by R. L. Stine
Colin strode up to me. “Want to see a really neat trick? I can make parts of Max's skin turn bright red.”
“No, please—” I cried. I tried to scramble away. Too late.
Pow powpow powpowpow.
Colin jerked up my T-shirt. He grinned at Quentin. “See?”
My stomach and chest were bright red.
“G-good trick,” I sputtered, when I could finally breathe again.
“Here's a better one,” Quentin told my brother.
He stepped up close to Colin and cupped a hand over his own right eye. He twisted his hand a few times.
Then Quentin pulled his hand away and raised his palm in front of Colin's face.
Resting in Quentin's palm was his eyeba!
“Gaaaack!” Colin opened his mouth and let out a choking sound. His eyes bulged as he stared in horror at Quentin's runny, wet eyeball. The blue eye seemed to stare up at him.
“No way!” Colin gasped. He turned and took off, running out of the room. A few seconds later, we heard loud groans and heaves—violent vomiting sounds—coming from his room.
Quentin giggled as he pushed the eyeball back into place.
I gaped at him. “How did you do that?”
A sly smile crossed his face. “Wouldn't you like to know!”
26
QUENTIN REFUSED TO SHOW ME how to do any of his tricks. He said he had to hurry home for dinner. “Next time, we'll trade secrets,” he said.
He packed up his bag and I showed him downstairs. We could still hear Colin gagging and retching in his room.
I figured any trick that could make my brother lose his lunch was a totally excellent trick. I wanted to learn it as soon as possible. It looked so totally real. But I knew it couldn't be.
“How about tomorrow?” I asked Quentin.
He shrugged. “Maybe.” He took off jogging to the street, swinging the black leather bag beside him.
I went into the kitchen, borrowed an egg from the fridge, and carried it upstairs to my room. I practiced sliding it around in my hand. I tried to figure out how Quentin had palmed it and made a chick appear in its place.
Then I realized that the chick couldn't have been hidden in his sleeve. He'd been wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt!
I set the egg down. I couldn't figure it out. Maybe Quentin will show me how it's done tomorrow, I thought.
I heard a car rumble outside. I heard a horn. Two long blasts.
I poked my head out the window and saw Mom's car turning into the drive. I ran outside to greet her.
“Help me with these grocery bags,” she said, popping the trunk. “Oh, I'm in a state. I'm late. I can't believe this is happening.”
“Huh? What's happening?” I asked.
She dropped a bulging grocery bag into my hands. It weighed about fifty pounds and sent me staggering to my knees.
Buster began barking his head off in the garage. I guess he just wanted to be let out to say hi to Mom.
“No time. No time,” Mom said, fluttering around like a hummingbird. “Hurry. Take that bag in and come out for more.”
I started to the kitchen door. “But what's going on, Mom?” I asked from behind the bag.
“It's Mr. Grimmus,” she replied, following me inside. “Your dad's new boss from Dallas. He's surprised us. He's coming for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, wow,” I muttered. I dropped the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter. “He's coming to check Dad out for the job?”
“That's right,” Mom said. “He likes to surprise people. Drop in on them without any warning.”
She began walking around in fast circles, rubbing her chin almost raw, talking to herself. “What should I do first? Should we have chicken or steak? Chicken or steak?”
Buster barked and howled in the garage.
“Steak!” Mom snapped her fingers. “I'll throw the steaks on. I bought fresh steaks the other day. We have a freezer full of them.” She flashed me a tense smile. “Mr. Grimmus is from Texas, right? He'll like a good steak.”
“I guess,” I said weakly. I wasn't thinking about steaks. I was thinking about Nicky and Tara.
“Yes. Steaks. Good old steaks!” Mom said. “So easy. So quick. And perfect for a Texan.”
She pulled open the freezer door—and let out a groan.
I sniffed the air. “Oh, gross!” I moaned. “What's that pukey smell? It smells like a skunk!”
Mom gripped the freezer door and peered inside. Her chin was trembling. Her eyes watered. “Broken,” she whispered. “The freezer is broken.”
