Disaster Diaries_Cursed!

by R. McGeddon

  But this time, Phoebe was going to prove them all wrong.

  “Like, look there,” she said, pointing to a spot on the other side of the cell door. In the corner, another poor sailor lay all skeletal and gross and like he could do with a good meal pretty soonish.

  “So?” Emmie asked.

  “So, look closer.… Can you see that shiny thing? I think it might be a key.”

  Sure enough, by what used to be the sailor’s hip, a bright piece of metal sparkled in the gloom.

  “You’re right!” Arty cried. “That guy must have been the jailer.”

  “But how do we get it?” Emmie huffed, sticking her arm through one of the metal bars. “It’s too far away.”

  Phoebe looked glum and rubbed her chin for a second.

  Beside her, Glitterpuff yapped.

  Then Glitterpuff barked.

  And then Glitterpuff got on to his back legs and did a small dance that looked a lot like the tango.

  Eventually, Phoebe noticed.

  “That’s it,” she cried. “We can use Glitterpuff to squeeze through the bars and grab the keys!”

  “Good thinking, Phoebe,” Sam said. “Let’s try it.”

  Phoebe placed Glitterpuff at the jail door and ushered him through the metal bars. Once he’d wriggled his surprisingly large butt through, he immediately ran over to the skeletal sailor and began chewing on what used to be his leg.

  “No!” Phoebe whined. “Very naughty boy, Puffy. Go for the key. The key!”

  Phoebe thought that maybe if she spoke louder, Glitterpuff would eventually understand her. It didn’t quite work, but there was something in the tone of her voice that must have done the trick because “Puffy” soon snaffled up the key and brought it back through the bars.

  “You did it!” she cried, bundling him up into her arms. The dog seemed to smile and settled back down into Phoebe’s handbag. Even Emmie patted him on the head for doing such a good job.

  “Nice one, Glitterpuff,” said Sam. He plucked the key from the ground, wiped off the doggy spit on the back of his sleeves, and thrust the key in the lock. There was a grinding sound and the iron bars rattled, but soon the door swung open and they were free.

  “Woo-hoo!” Arty yelled. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  “Hey, wait up,” Emmie called. The effects of the curse were slowing her down. She was fighting hard, but she was already becoming a living statue. Sam and Phoebe took ahold of one arm each and helped her move around the hull of the boat. Arty looked on, nervously.

  “We’ve got ya!” Sam cried.

  “Urgh, you’re like a one-ton weight,” Phoebe huffed.

  “Hey!” said Emmie, “I am turning to stone if you hadn’t noticed.”

  Arty led the way through the warren of corridors at the bottom of the boat. It was almost completely dark. The only light there came in through broken wooden slats and eerie, flickering gas lamps.

  “This way,” he said. “I think.…”

  He led them up the narrow stairs. They hadn’t made it to the top, but they were obviously in another level of the ship. Arty took one of the lamps from the wall and looked around. The whole area was covered in huge wooden crates, all piled up on top of one another.

  “Hey,” he said, “maybe we can find some treasure.”

  “Well, make it quick,” said Sam. “We need to know where we’re going.”

  Arty cracked open one of the boxes. He peered inside and shone his lamp into the gloom. He let out a sigh when he found the treasure wasn’t there.

  “Nothing,” he sighed. “Just a load of old bottles.”

  Sam peered over and took a look. “That’s weird…,” he said.

  The bottles were ancient; it looked as if they had been there with the original crew hundreds of years ago. The labels on the front were torn and peeling, but Sam could still make out what they said.

  “Grog,” he whispered. “Just what they served at the Founder’s Day celebration.”

  Painted onto the side of the box was a giant skull and crossbones, in blood red. Arty lifted the lamp and shone it around the room. All the crates had the same skull-and-crossbones sign on them. It looked like a warning.

  “But that would mean—” Sam began, but he didn’t get a chance to finish.

  There was a scuffle from behind, and a loud thudding on the ship’s steps. Before they had a chance to hide, two familiar, burly figures were standing right in front of them. Phoebe gasped in fright.

  “Well, well, well,” said Slim. “The little maggots tried to escape, did they? The boss is not going to like that, is he now?”

