by R. L. Stine
Chapter 18
A THOUSAND CATERPILLARS
“How do you make a cocoon?” I asked Billy the Brain.
He was reading a manga comic book. He reads them in the original Japanese. And he holds them upside down to make it even harder!
Billy scratched his chin. “How do you make a raccoon?”
“No,” I said. “A cocoon. A really BIG cocoon.”
He nodded. “Well…caterpillars make cocoons. Before they become butterflies. So, Bernie, you need to collect a few thousand caterpillars.”
I squinted at him. “Billy, where do I get a few thousand caterpillars?”
“Beats me,” he said. “Maybe a caterpillar store?”
Sometimes I think Billy needs a new nickname. Like maybe Billy the Moron.
I had a better idea for the cocoon.
I dug around in my closet and found cans of white Crazy String. You know. You squeeze the top and miles of sticky string pour out.
The Crazy String was left over from Halloween. Feenman, Crench, and I leaned out our third-floor window and squirted everyone who passed by down below. It was an awesome Halloween.
The white Crazy String would make a perfect cocoon. Late that night I got my guys together. I passed out the cans of string.
“This is the big finish,” I told them. “After tonight Joe Sweety will never bully another kid at Rotten School.”
We cheered and slapped high fives and touched knuckles and did the secret Rotten House Handshake.
“Crench, where’s your cell phone?” I asked. “Bring it. We need to take pictures of this.”
He raised his phone and clicked my picture.
“Not yet!” I cried. “Don’t take my picture. What’s the matter with you?”
“You said to take a picture,” Crench said.
I clicked Crench’s phone shut. “Just wait. We’re gonna sneak into Sweety’s room and cocoon him—right? When he wakes up, he’ll leap out of bed screaming and crying like a frightened baby. That’s when you take his picture.”
“I get it, Bernie,” Crench said. “Then we’ll send it to everyone in school.”
“You got that right,” I said. “When everyone sees what a scaredy-cat he is, he won’t be The Big Sweety anymore. He’ll be The Big Who Cares!”
I slapped my buddies on the back. “Okay, dudes,” I said. “Grab your cans, and let’s go do it!”
Chapter 19
THE BEST PLAN EVER
We crept out into the hall. This was the most dangerous part of the mission. If Mrs. Heinie caught us sneaking out of the dorm in the middle of the night, we were dead meat.
We slithered to the stairs, walking on tiptoe so the wooden floors wouldn’t creak. We were halfway down when Feenman let out a huge, roaring burp.
The burp echoed down the silent hall.
I grabbed Feenman. “What is wrong with you?” I whispered. “Do you want us to get caught?”
“I can’t help it, Bernie,” he whispered back. “I had a cucumber after dinner. Cucumbers make me burp.”
“Why did you have a cucumber after dinner?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
He tried to cover his mouth. Not in time. Another burp shook the banister.
We froze, listening for Mrs. Heinie’s footsteps.
Silence.
“I’m warning you, Feenman,” I whispered. “The next time we have a top secret mission—no cucumber!”
“I can’t promise,” he answered. “But I’ll try.”
We crept out the front door. It was a cool, windy night. The trees on the Great Lawn were bending from side to side. Clouds covered the moon.
I watched a fat squirrel scamper across the grass. It vanished into the apple trees. Now we were the only ones moving across the campus.
We made our way quickly to Nyce House, holding our Crazy String cans at our sides. Feenman and Crench started bumping each other—just for fun. Feenman burped again.
I spun around. Did someone hear it? No. No one in sight.
Bright yellow lights made the stone columns at the front entrance of Nyce House glow. We kept in the shadows and sneaked around the side of the building to the back.
Sweety’s room was on the first floor near the end. The three of us stopped at his window to catch our breath.
The window was half open. I peeked inside, but I couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
“He must be sound asleep,” I whispered. “Remember, cover him in string. Then get ready to take his picture.”
Crench slid the window up higher. One by one, we climbed into Sweety’s room.
Holding my breath, I crept close to his bed. I could hear him snoring lightly. He was sleeping uncovered. Perfect!
I couldn’t help it. I started to giggle.
Was this the best Bernie B. plan ever?
I motioned to my two buddies. We raised our cans, pressed the tops, and started to cocoon him.
“Easy. Easy,” I whispered. “Spread the stuff softly.”
My heart pounded. My hand shook as I let the stringy stuff pour out.
And then the lights flashed on.
I jumped. I blinked. I gasped.
“NO WAY!” I screamed. “NO WAY!!”
Chapter 20
THE LAST CHAPTER
Blinking in the bright light, I stared at the face in the bed. The face staring back at me.
“Chipmunk!” I screamed. “What are YOU doing in Sweety’s bed?”
Chipmunk shook his whole body. “I…I’m covered in gook!” he cried. “I’m sticky. I’m trapped. I’m all gooky!”
“But…but…” I sputtered.
“I’m gooky! I’m ooky! I’m yucky!” Chipmunk cried. His eyes bulged. “Bernie…YOU did this? YOU were trying to scare me?”
