billy gulped down the tuna, told his mom it was perfect (which it was), then followed the Hoove through the laundry room, out the door, and down the steps that led to the backyard.
How to Scare the Pants Off Your Pets Page 1
