Fear the Barfitron

by M. D. Payne

  “…monnnnn…”

  “Monks?” asked Ben.

  “Monsters,” I finally said.

  Gordon chuckled. Ben cocked his head strangely. Shane raised one eyebrow really high.

  “So stop working there,” said Gordon. “I told you not to work so hard—that volunteer stuff is wack.”

  “No, wait!” I said. “I don’t mean that they’re like monsters. I mean they ARE monsters.”

  My friends stared at me with wide eyes.

  Shane, whose eyebrow had nearly flown off of his head at this point, opened his mouth and—

  “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  A scream came from the lunch line.

  And this time, I wasn’t the only one who heard it.

  Students ran from the food counters. All the kids sitting at tables got up to get a better look.

  “That thing was HUGE,” someone yelled as he ran past our table.

  My heart began to race. I felt as if telling my friends about Raven Hill had somehow caused the scream.

  The Director is trying to get me to shut up, I thought, while looking around for a raven.

  “Go on,” said Shane.

  Trying hard to ignore the commotion and the lump in my throat, I said, “Raven Hill Retirement Home is filled with old monsters. I’ve seen a few vampires. I’ve seen one, maybe two werewolves. I’ve seen, like, four witches. I actually don’t know how many of them are zombies. But, they’re all in the retirement home together—and I’m not sure why. But what I do know—they’re staying alive by eating a jar of my lebensplasm.”

  “Your what?” asked Ben

  “My lebensplasm!” I screamed, angry that nobody knew what I was talking about. How do I explain it? “I don’t know what it is. My energy? My soul? All I know is they’ve got it in a jar, and they’re eating it, and the jar is half full, and I have no idea what’s going to happen when it’s empty. I’m terrified that I’m going to die.”

  Gordon started laughing. He sounded like a hyena. Not that I was surprised. And even though he didn’t say anything, I could tell what Gordon was thinking: Oh, my friend has finally lost his mind this time. Somebody call the loony bin.

  Kids continued to stream past us and out of the lunchroom. Only a few curious kids stayed behind, and all eyes were on the lunch lady. Behind the hot food counter, she was battling something on the floor with the broom. She swung wildly and screamed in Spanish, “¡No va a escapar!”

  “Wow,” said Shane. “Lunch Lady’s getting down to business!”

  Ben stopped a kid that was running out of the lunchroom.

  “What is it?” Ben asked.

  “A HUGE cockroach, dude!” exclaimed the kid, and he made a disgusted face before running off, leaving the four of us as the only kids left in the lunchroom.

  “Ooh, a monster cockroach,” Gordon said. “Maybe he’s come to Rio Vista to eat your blebenfleben.”

  “See!” I said pointing toward the hairnetted head of the lunch lady zooming around behind the counters. “I saw a huge bug like that at Raven Hill that first day. I think it’s here for me.”

  “I was just joking,” said Gordon, who started laughing hysterically again.

  “This is serious,” I said, slamming my fist down on my tray, which made Gordon laugh even harder. “I need your help. I know where they’re keeping my lebensplasm—behind a booby-trapped door. If you guys help, we should be able to get it.”

  Ben looked at me. I could tell he didn’t believe me. But he looked like he wanted to so badly.

  Shane also looked like he thought I was crazy—but he was just too good a friend to say anything. He clapped Gordon on the back, which stopped his hyena laugh.

  “We’ll help you get your lebensplasm back. Just tell us what we need to do,” Shane announced.

  “Yeah,” said Ben. “I’m in.”

  “Fine,” said Gordon. “Let’s have a crazy adventure! Why not?!”

  I gave the guys the scoop on everything. The ravens. The Nurses. The Director. The Great Room. I went over every detail of the Creepy Meeting. I described the layout of the retirement home. I described the monsters I had seen. Most importantly, I told them about DO NOT ENTER and the booby trap that almost fried me like chicken.

  If they hadn’t thought I was crazy before, they sure did now. I couldn’t believe I was talking about things like lebensplasm and monster dance parties in the middle of the school lunchroom! It helped that there was nobody else there but the lunch lady, and she was a little too busy to notice anything at the moment.

