by R. L. Stine
Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the basement door.
Alex hung back, her hands pressed to her face. Behind her glasses, her eyes were wide with fear.
THUD THUD.
“It’s coming up the stairs!” I cried. “Run!”
Too late.
I heard another THUD—and the door crashed open.
22
A beam of white light made me shut my eyes.
My hands shot up to shield myself.
Behind the beam of light, a large, dark figure lumbered heavily through the door.
“Dad!” I gasped.
My dad lowered the flashlight to the floor.
“Dad! What were you doing down there?” I demanded in a high, shrill voice.
“Are you two okay?” Dad asked, narrowing his eyes at us. “Why do you look so frightened?”
“We… uh… well…” I didn’t know how to explain. I couldn’t tell him we thought he was a Blob Monster!
Dad pointed to the basement with the flashlight. “I’ve been down there checking the circuit breakers,” he explained. “I can’t figure out why the lights haven’t come back on.” He scratched his head.
“We were looking for you,” Alex said. “We shouted down to the basement for you.”
“I went across the street to check on your mother. Then I went into the back room of the basement,” Dad replied. “I guess I couldn’t hear you.”
He shook his head. “What a strange storm. It came up so suddenly. And then it just stopped. As if someone turned it on, then turned it off.”
Alex and I glanced at each other. “Yes. It was weird,” Alex agreed.
I took a deep breath. “Uh… Dad?” I started.
He beamed the light at my feet. “Yes, Zackie?”
“Dad… when you were down in the basement… was there anything else down there with you?”
His heavy eyebrows rose up on his forehead. He stared hard at me. “Excuse me?”
“Did you see anything strange down there? Or hear anything strange?”
He shook his head. “No. Nothing.” His eyes locked on mine. “Are you afraid, Zackie? I know you have problems with being in the dark like this. Would you like to hang out with me for a while?”
“No. I’m fine. Really,” I insisted. “I just wondered…”
Dad stepped past us and started toward the kitchen. “I’m going to call the electric company,” he said. “They should have fixed the lines by now.”
I watched him make his way down the hall. The white beam of light bounced in front of him.
I held my candle up to the basement door. “I guess the typewriter didn’t work this time,” I told Alex happily. “No Blob Monster.”
“Let’s go downstairs and check it out!” she replied.
“Huh?” I backed away from the open doorway. “Are you crazy?”
“We have to know if the old typewriter has powers or not,” Alex said. “We have no choice, Zackie. We have to check out the basement.”
“But—but—”
She pushed past me onto the basement stairway. She walked down the first two steps.
Then she turned back to me. “Are you coming with me, or not?”
23
Did I have a choice?
No.
For one thing, I had the candle. I couldn’t let Alex go down there by herself—in total darkness.
But I held back, my heart pounding, my mouth dry as cotton. “Dad said he didn’t hear anything,” I said. “So there is no reason for us to go.”
“That’s lame and you know it,” Alex replied. She took another step down. “Am I going down alone?”
I forced my rubbery legs to move. “No. Wait up. I’m coming,” I said.
I lowered my foot to the first stair. “But we’ll only stay down for a second—right?”
“Just long enough to see if there is a Blob Monster hiding down there,” Alex replied.
Waiting for fresh meat, I added silently.
I stumbled on the next step. But caught myself on the railing.
The candle flame dipped low, but didn’t blow out.
The basement spread in front of us like a black pit.
We both stopped at the bottom of the steps—and listened.
Silence.
I raised the candle high. Tall stacks of cartons came into view. Behind them, I could see the two wooden wardrobe closets where Mom and Dad store our winter clothes.
“The Blob Monster could be hiding behind those tall cartons,” Alex whispered. “Or in those closets.”
I swallowed hard. “Alex—give me a break,” I whispered back.
We made our way slowly to the stacks of cartons. I raised the candle high. We peeked behind the first stack.
Nothing hiding there.
“Can we go now?” I pleaded.
Alex rolled her eyes. “Don’t you want to know the truth? Don’t you want to know if your typewriter really has powers or not?”
“No. Not really,” I whispered.
She ignored me. She grabbed the candle from my hand and moved behind the next stack of cartons.
“Hey—give that back!” I cried.
“You’re too slow,” she snapped. “Keep close behind me. You’ll be okay.”
“I’m not okay,” I insisted. “I want to go back upstairs.”
Alex moved quickly between the stacks of cartons. I had to hurry to keep up.
I never liked the basement. In fact, I was afraid of the basement even in the daytime.
I knew there really wasn’t anything to be afraid of. But sometimes, telling yourself that doesn’t do any good at all.
“Alex—” I whispered. “Can we—?”
I stopped when I heard the sound. A soft slapping, from somewhere against the wall.
Slap… slap… slap… slap…
Steady as a heartbeat.
Alex had moved away from me. I saw her walking quickly toward the laundry room.
“Alex—!” I hurtled across the room to her—so fast, I bumped into her.
“Hey—watch it!” she exclaimed.