She let go of the door and began pounding her fists against the side of the fridge. “Spoiled! All the steaks—they're spoiled!” she screamed. She pounded the fridge like a crazy person.
“Mom—stop!” I cried, holding my nose against the heavy putrid odor. I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away from the fridge.
“The steaks are rotten,” she moaned. “Rotten! They turned green. Do you believe it? They're green!” She tried to beat the fridge again, but I held her away.
She rubbed her chin again, thinking hard. “What am I going to serve Mr. Grimmus?” she asked. “If we don't make a good impression, your dad will lose the job!”
In the garage, Buster howled and barked. Maybe he smelled the rotten meat.
Mom grabbed the car keys and ran to the kitchen door. “When your dad gets home, tell him I'm at the butcher shop!”
The door slammed behind her.
Nicky and Tara were waiting in my bedroom. Nicky was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. Tara was stretched out on my bed with the old spell book open on her lap.
“You're back!” I cried. “Where were you? Why did you leave me there in the den?”
“Sorry, Max,” Tara said, looking up from the book. “We keep fading away. We can't control it.” She sighed. “Everything just goes black.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” I asked. “Did you hear my mom? Did you hear what's happening?”
“We heard everything,” Nicky said, shaking his head.
“That's why I'm looking up spells,” Tara said, turning the page in her book. “There has to be a spell for keeping Texans out of the house.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, frowning at her. “Remind me to laugh later.” I sighed and dropped down on the edge of the bed. “I repeat my question. What are we going to do?”
Tara's eyes flashed. “Maybe we should bring back those two ghouls.”
“No way!” I said. “My parents would kill me. You know I'd get blamed. I'd be a ghost like you. Really.”
“Just kidding,” Tara said. “The ghouls are gone.”
My throat felt tight. It was hard to swallow, hard to breathe. “I…don't want to leave you guys,” I said. “But if Mr. Grimmus likes us, I…I'm gone.”
Before they could reply, the front doorbell rang.
“That's him!” I cried. “That's Mr. Grimmus.”
Colin poked his head into my room. “Let's go, loser face,” he said. “That's Dad's new boss. We've gotta go make nice. I know you won't make a good impression. But at least he'll see that I'm a winner.”
I checked my hair in the mirror. A bouncy mess, as always. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I'm coming,” I said.
I turned and saw Colin staring at my bed. His eyes bulged. “Max,” he said, pointing. “That big book…it's floating in midair.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “It's such a good book. I can't put it down!”
27
I FOLLOWED COLIN DOWN the stairs. Dad was shaking hands with Mr. Grimmus at the front door.
He was a big red-faced man with long wavy white hair and a bushy white mustache. He wore a tight-fitting brown suit and a vest that barely covered his big belly. He had a black string tie around the collar of his white shirt, and he wore high-heeled black cowboy boots.
Dad was wearing his best suit, which was also his only suit. Mom is always after him to buy more dress-up clothes. But Dad always argues, “I
don't need dress-up clothes to go to the wrestling matches.”
That's about the only time Dad takes Mom out. When the wrestling matches come to the arena downtown.
“I always fly first class,” Mr. Grimmus was telling my dad. He patted his big belly. “I don't like to be fenced in.”
Dad laughed really loud, as if Mr. Grimmus had just told a terrific joke.
Then Dad saw Colin and me on the stairway. “Mr. Grimmus, here are my two sons, Colin and Max,” he said.
Mr. Grimmus shook hands with Colin. He squeezed Colin's hand so hard, I heard my brother's ears pop.
Then the big Texan turned to me. “How ya doin’, ol’ hoss?” He slapped me hard on the back. I only choked for two or three minutes.
Dad led the way into the living room. Mr. Grimmus’ boots thundered on the floor as we walked. When he sat down, he took up almost the whole couch. He unbuttoned his vest and his stomach popped out like a balloon.
“Where's the little lady?” he asked, glancing around.
“She went out for a moment,” Dad said. “She wants dinner tonight to be special.”
