The Girl with the Destructo Touch

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Yeah, right.

  It was as if adults had something put into their heads after they'd grown up—a computer chip or something—to make it so they couldn't understand their kids.

  Billy sighed and went to his bed. He didn't know how to begin. But then his eyes fell on his closet door.

  A trip to Monstros might do the trick, he thought. A night of fighting evil always took his mind off things that were troubling him. He sprang from the bed toward the closet, but stopped midway.

  But it wouldn't help solve the problem, he realized, and again felt his frustration begin to rise. A trip to Monstros would be a blast, but it wouldn't do a thing to help his costume dilemma.

  “All right, get ahold of yourself, Billy,” he said sternly.

  He knew what he had to do, and that he had to do it now if he wanted a chance at winning that hundred-dollar gift certificate.

  Billy pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a drawing pad and a pencil. He wasn't going to bed until he came up with the best costume idea ever.

  He sat down at the desk, switched on his lamp and waited for the lightning bolt of inspiration to strike. The point of his pencil rested on the white paper, but nothing happened.

  He started to get nervous. Prickles of sweat began to break out all over his body, making him feel like there were bugs crawling all over him.

  “C'mon, c'mon,” he muttered, trying to picture something inside his head that urged him to draw—to create.

  But nothing came.

  He wished he had a bottle of Zap cola; with all its caffeine and sugar he'd have come up with twenty prizewinning costumes by now. It was like hearing the sound of a dial tone coming from inside his brain—nobody in charge of creativity was home right now.

  Billy forced himself to draw a circle so he wouldn't have to stare at the blank piece of paper any longer. The pencil started moving. A subconscious part of his brain had taken over and he allowed it to, wondering what it could be drawing. At first he thought they might be scales, like on some prehistoric reptile, or maybe even sections of body armor, but then he realized exactly what they were.

  Flower petals.

  He was drawing a big sunflower.

  “Yeeek!” Billy cried, tearing the page from the notebook and tossing it across the room. That would be the last time he trusted his subconscious.

  He got up from his chair. “I need inspiration,” he said aloud, going toward his closet again. He pulled open the door, not looking to the back where his Owlboy costume hung—he didn't want to be tempted— and hauled out a box.

  If anything was going to inspire him, it would be this. He removed the cover to the box and exposed the old comics inside. The smell of old paper wafted up and Billy closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was nothing like that old comic book smell.

  He reached inside and pulled out the first stack. These were his prized possessions, his very own Owlboy comics. He had saved up his allowance and then won a few bids on BuyBay—with his parents' permission, of course—after he'd had to return the ones that Cole, the owner of Hero's Hovel, had lent him.

  If anything was going to inspire him to greatness, it would be these. He sat down on the floor with his back against his bed and started flipping through the colorful pages.

  He had gone through more than half the box when he felt his eyes start to get heavy. He promised himself he would only close them for a minute, but as soon as they were shut, he felt himself being sucked into the darkness, deeper and deeper, until he was fast asleep.

  Billy was sitting on the floor of Michelangelo's Sandwich Shop and Pizzeria. It was one of his favorite places to have lunch when he and his parents were out.

  “What're you going to have, sport?” asked a powerful voice from up front at the store's counter.

  Billy got to his feet, staring in awe at the muscular back of a costumed hero. He knew immediately who it was. Owlboy—not Billy, but Owlboy from the pages of the old comics—turned around to look at him.

  “C'mon, Bill,” he said with a dazzling, white smile. “Let's not keep the nice gentleman waiting.”

  A gorilla wearing a white paper hat and an apron stood behind the counter.

  “Um… I'll have a chicken finger sandwich, lettuce, tomato and a little mayo.”

  The gorilla let out a roar that would've made Kong proud and went to work making the sandwich. After what seemed like only seconds, the great ape placed a tray with two sandwiches and two drinks on top of the counter.

  “Thank you, my good man,” Owlboy said, paying the gorilla with five bananas before taking the tray in his gloved hands.

  Five bananas, Billy thought. Prices certainly have gone up.

  “Should we find a place to sit?” the costumed hero asked.

  “Sure,” Billy answered, looking around the restaurant. There wasn't anybody else in the place. “How about over there?” Billy suggested, pointing to an orange booth in the corner.