  “No, siree,” said Slimmer. “The boss is not going to like that at all.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sam, Arty, Emmie, and Phoebe were ushered onto the top deck, Slim and Slimmer roughly shoving them from behind. As they emerged into the light, Sam shielded his eyes. He’d grown used to the dim surroundings of the cell. Now, in front of him, he saw the impressive white sails of the Silver Mallard billowing in the breeze, and the bright sunshine bouncing off the wet deck. He was desperate to explore the ship and make a dash for it, but he was pulled back by Slim, who wasn’t going to let him go anywhere.

  “Not so fast, wriggler,” Slim growled.

  Despite the fact that Sam was in the custody of a giant henchman who was most certainly up to no good, he couldn’t believe he was on board the amazing ship. The others seemed less thrilled, I have to tell you. But at least they’d noticed something Sam hadn’t, while he’d been ogling the masts and sails.

  Arty cocked his head and directed Sam’s vision toward something amazing. Amid the piles of ropes on deck, there were big boxes overflowing with treasure.

  “Whoa!” he gasped. “Check it out.”

  Gold coins were strewn across the floor. Emerald-encrusted swords lay piled up in the corner like unwanted brooms, next to a heap of diamond-encrusted scepters. There must have been millions of dollars’ worth of loot. Sam, though, was puzzled. If the treasure hadn’t been moved off the ship, then why had Sitting Duck come down with the curse?

  “It’s awesome!” said Arty.

  “It’s so shiny,” Phoebe added.

  “Yes,” said another, lower voice. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

  The kids turned to see the figure of Mr. Tweedy, the museum curator, towering over them.

  He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his hip, like he was the proud owner of the vessel. He had a wide grin on his face like a happy dog that’d just been given his favorite bone, and his eyes twinkled in the sunlight. But the way he spoke sounded like a snake that had just caught sight of his favorite food and was getting ready to strike.

  “You?” Sam asked, surprised. “I don’t understand—”

  Sam had never considered Mr. Tweedy to be some kind of bad guy. Yes, a total history nerd to rival Arty at his most uncool, but a bad guy? No. He had a nice suit and a jazzy bow tie and curly hair that bounced in the breeze like a rubber band, and if history has taught us anything, it is that people in bow ties with ridiculous hair are fine. Right?

  As it turns out, wrong.

  As Sam looked closer at Mr. Tweedy, he could see that he had one green eye and one brown eye. Something jogged his memory. In fact, it was less a jog and more like a sprint. Tweedy’s eyes were just like the ones in the painting of Armitage Caruthers and his descendants. It was a pretty unusual thing to have, and he couldn’t remember having even seen it real life. He couldn’t help but wonder:

  “Your eyes,” he said. “They’re just like—”

  Tweedy’s face darkened, and his cheery demeanor disappeared in a flash. A frown creased his brow, and he puffed out his chest in defiance. His hands gripped the ship’s wheel tighter as it bobbed up and down on the waters.

  “That’s correct,” he said icily. “Indeed, I am descended from none other than Armitage Caruthers himself—”

  “Awesome!” Sam cried, apparently still unaware of the danger they
were in.

  “Shut it!” said Slim, tightening his grip on Sam’s arm. Sam looked warily around at Arty, Phoebe, and Emmie. Emmie was looking grayer by the minute.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Tweedy. “‘Shut it,’ indeed. It’s my turn to talk, and I expect you fools to listen.”

  The kids snapped to attention.

  “Caruthers was my ancestor, yes, but the fact is not ‘awesome’ as you so hastily said, young sir. On the contrary, Caruthers is a bane on my life and yours. The man was a pirate, a blaggard, and a fool. He founded this town that we see before us, but it has been the scene of nothing but endless catastrophe. From the Great Octopus Invasion to the recent undead apocalypse, Sitting Duck is nothing but a magnet for trouble.”

  “He does have a point there,” said Arty. “Things have been a bit disastrous.”

  Even Slim and Slimmer grunted in agreement.

  “The curse!” Sam blurted. “Sitting Duck is cursed, though, right?”

  Mr. Tweedy cackled like a maniac. He clutched his armpits and guffawed like an octopus was tickling him. Sam was guessing that was a no.

  “What fools you are!” Tweedy laughed. “You should know that there’s no such thing as a curse, my friends. After all Sitting Duck has been through, it’s not magic and superstition you should be worried about, but regular people!”