“I can't wait,” Mr. Grimmus said, rubbing his hands together. “I'm so hungry, I could eat a calf.”
Dad laughed really hard again. I could see that he was totally tense. Usually, he only laughs at Colin making fun of me.
Mr. Grimmus turned to Colin and me. “What sports do you play?” he asked Colin.
Colin leaned forward in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “Well, I'm all-state in three sports,” he said. “Football, basketball, and track.”
“If chasing girls is a sport,” Dad said, “Colin is all-state in that, too!”
He and Mr. Grimmus tossed back their heads and laughed really hard at that. Mr. Grimmus’ face turned even redder than before.
He turned to me. “And what do you do?”
“I clap for Colin,” I said.
I meant it as a joke. But this time, no one laughed.
Colin sneaked his big shoe over mine and stepped down hard on my foot.
“Ow!” I let out a cry. I couldn't help it.
That made Colin dig his heel into the top of my sneaker. Pain shot up my leg. But I gritted my teeth and didn't say anything.
Mr. Grimmus squinted at me. His mustache twitched. “You wouldn't kid an old cowboy, would you, Max? What sports do you play?”
“Well… I made captain of the math team this year,” I said.
Mr. Grimmus smiled at Colin. “I guess there's only one athlete in this family,” he said. “How fast do you run the four-forty, boy?”
“I hold the school record,” Colin said, cracking his knuckles again.
I saw Dad glaring at me. I knew I was letting him down. He wanted me to impress his new boss too. He didn't want Mr. Grimmus to know that I'm a helpless wimp.
I took a deep breath and decided to give it another try. “Uh…the kids at school all call me Brainimon,” I said. “That's because I'm at the top of my class.”
Mr. Grimmus’ bulby red nose twitched. “Brainimon? What kinda word is that? Is that some kinda foreign language?” He grinned. “The only foreign language I speak is Texan! Haw, haw, haw.”
He and Dad practically busted a gut over that one.
After that, everyone grew silent. It was totally tense. I could see that Dad wanted to keep the conversation going, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Mr. Grimmus tapped a rhythm on his knees with his big hands. He started to whistle to himself.
Colin cracked his knuckles again.
“Uh …,” Dad started. I could see his eyes spinning. He knew this wasn't going well. “Nice day,” he said finally.
Mr. Grimmus nodded. “Hot as a prairie dog's behind,” he said.
That didn't make any sense to me. But I kept quiet.
“Supposed to be a nice spring,” Dad added. Sweat was rolling down his forehead. He mopped his bald head with one hand.
Looking over Mr. Grimmus’ shoulder, I saw Nicky and Tara come down the stairs. Tara had the big spell book under one arm.
Panic swept over me. They're going to get me in horrible trouble, I thought. Of course, I don't want to move away. But if something goes wrong with this dinner tonight, I'll be blamed.
And then I'll be the dead meat around here. Mom and Dad will kill me!
My brain spun wildly. I felt totally helpless. Yes, I wanted to stay here. No, I didn't want the ghosts to get me in major trouble tonight.
“Go away!” I shouted, waving them back.
Mr. Grimmus’ mouth dropped open. “Sorry, ol’ hoss. I didn't hear you correctly.”
Nicky and Tara stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“I mean it. Go away,” I said.
Mr. Grimmus scowled at me. He jumped to his feet. “I don't understand, young man. I—”
Dad's eyes burned angrily into mine. “Max, what is your problem?”
“I … I was talking to that fly,” I said. I pretended to swat at a fly. “It's been buzzing around my head.” I swatted again. “Go away, fly. I mean it. Go away!”
Colin chuckled. “Max is an artist,” he told Mr. Grimmus. “He draws flies.”
Dad laughed at that one. But Mr. Grimmus just stared at me.
Colin tromped down hard on my foot again.
Mr. Grimmus was still standing in front of the couch, his huge belly hovering over the coffee table. Suddenly, he turned to the stairs and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
He let out a gasp and pointed. “That book—it's floating down the stairs by itself!”
I darted across the room and grabbed the book out of Tara's hands.