  “Excellent eye,” the hero said, heading in that direction.

  The two sat down, the original Owlboy taking Billy's sandwich from the tray and placing it down in front of him.

  “The food of the gods, my friend. Eat up.” Owlboy unwrapped his own sandwich. His eyes danced behind his goggles and he licked his lips. “Haven't had one of Michelangelo's steak bombs in a dog's age,” he said as he took half of the mighty sandwich in his hand.

  This is incredibly bizarre, Billy thought. He took a sip of his drink and was surprised to taste the sugary goodness of Zap cola.

  Owlboy took a bite of his overstuffed sandwich, meat and vegetables spilling onto the wax paper wrapping.

  “What a mess,” he said through a mouthful of food, reaching for a napkin from the container on the table and wiping his mouth. Some grease had gotten on his goggles and he wiped them. “But it wouldn't be a Michelangelo's steak bomb without it.” The superhero laughed heartily.

  Billy nodded, smiling at the comic book hero. He couldn't hold it back any longer.

  “What are we doing here?” he asked.

  Owlboy had helped himself to some more napkins. “Thought it was obvious, sport,” the superhero said. “We're having some lunch, and we're about to discuss a little problem I hear you've been having in the creativity department.” The hero winked at him from behind the tinted glass of his goggles.

  “My contest costume?” Billy asked, eyes wide and eager. “Can you help me?”

  Owlboy chuckled before taking another huge bite of his sandwich.

  “Of course I can,” he said, reaching across the table to give Billy a gentle punch in the arm. “Us super-types have to stick together.”

  Suddenly hungry, Billy dug into his own sandwich. If anybody could come up with something that would blow the socks off the Connery Elementary School costume contest judges, it was a comic book superhero.

  They continued to eat in silence. Billy's anticipation was growing, but he didn't want to rush his hero. Owlboy continued to eat and eat. And just when Billy thought he might be finished, there seemed to be yet more food on his tray.

  If there was one thing Billy learned while sitting there waiting for the comic book adventurer, it was that he was a real slob. Pieces of meat and cheese dangled from the corners of his mouth, to be joined by smears of ketchup as he finished an extra-large order of French fries.

  Finally, Billy couldn't wait anymore. “Do you think we could talk about my Halloween costume now?” he asked, hoping that he wasn't being rude.

  Owlboy searched his tray for stray fries. “Of course,” he said, popping some extra-crispy stragglers in his mouth. “I'm pretty much finished here.”

  Eagerly, Billy picked up the tray of trash and disposed of it in the closest barrel.

  “So what are you thinking?” he asked, returning to the booth.

  The hero stroked his prominent chin. “I'm thinking of something that's never been attempted before,” he said, eyes dancing behind his goggles.

  “Something really sc
ary?” Billy asked, his voice a whisper.

  The hero shook his head. “No, everybody's done scary, I'm thinking exciting… thrilling. Something that will fill the judges with awe.”

  Billy could barely sit still, he was so excited. “I'm ready,” he said.

  Owlboy was silent, staring off into space. Billy could practically hear the gears whirring inside the costumed adventurer's head, practically smell the burning plastic as he exercised the superior power of his brain.

  “Well?” Billy asked.

  The hero lifted his hands from the table. “I'm getting something,” he said. “It's coming to me…an idea so ahead of its time that you'll be looked upon as a pioneer of Halloween costumes worldwide.”

  “What is it?” Billy asked, his legs kicking feverishly beneath the table. “Tell me, I'm dyin' here!”

  Owlboy reached for a napkin from the holder at the end of the table. “I must show you,” he said, placing the napkin down in front of him. He dug into one of the pouches attached to his utility belt and removed a black marker.

  The costumed crusader immediately went to work, sketching something out on the napkin. Billy craned his neck, but the way Owlboy had positioned his arm, he couldn't quite see the drawing.

  Billy wanted to scream. He was already thinking of ways to use his hundred-dollar gift certificate.

  “I'm done,” Owlboy finally announced, picking up the napkin so only he could see what he'd drawn. “And if I must say, this is genius personified.”

  “Let me see,” Billy said, starting to giggle uncontrollably. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been so excited, although there was that time with Santa at Pringle's department store when he was four. That had resulted in an accident of drenching proportions. Luckily, at this stage in his life, that wasn't really an issue anymore.