  (And aliens.)

  “That mad professor created the zombies,” Tweedy continued. “The astronomer brought us the aliens. Dr. Goode brainwashed everyone, and one of you created an evil robot! Not to mention the girl that unleashed giant spiders upon us.”

  “But the illness,” said Arty. “What causes the illness?”

  At this, a smile swept across Tweedy’s face. He pointed down to a wooden crate, full of empty bottles of grog. “It’s simple really.… A three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old dose of infected grog. That seemed to do the trick quite nicely. Your precious curse is nothing more than an old pirate bacteria! Just a drop of revenge against the idiots in this town who allow themselves to be overrun.”

  If Sam were in full control of his arms, he would have smacked himself in the forehead. Of course, he thought. Nearly everyone drank the grog at the Founder’s Day celebration … even Emmie, until she spat it out …

  “But anyway, enough talk,” Mr. Tweedy said darkly. “It’s time to do something about Sitting Duck once and for all. With the town’s people out of working order, I’m going to put a stop to this nonsense for good. Soon, Sitting Duck shall be no more.”

  “How, you miserable old trout?” Emmie asked through stony lips. “Are you going to ‘sail’ it into oblivion?”

  “Funnily enough, yes!” he said. “It probably escaped your notice, but this ship is actually packed with dynamite. And I’m planning on using it. You see, right now, we’re on the Leaky Tap River, heading north. And do you know what happens when we go farther north?”

  Sam did not know what would happen, but he was hoping it was something nice.

  “We reach the Sitting Duck Dam,” Tweedy said proudly. “A modern marvel. Something Sitting Duck can truly be proud of.”

  Sam didn’t like where this was going.

  “Which makes it such a shame that I’m going to blow it to smithereens,” he said gleefully, his bow tie practically twirling around as he said it.

  “You can’t!” Sam gasped. “Sitting Duck will be destroyed.”

  “Yes, young sir,” Tweedy continued. “That is rather the point. The dam will be destroyed, Lake Deep Puddle will be unleashed, and Sitting Duck will be wiped off the map for good. Neat, huh? My rotten ancestor created this mess, but I’m going to finish it.”

  Sam, Arty, Emmie, and Phoebe struggled against the tight hold of Slim and Slimmer, but it was to no avail.

  “Oh, calm down,” said Tweedy. “I would relax if I were you. It’s not like you’ll be affected.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked slowly.

  “Oh, didn’t I mention it?” Tweedy said. “You’ll be long gone by the time the dam is blown up.”

  He let out a cackle, and his suit ruffled in the strong breeze.

  “Guards!” he bellowed. “It’s time for our guests to walk the plank!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The kids twisted and struggled as hard as they could, but there was no escaping Slim and Slimmer. Mr. Tweedy cackled.

  “Don’t worry, children. I’m sure it will be quick!” he snorted. “Ah—I see I have one less of you to worry about anyway.”

  Sam looked over to where Tweedy was pointing. Emmie was as still as a stone. Even her wild hair was gray and unmoving, and her smiley face—okay, she wasn’t that smiley—was frozen.

  “NO!” Sam and Arty yelled. But it was no use. Emmie was totally unmoving, and there was nothing they could do. Sam balled his fists in anger and kicked against the muscle mountain that was Slim, striking Slim’s shin, but that only made the brute angrier.

  Slim and Slimmer hauled the children into the air and deposited them at the edge of the ship.

  “Serves you right, you slimy critters,” Slim said.

  “Yeah,” Slimmer agreed. “Let’s see if you can swim, eh?”

  Sam, Arty, and Phoebe looked at one another fearfully. There was nowhere left to go.

  “Go on, then,” Mr. Tweedy coaxed. “Off you go. See you later. Au revoir, auf Wiedersehen, tatty-bye, and good luck…”

  With Slim and Slimmer standing in front of them, arms crossed and muscles bulging, Sam, Arty, and Phoebe had no other choice. They climbed up onto the side of the ship and onto the plank. Gingerly, they made their way toward the edge and looked down in horror at the churning water below.

  “This is not good. This is so not good,” said Arty, in a statement of the blindingly obvious, as the river water splashed up at him.