  Behind the counter, she had finally cornered her prey.

  Smack, smack, CRACK.

  I swore I heard a grunt come from the floor, and then the lunch lady dropped the broom and grabbed a bucket. She slammed it on the ground, upside down, over her prize. She bent over, and pushed the bucket back into the kitchen with a SCCCCCRRRAAAAPPPE.

  She returned to the counter and yelled, “What you waiteeng for? Geet eet while eet’s hot.”

  Students started streaming back into the abandoned lunchroom. If the Director had sent a huge cockroach to shut me up, his plan had failed. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “So,” I said. “Let’s head up there tonight, and—”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” said Gordon. “I’ve got practice tonight.”

  “Yeah,” said Shane with a shrug. “I’ve got karate.”

  “Come on guys,” I pleaded. “I’m being serious here! Did you already forget about the Fireball of Death?!”

  “It can’t wait one more day?” asked Ben. “I have oboe practice tonight. Sorry.”

  “Fine!” I said, exasperated. “How about tomorrow night? The Director said I could come back Thursday or Friday, and I could use a day off anyway.”

  Shane let out a long hissing sound and scrunched up his face.

  “WHAT!” I was yelling now. “What is it now?!”

  “Dude!” said Gordon. “You might have forgotten—because you bailed on us—but we’ve got those killer passes to the park this weekend, and this weekend starts tomorrow night.”

  “All right,” I said, “look. Just come with me to Raven Hill after school tomorrow, and as soon as we’re done there we can spend the whole night and the entire weekend enjoying Ben barfing on every ride, over and over and over again.”

  “Perfect!” said Ben.

  “Fine by me,” said Shane.

  “Whatever,” said Gordon.

  After lunch, Shane, Gordon, Ben, and I all had Mr. Stewart’s chemistry class.

  Although I was relieved that my friends hadn’t abandoned me at the lunch table, my energy was completely drained after having told them my insane tale.

  I stared down at the stained stone-top lab station, nearly falling asleep on my feet. I leaned on Shane—my partner for the day’s experiment—for support.

  The bell rang for the start of class, and Mr. Stewart was still nowhere to be seen. Shane turned to me to say something when the door on the side of the classroom exploded with a puff of smoke. Everyone gasped, and I must have jumped two feet, imagining a huge cockroach creeping toward me through the haze.

  Instead, Mr. Stewart stumbled through with a cough, running into a skeleton set up next to the door. The smoke was superfunky—a mix of burned bacon, burned hair, and burned fart. Some kids started coughing. Others laughed as Mr. Stewart did a bit of a dance with the skeleton to keep it from falling over.

  “Whew,” Mr. Stewart said. “Guess I should have tested the ventilator system in the lab before I tried that experiment.”

  Mr. Stewart tried to straighten out his disheveled, slightly scorched mop of hair, but it just wouldn’t behave.

  My heart continued to bounce around in my chest as Mr. Stewart started his lesson.

  “Today,” said Mr. Stewart, as he walked behind his lab station, “we are going to learn about the relationship between acids and bases, starting with one of my favorites—butyric acid—which is found in the stomach.” He erased a small patch of black
board that still contained notes from years past, and wrote B-U-T-Y-R-I-C A-C-I-D in huge, crazy block letters.

  I heard a small, wet burp escape from the lab station behind me. I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell that Ben probably wasn’t too excited to learn about stomach acid.

  “To start”—Mr. Stewart spoke louder now, comically pointing a crooked finger in the air—“I will ask Chris to come up and assist me.”

  Mr. Stewart locked eyes with me, and raised his bushy eyebrows. I felt my cheeks turn red. Apparently the teachers had been talking in the break room.

  Mr. Stewart was testing me.

  “Mr. Stewart,” I squeaked, “I’m not really feeling up to it today.”

  “Yeah, his fleegerlosen is a bit low,” I heard Gordon mutter from the back of the classroom.

  “Come on up!” Mr. Stewart yelled like a game-show host.