“Alex—it’s down here!” I shrieked. “It’s here! It’s really here! Listen! Do you hear it?”
24
We both froze.
The steady, rhythmic sound rose up from the far wall.
Slap… slap… slap… slap…
“Do you hear it?” I whispered.
Alex nodded. Her mouth had dropped open in shock. She gripped the candlestick in both hands.
Slap… slap…
“What are we going to do?” I whispered.
“It’s waiting for fresh meat,” Alex murmured.
“I know. I know!” I groaned. “You don’t have to say it.” I pulled her arm. “Come on. We have to tell Dad.”
I gazed through the darkness to the stairway. The steps seemed a million miles away.
“We’ll never make it,” I choked out. “We have to run past the Blob Monster to reach the stairs.”
Slap… slap…
“What’s our choice?” Alex shot back. “Pick one, Zackie. Choice one: We stay here. Choice two: We don’t stay here.”
She was right, of course. We had to make a run for it.
Maybe if we ran fast enough, we’d take it by surprise.
Maybe the Blob Monster was too big to run fast.
Slap… slap… slap… slap…
“Let’s go,” Alex urged. “I’ll go first since I have the light.”
“Uh… can we run side by side?” I asked softly.
She nodded.
Without another word, we took off.
25
Our shoes thudded over the concrete basement floor.
I struggled to keep at Alex’s side. My legs felt so heavy, as if I were running uphill!
“Whoooa!” I cried out when the lights flashed on.
Startled, we both stopped running.
I blinked hard, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the bright ceiling light.
&
nbsp; Slap… slap…
We both turned to the far wall to see the Blob Monster.
And stared at a pale white hand slapping against the wall beneath the open basement window.
A hand?
Slap… slap…
“It—it’s a rubber glove!” Alex exclaimed.
“It’s one of Dad’s gardening gloves,” I choked out.
Dad usually leaves his heavy gardening gloves on that window ledge. One of the gloves was hanging from a nail. And the wind kept slapping it against the wall.
Alex laughed first. Then I joined in.
It felt good to laugh. And it felt especially good to know that no Blob Monster was hiding in the basement.
What a relief!
Alex and I climbed happily up the stairs. Then she made her way to the front door. “Thanks for the awesome entertainment!” she teased. “It was better than a movie! See you tomorrow.”
She started out the door, then turned back. “We definitely got a little crazy tonight, Zackie. I mean, about that old typewriter.”
“Yeah. I guess,” I admitted. “It doesn’t have any special powers. It didn’t make a Blob Monster appear in the basement. And all the lights came back on without me having to type that they came on.”
“The typewriter didn’t cause anything to happen tonight. It was all coincidence,” Alex said.
“Oooh. Big word!” I teased.
She slammed the door behind her.
“Are you doing anything, Zackie?” Mom asked.
“Not really.”
It was Saturday afternoon, and I was just hanging out. I had a ton of homework to do. So I was lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, thinking up excuses not to do it.
“Can you run to the store for me?” Mom asked. “The Enderbys are coming for dinner, and I need a few things.” She held up a slip of paper. “It’s a short list.”
“No problem,” I said, climbing up from the couch.
Maybe I can add a few items to the list, I thought, taking it from her hand. Like maybe a few candy bars. Or a box of Pop-Tarts….
I love to eat Pop-Tarts raw.
“Ride your bike, okay?” Mom asked. “I’m kind of in a hurry. Come straight back—okay?”
“No problem,” I repeated. I tucked the list into the back pocket of my jeans and headed to the garage to get my bike.
The afternoon sun poured down. The air felt hot and dry. More like summer than spring.
I jumped onto my bike and pedaled down the driveway standing up. I turned toward town and sat down, pedaling fast, riding no-hands.
A few minutes later, I leaned my bike against the brick wall of Jack’s. Jack’s is mainly a meat market, but they sell fruits, and vegetables, and other groceries too.
The bell over the glass door clanged as I stepped inside. Mrs. Jack was at her usual spot, leaning her elbows on the counter beside the cash register.
Mrs. Jack is a big, platinum-haired woman with about a dozen chins. She wears bright red lipstick and long, dangling earrings.
She is really nice to everyone—except kids.
She hates kids. I guess she thinks we only come into her store to steal. When a kid comes in, she follows him up and down the aisles and never takes her eyes off him.
I closed the door behind me and reached into my back pocket for my shopping list.
Mrs. Jack had the newspaper spread out in front of her on the counter. She raised her eyes slowly and made a disgusted face at me. “Help you?” she muttered.
I waved the list. “Just buying a few things for my mom.”
She grabbed the list out of my hand and squinted at it. Then she handed it back with a grunt. “Tuna is in the back on the bottom,” she said.
“Thanks.” I picked up a shopping basket and hurried to the back of the store.
A big air conditioner rattled against the wall. A fan in front of it blew cold air down the narrow aisle.
I found the tuna quickly and dropped two cans into my basket.
The long, white display counter of the meat department stretched in front of me. Behind the glass, cuts of red meat were lined up in perfect rows.