Dad, Colin, and Mr. Grimmus were all staring at me.
“It's a book about helium balloons,” I said. “Very clever how they do that, isn't it?”
They kept staring.
Luckily, Mom stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Dinner is served, gentlemen,” she announced. “Please, everyone come in.”
Whew. A close call.
I followed everyone into the dining room. I had my fingers crossed. Would dinner with Mr. Grimmus go okay, without any disasters?
Three guesses.
28
MR. GRIMMUS REACHED OVER the table and slapped Dad on the back. “You've got a fine little filly here, Doyle!” he boomed. He grinned at Mom.
Mom lowered her head and gave him a shy smile.
“I'm loving these chops,” Mr. Grimmus said. “I could eat me a whole side of lamb. Haw, haw.”
Dad laughed with him. Mom started to choke on her salad. But she covered up pretty well.
“I'm glad you're enjoying your dinner, Mr. Grimmus,” Mom said. “Your visit was a big surprise. But I tried to whip up something you'd like.”
Mr. Grimmus swallowed a mountain of mashed potatoes. “I like your family, Doyle,” he said, nodding at Dad. “You pass the family test. I think y'all will do really fine in Texas.”
“I'm pretty proud of them too,” Dad said. He smiled at Mom and Colin.
The dinner was going well. But I felt so totally weird. Dad never talked like that in his life. He sounded so stiff and tense. And he looked so strange, wearing a necktie at the dinner table. Sometimes, when we had no company, he didn't even wear a shirt!
“I did a social studies unit on Texas last year,” Colin said. “I wrote a paper about cattle ranchers and how they fought against sheepherders. It was totally interesting.”
You go, Colin! My bro was really working the charm. And Mr. Grimmus was eating it up.
“Luckily, my family was in the barbed wire business,” Mr. Grimmus said. “Those ranchers all needed fences. They made us as rich as the filling in a pecan pie!”
He and Dad shared another big laugh.
“Well, I loved reading about Texas,” Colin continued. “I can't wait to see it in person.”
Whoa. My brother was really going for the gold star tonight!
“I'll take you out to my ranch,” Mr. Grimmus told Colin.
“I've got a hundred and thirty-three different kinds of cactus there. I think you'll find that very interesting.”
“You got that right,” Colin replied.
“Is it cactus or cacti?” I chimed in.
Mr. Grimmus frowned at me. “You'll know if you sit on one, boy!” he exclaimed.
Everyone laughed at that one. I tried to fake some laughter too. Just to show I was a good sport.
I kept glancing at Mom and then at Dad. They didn't really like this big, loudmouthed balloon— did they?
At least the dinner was going smoothly. No ghouls. No spilled sour milk or pies in the face.
Maybe I'd get out of it alive.
Mr. Grimmus seemed to be enjoying himself a lot. And I could see that Dad was happy. He was passing the test.
Mom offered Mr. Grimmus the platter of lamb chops. Then she served more mashed potatoes and string beans.
Mr. Grimmus was telling us about his family. He had seven children by his first wife, and seven children by his second wife.
“I guess seven is my lucky number!” he exclaimed.
“Or maybe fourteen,” I said.
He squinted at me. “No, hoss. Seven. Seven has always been my lucky number. Not fourteen. I know you're a math freak, but don't try to change my lucky number.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Mr. Grimmus picked up a lamb chop and raised it high. “This is lamb chop number seven,” he said. “See? My lucky night.” He chomped into the chop.
I finished my glass of apple juice. I glanced toward the kitchen.
And to my surprise, I saw the freezer door at the top of the fridge swing open.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. But no. The freezer had opened up.
A few seconds later, I saw Mr. Grimmus set down his lamb chop and sniff the air.
He made a face. He sniffed the air again. He made another face.
“You smell something?” he asked.
29
MOM AND DAD SNIFFED. They both made disgusted faces.
Colin sniffed. He pinched his fingers over his nose and laughed. “Max isn't toilet trained,” he said.
“Shut up!” I cried.
Colin waved a big fist at me. “Who's gonna make me?”