  I hated going up in front of class even on my best day. And today was not my best day. I was still shaken. My hands were sweaty, and my mouth was dry. I looked at Shane for support. He gave me a feeble thumbs-up and a smile.

  The room spun as I headed up to Mr. Stewart’s lab. He awaited me with a crooked grin. I turned around behind the lab and could see everyone staring at me.

  “Now, Chris,” Mr. Stewart began, “can you please open that large flask in front of you and tell me what it smells like?” I pulled the flask toward me and yanked at the stopper. My hands were still sore from pulling on the candlestick. I struggled with the stopper until I let out a little grunt. The class giggled.

  Mr. Stewart motioned to me to pass him the flask. “Let me try. It’s been in the lab all summer, and the stopper may have melted slightly on to the flask.”

  I held up my hand and said, “No, I’ve got it!”

  I didn’t want to give Mr. Stewart anything but an amazing performance. I didn’t want to give him any reason to talk to the other teachers or call me up here again. I twisted and pulled with all my might, and finally the stopper came out, but the flask slipped out of my sweaty hand.

  “Oh no!” Mr. Stewart yelled.

  Mr. Stewart lunged to grab the flask, but he couldn’t reach it. The entire class watched in horror as it slowly slid to the edge of the lab station, slipped off, and crashed onto the floor. A huge puddle of acid and glass slowly oozed past the first row of lab stations. Students lifted up their feet and stared down with wide eyes. When it didn’t explode or start melting student’s faces, we all breathed a sigh of relief, only to smell…

  “Barf!” said a few students at once, and then, “EWWWWWW!”

  The room smelled disgusting. It was the most powerful smell any of us had ever experienced. Overwhelming. Eye-watering. BARFY. Kids in the back started scooting out of their seats while holding their noses.

  “WAIT!” Mr. Stewart cried. “It’s fine. Remain calm. It’s a very weak solution. Try not to think of vomit. Relax and think about Parmesan cheese. That stuff is filled with butyric acid.”

  Ben, upon hearing that any food was filled with vomit acid, barfed over his lab and onto the stool I had just exited. Shane jumped to avoid the splash.

  All the kids ran, leaving a trail of butyric acid and barf down the hallway.

  I stood there dumbfounded, until Mr. Stewart tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around slowly, ready for a huge scolding. Instead, I was surprised to see he already had an old army surplus gas mask on. He handed me one as well. “Let’s clean this up,” he said.

  I put on the mask…

  …and promptly puked all over the inside.

  I had made it through rotting old monsters and deadly booby traps. It was school that finally made me barf.

  We spent all night and the next day trying to figure out how to enter DO NOT ENTER.

  Creating a diversion with fireworks in the front yard. Or holding a Jazzercise class. Or having a cooking class with garlic as the main ingredient. Finally, Shane came up with the best, but by far, craziest idea.

  Friday afternoon we jumped on our bikes and powered up the road to Raven Hill. As we approached the retirement home, the flapping of our karate uniforms in the wind was the only sound that could be heard. When we arrived, not even the ravens seemed to be around.

  The plan was simple. We would pose as elite karate masters and offer to teach all of the residents basic self-defense. The monsters would get worked up, and when the Nurses were distracted, everyone but Shane would slip out and make our way to the Staff Only section of the retirement home.

  Elite karate masters we were not. We were three inexperienced dudes with karate uniforms following an elite karate master. And that master was crazy.

  We parked our bikes.

  “Let’s hurry this up so we can get to the park,” said Gordon.

  “How can you think about that right now?” asked Ben, looking up at the retirement home with wide eyes. It looked like he was starting to believe me.

  We walked up to the main entrance. The stairs had creaked terribly when I had gone up alone, but with four of us, the stairs groaned and shimmied. Dust started falling from where the handrails met the porch.

  When we heard the creaking turn to cracking, we all rushed up to the porch just before the stairs crumbled into a heap.

  “That’s a good sign,” joked Shane.