Beside the counter, an enormous side of beef hung from the ceiling.
That is really gross! I thought.
It looked like an entire cow—stripped of its hide—hanging upside down.
Yuck.
I started to turn away from it—when the dead cow moved.
It swung to the right, then swung back.
I stared in surprise.
The cow swung further, to the right, then back.
I watched it swinging on its rope, swinging heavily from side to side.
And then I heard a harsh, whispered voice:
“Fresh meat… Fresh meat…”
26
“Ohhh.” A low moan escaped my throat as I gaped at the side of beef, swinging so slowly, back and forth, back and forth.
“Fresh meat…” came the raspy whisper again. “Fresh meat…”
“No—!” I blurted out.
I dropped my shopping basket.
And started to step back.
I let out another cry as Adam stood up and stepped out from behind the meat counter. He had a gleeful grin on his face.
“Fresh meat…” he whispered. And burst out laughing.
Annie and Emmy climbed out from behind the counter, giggling and shaking their heads.
“Awesome!” Annie exclaimed.
“Zackie, you’re bright red!” her sister laughed.
My face burned as hot as the sun. I felt so embarrassed. How could I fall for such a dumb joke?
Now, I knew, they would tell everyone in school that I freaked out over a side of beef!
“What are you doing here?” I shrieked.
“We saw you on your bike,” Adam replied. “We followed you into the store. Didn’t you see us? We were right behind you.”
“AAAAGH!” I let out a furious cry and balled my hands into fists.
“What’s going on back there?” Mrs. Jack’s harsh voice rattled the shelves. “What are you kids doing?”
“Nothing!” I called. “I—I found the tuna!”
I turned back to Adam and the twins. “Give me a break,” I muttered.
For some reason, that struck them funny. They giggled and slapped one another high fives.
Then Adam stuck out both arms. He held them stiffly in front of him, like a sleepwalker. And began marching stiff-legged across the aisle toward me.
“You’re controlling me, Zackie!” he declared in a machinelike voice. “I’m in your power.”
He staggered toward me like some kind of zombie. “Your typewriter controls me, Zackie. Your typewriter has the power! I am your slave!”
“Adam—you’re not funny!” I cried.
The girls giggled. They closed their eyes, stuck out their arms, and started marching toward me too.
“We’re in your power,” Emmy chanted.
“You’re controlling our every move,” Annie said.
“This isn’t funny!” I shouted furiously. “Get lost, you guys! You—”
I turned and saw Mrs. Jack bouncing toward us, her face as red as her lipstick. “What are you doing back here?” she bellowed. “This isn’t a clubhouse!”
Adam and the girls instantly lowered their sleepwalker arms. Annie and Emmy backed up against the meat counter.
“Are you buying anything?” Mrs. Jack demanded, huffing and puffing from her long journey from the cash register. “If you’re not buying anything, get out. Go to the playground.”
“We’re going,” Adam murmured. He couldn’t get past Mrs. Jack. She filled the aisle. So he scooted down the next aisle.
Annie and Emmy hurried after him.
Mrs. Jack glared at me.
“I—I’m almost finished,” I stammered. I picked up the basket. I searched for my list, but couldn’t find it.
No problem. I remembered what was on it.
I found the other item
s and dropped them into the basket. Mrs. Jack stayed with me the whole while.
Then she walked me to the front of the store.
I paid and hurried out. I was so angry at Adam and the girls, I forgot all about the candy bars.
They are always making fun of me, I griped to myself.
Always playing mean tricks. Always trying to make me look like a jerk.
Always. Always.
And I’m sick of it. I’m sick to death of it!
“Sick sick sick!” I chanted the word all the way home. I hopped off my bike and let it crash to the driveway. Then I ran inside and tossed the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter.
“Sick sick sick.”
I’m going to totally lose it if I don’t cool down, I decided.
I ran up to my room and shoved a fresh sheet of paper into the old typewriter.
Then I plopped into the desk chair and furiously started typing. A third Blob Monster story. The scariest one of all.
I typed as fast as I could. I didn’t think about it. I let my anger do the thinking.
I didn’t write it out first. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t know what was going to happen next.
I leaned over the old typewriter and typed.
In the story, the ugly pink Blob Monster attacks the whole town. People are screaming. Running in every direction. Running for their lives.
Two police officers step forward to fight the Blob Monster off. It opens its huge mouth—and swallows them whole!
Shrieks of terror fill the town. The enormous Blob Monster is eating everyone alive!
“Yes!” I cried out loud. “Yes!”
I was paying everyone back. Paying the whole town back.
“Yes!”
It was the most exciting, most terrifying story I ever wrote. I wrote page after page.
“Zackie—you forgot something!” a voice called.
I started to type those words into the story. Then I recognized Mom’s voice.
Breathing hard, I spun away from the typewriter. I found Mom leaning in the doorway, shaking her head fretfully.
“You have to go back to the store,” she said. “You forgot the loaf of Italian bread. We need bread for dinner tonight.”