“N-no,” I stammered. “No way. I—”
I turned and saw Joe Sweety standing at the light switch. He growled. “Caught ya.”
“No. Wait—” I said.
Chipmunk sat up. He pulled hunks of sticky string off his pajamas. “I’ve been sleeping here in Joe’s room,” he said, “because Joe said he’d protect me from the ghost.”
“The ghost?” I cried.
Chipmunk nodded. “Joe and I are both afraid of ghosts. So we teamed up to protect each other.”
Sweety moved toward me, squeezing his fists. “But now we know who the ghosts REALLY are!” he growled. “And now, Bernie, it’s time for you to have a playdate with my two friends!” He shook his big, meaty fists.
Feenman and Crench dived through the open window. I could hear their feet pounding the ground as they ran away.
Joe Sweety closed in on me, fists raised.
“Wait! I can explain!” I cried. “I’m sure I can think of a good explanation. After all, I’m Bernie B.—right? I can always explain! Give me a minute to think of something!”
The Big Sweety didn’t give me a minute. He backed me to the wall. “Have you met Mr. Fist and Mr. OTHER Fist?” he asked.
“No, wait, Joe!” I said. “Ha-ha. It’s just a misunderstanding. Ha-ha. We’ll all laugh about this tomorrow. Ha-ha. Joe, give me a break. Please! OW! Was that Mr. Fist or Mr. OTHER Fist?
You can stop reading now. The rest of the story is kinda painful.
Chapter 21
ANOTHER LAST CHAPTER
Whoa. Wait. That can’t be the end of the story.
Bernie B. being pounded into hamburger meat? What kind of ending is that?
Let’s skip ahead to the next morning. Feenman and Crench helped me down the stairs of the dorm and outside. I groaned in pain with each step.
“Bernie, you don’t look too terrific,” Feenman said. “You’re, like, swelled up. Your head is as big as my pillow.”
“Sweety has a hard punch,” Crench said. “Your face looks like a cabbage.”
“Guys, you’re too nice. Stop trying to cheer me up,” I said. “The swelling will go down in a week or two. And what’re a few broken bones? They’ll heal—right?”
Feenman shook his head. “You really look like garbage,” he said.
“No way,” Crench said. “Garbage looks a lot better than Bernie does!”
“Please stop trying to cheer me up.” I groaned. “It was all worth it. I’d do it again. I did it for my friend Chipmunk. And I’d—”
I stopped because I saw Chipmunk crossing the Great Lawn, hurrying to class. “Yo—wait up!” I called.
I limped after Chipmunk. Breathing hard, I caught up to him and threw an arm around his shoulders.
“What’s up, Chipper?” I said. “How’s it going, dude?”
He stopped and stared at me. “Bernie? Is that you? Your face looks like a hunk of raw liver.”
“You’re just saying that to be nice,” I said. “Listen, Chipper, don’t thank me. Really. I did what I did because it was the right thing to do. I don’t want thanks. Please don’t thank me.”
He squinted hard at me. “Thank you? Why would I thank you?”
“Uh…well…for haunting Joe Sweety? For scaring him out of his head? For trying to protect you?”
Chipmunk spun around angrily. “Yeah. How could you DO that to Joe?” he screamed. “I can’t believe you did that! Joe is my friend. You think you can pick on my friends that way?”
I took a step back. “Whoa. Chipmunk. Chill. I—”
Chipmunk raised both fists. “Come on, Bernie. I can’t let you do that to my friend Joe. Come on. I’ll teach you a lesson!” He swung his fists.
I screamed.
Chipmunk? The shyest, most frightened kid at school—fighting me?
This really is the last chapter. Go away. Stop reading. I mean it. Give me a break.
Come on, beat it. Go AWAY!
About the Author
R.L. Stine graduated from Rotten School with a solid D+ average, which put him at the top of his class. He says that his favorite activities at school were Scratching Body Parts and Making Armpit Noises.
In sixth grade, R.L. won the school Athletic Award for his performance in the Wedgie Championships. Unfortunately, after the tournament, his underpants had to be surgically removed.
After graduation, R.L. became well known for writing scary book series such as The Nightmare Room, Fear Street, Goosebumps, and Mostly Ghostly, and a short story collection called Beware!
Today, R.L. lives in New York City, where he is busy writing stories about his school days.
For more information about R.L. Stine, go to www.rottenschool.com and www.rlstine.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Look for these ROTTEN SCHOOL books, too!
The Big Blueberry Barf-Off!
The Great Smelling Bee
The Good, the Bad and the Very Slimy
Lose, Team, Lose!
Shake, Rattle, & Hurl!
The Heinie Prize
Credits
Cover art by Trip Park
Cover design by mjcdesign.com
Cover © 2006 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.
Copyright
ROTTEN SCHOOL #7: DUDES, THE SCHOOL IS HAUNTED! Copyright © 2006 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. Cover copyright © 2006 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition March 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-190777-7
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