  I brushed some dust off of his uniform and said, “If that’s the worst thing that happens to us today—”

  Before I could say any more, the door opened wide, revealing a rather upset–looking Nurse. Well, more upset than normal, anyway. He eyed the pile of wood beneath the porch that used to be the stairs, and grunted.

  “I must fix. Ugh!” he cried.

  “WOW,” said Gordon. “That guy is HUGE. He should be a linebacker.”

  The Nurse didn’t seem to get the compliment.

  “INSIDE,” he barked.

  We didn’t wait for him to ask twice.

  After closing the door, he lumbered off to get the Director (and probably a hammer and a thousand nails).

  “Let me do the talking,” I said, looking at Shane. “Once we get into the Great Room, you’re in charge. But not until then.”

  “Got it,” said Shane.

  Ben and Gordon were inspecting a vase of dead flowers.

  “This reminds me of the haunted house they have on the other side of town during Halloween,” said Gordon. “Cooooool.”

  “I dunno, Gordon; this seems pretty real,” said Ben.

  Ben shuddered as he looked up at the painting of a withered old woman above the vase.

  “I think she’s looking at me,” said Shane.

  “Me too,” said Ben and Gordon at the same time.

  “You’ll get used to that,” I said.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Taylor,” said the Director, as he entered the front of the house. “I’ve been working here for many decades, and I can assure you that this portrait and I do not get along. I do not like people who stare.”

  The Director looked up at the painting and we followed his gaze to see that the woman had turned her face away in disgust.

  “Wait!” yelled Ben. “Wasn’t she looking right at us? Man, this is really creeping me out.”

  “What is it, Director dude?” asked Gordon. “A huge video screen made to look like a painting? A projector?”

  The Director looked at Shane, Ben, and Gordon with an upturned nose.

  “Who exactly are you?” he asked.

  “These are my friends,” I said to the Director. “Shane is a black belt in karate, and I thought it would be good for the old folks to learn some basic moves. You know—to keep them…fit.”

  “I’m not sure that is such a good idea,” said the Director.

  Shane was dying to say something, but he kept to his word that he’d let me do the talking.

  “Why not?” I asked, as innocently as possible. “The residents seemed much happier at the dance than at bingo. I really think they need more exercise. Just because they’re old doesn’t mean they have to ro
t.”

  The Director stared at me. I stared back. The painting stared at Ben again. Ben stared at the carpet.

  “All right, then,” announced the Director. “I do think the residents would benefit from a little physical activity. I will have them all brought into the Great Room.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Director,” I said. “Shane’s a great master.”

  “I’m sure he is,” said the Director, eyeing Shane suspiciously. Shane bowed deeply to the Director.

  The Director turned back to me and smiled widely. It took me by surprise, and I stumbled backward.

  He said through his clenched, smiling teeth, “Do know, Mr. Taylor, that the ravens aren’t the only ones who have their eyes on you around here. We all have our eyes on you, and you would be extremely wise to make sure that you don’t do anything to compromise the security of this facility or its residents.”

  “But of course,” I said, as calmly as I could, and then I bowed deeply to the Director, just like Shane had.

  Before I stood up straight, the Director was gone and we were alone in the lobby.

  “That guy gives me the creeps,” said Ben.

  “I dunno,” said Gordon. “He’s just like any other stupid adult.”

  “He’s not stupid,” I said. “He knows we’re up to something. Our plan might not even work.” I turned to Shane and asked, “What do you think?”

  “Let’s shake things up and see what happens,” he replied and busted a smooth karate move, a big smile on his face.

  Shane was always happy to teach people about karate.

  The four of us stood at the front of the Great Room. All the tables had been moved to the side, just like at the dance. Word must have spread about what was happening, because all the residents were wearing loose-fitting clothes like sweatpants and T-shirts. The werewolf guy looked even hairier now with his tank top.

  All of the old folks shuffled nervously in place, moaning and grunting as usual.

  Shane cleared his throat. “Thank you so much for joining us today.”

  A few weak “You’re welcome”s floated up into the room, but for the most part, the moaning continued.

  “Today we will learn the ancient art of karate,” Shane began.