  “Erm, guys, I really don’t want to get my dress wet,” said Phoebe. “You see, it’s designer, and it’s, like, kind of expensive and—”

  “Erm, Phoebe, that’s nice, but we kind of have other things to worry about right now, in case you didn’t notice,” said Sam.

  Phoebe just fluffed her hair and rolled her eyes.

  “Get on with it!” shouted Tweedy from the boat. “We haven’t got all day.”

  Sam readied himself. This really was the end. After the zombies and aliens and giant spiders, he had thought he could beat whatever Sitting Duck threw at him. But apparently not. He was trumped by a maniac museum man with a grudge against his dead ancestor the size of the Great Octopus Invasion. It’s always the ones you least expect!

  “Okay, guys, get ready,” Sam said. “Three, two—”

  Suddenly, something caught his eye. Something shiny and metal and pointy and sharp, and something that was about to save their day. Emmie wasn’t completely statuefied yet; she’d fooled them all. She winked at Sam and grabbed something from the treasure trove next to her. With her final ounce of strength, just before she turned entirely to stone with a poof of gray smoke, she flung the metal object through the air.

  Sam leaped in the air and snatched the sword from the sky. Luckily, he got the handle and not the pointy end—that would have been unfortunate and not at all as planned.

  Tweedy growled in anger and alarm. “Finish them!” he yelled.

  Slim and Slimmer barreled their way onto the plank. The whole thing shook up and down, threatening to send all five of them into the water.

  “I think I’m gonna barf,” said Arty.

  “Ew!” said Phoebe. “If he throws up, then I’m going to throw up, and that’s not cool.”

  Slim and Slimmer moved forward. The plank shook wildly, sending Arty and Phoebe over the side.

  “No!” Sam shouted in horror, but to his surprise, his friends had both managed to grab on to the side of the boat. They were safe.

  As they scrambled onto the deck, Arty shouted back to him. “You’ve got this, Sam!”

  Sam held on to the sword handle tightly. The handle was made of gold, encrusted with bright green emeralds and dark
rubies, and it curved around Sam’s hand. The blade was rounded and flat, and it shone like the day it was forged.

  “Come get us,” Sam growled.

  They were so big that they seemed to take up the whole of Sam’s vision. With their big hands like plates of ham, they lunged forward and tried to grab him.

  But Sam was too quick for them—he’s escaped many a disaster before, after all. He lunged back at them with the sword, scaring them silly. Then, seizing his chance, he swiped at Slim’s ankles with the flat of the blade, and Slim went tumbling into the water.

  “Arghhh!” he yelled as he splashed into the Leaky Tap River.

  Slimmer roared forward with the fury of an antelope with a migraine. I don’t know if you have ever had the misfortune of facing an antelope under these conditions, but it is truly a terrifying sight to behold. It’s no surprise then that Sam had even less trouble dispatching him. Sam landed a blow right on Slimmer’s hips, which sent him tumbling into the water, alongside his brawny colleague.

  “Good work,” Arty cried.

  Sam beamed. “I told you I belong on the high seas fighting bad guys!”

  Sam inched along the wooden plank and back onto the ship. Mr. Tweedy roared with rage and yanked on the steering wheel. The ship lurched to the left, sending the kids crashing to the deck, and the cool pirate sword went flying from Sam’s hand and straight over the edge.

  “Darn it!” he yelled.

  Tweedy roared with delight. “Now what are you going to do, you little bandit? Nothing, that’s what, because it’s too late for you all.”

  As the ship veered, the kids couldn’t help but notice the huge concrete dam coming into sight. It arched upward like a colossus, practically blocking out the sunlight. It kept the huge Lake Deep Puddle at bay, but Sam feared that it wouldn’t be around for long, and soon the water would rush over Sitting Duck, destroying it for good.

  “He’s a maniac!” Sam yelled.

  “The tidal wave alone will wash Sitting Duck out to sea,” Arty gasped.

  Tweedy laughed. “It seems I was wrong, children. You will be around to see the end of Sitting Duck after all. It must bring a tear to the eye, eh? Considering the monsters and villains you lot have fought to get this far. But it’s no use; new threats will always be around to take Sitting Duck down. It’s just easier this way. I’ve already had my revenge on the residents; now it’s time to eliminate the town itself.”