  “Are you ready to gaze upon the design for this year's winning costume, and perhaps even future years of the Connery Elementary School Costume Extravaganza?”

  Billy's mouth moved, but his excitement was so great that no sound came out.

  Owlboy turned the napkin around, and Billy looked at it in wonder.

  Or was it complete confusion?

  “What is it?” he asked, staring at the image of a furry, apelike creature wearing a short dress.

  “Don't you see, champ?”

  “No…I really don't,” Billy said, still looking at the crude drawing.

  “It's a monkey ballerina,” the hero said proudly.

  And Billy started to scream.

  CHAPTER 3

  Monkey ballerina.

  Billy shivered, even though he wasn't cold. The memory of his bizarre dream was more disturbing than the last five horror movies he'd seen. Standing on his porch steps, he moved his backpack from one shoulder to the other.

  It was a beautiful, crisp Saturday morning, and he'd decided that he needed a trip to Monstros City to clear his head and inspire him with a costume idea.

  Billy glanced at his watch. It was still ridiculously early, and his parents wouldn't be up for hours. Just to make sure he had everything, he removed the backpack from his shoulder and opened it. His Owlboy costume and all its accessories were neatly folded inside the bag. Satisfied, he quietly made his way to the stone wall separating his backyard from the Pine Hill Cemetery.

  With little difficulty that had come from lots of practice, Billy hopped up onto the wall and prepared to jump down into the graveyard.

  “Hey, you!” called a squeaky voice. Billy turned to see that he was being watched by a little girl, no more than five years old, sitting on a bright-pink Big Wheel and holding a stuffed rabbit in her lap.

  The twerp's name was Victoria, and she was his next-door neighbor. She was like a ninja. He hardly ever heard her sneaking up on him.

  Billy rolled his eyes, preparing for the inevitable.

  “Hey, Victoria,” he said, getting ready to ignore her and continue on his way.

  “Mr. Flops wants to know what you're doing,” she said, holding up the gray stuffed bunny in both hands.

  “Just some stuff I gotta take care of,” he explained. “Have a nice day.”

  “What do you gotta do in the cemetery?” she asked in her squeaky little-kid voice.

  Billy scowled. “Does Mr. Flops need to know that, too?”

  She shook her head, pigtails flopping like crazy antennas. “Nope, I do.”

  He couldn't believe she'd caught him again. She did this to him constantly, and every time it happened he promised himself that next time he would just ignore her and continue walking.

  Maybe she has some kind of mutant power? It would explain a lot.

  “No, you don't,” Billy told her. “It's grown-up stuff and I gotta get going before I'm late.”

  “Want to play with me?” she asked before he could jump down off the wall. She got off her bike and went to the wagon that was attached behind it. “I've got lots of toys you can play with,” she coaxed, holding up an action figure and a pom-pom.

  Billy shook his head. “Nope, got places to go, things to do.”

  And as he turned he saw it from out of the corner of his eye, the dreaded quiver in the lip, the big brown eyes filling with tears.

  She was going to cry.

  He hated that.

  “What's wrong now?” he asked with an exasperated sigh.

  “I want you to play with me,” Victoria answered, her face twisting up as two big fat tears rolled down her plump, red cheeks.

  “I can't play with you,” he tried to explain. “I gotta do stuff.”

  Victoria tossed her head back and wailed. It was bad, real bad, and loud too. If she kept this up, she'd wake up the whole neighborhood.

  He didn't want to say it. He bit the inside of his mouth to prevent the words from coming, but she'd left him no choice.

  “We'll play later,” he said over the sound of her tantrum.

  Victoria immediately turned off the waterworks.

  “When you get back from doing stuff?” she asked with a sniffle.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head. “When I get back from doing stuff.”

  “Okeydoke. See ya later, alligator,” she said cheerfully, and got back on her Big Wheel with Mr. Flops. She did a U-turn in the middle of the yard, pedaling like mad across the grass and down the driveway.

  She had done it to him again.

  Mutant power, for sure.

  Billy walked into the Sprylock family mausoleum like he owned the place. Since discovering the secret world of monsters beneath the Pine Hill Cemetery, and assuming the mantle of Monstros City's astounding superhero, coming and going from the ancient family burial place had become almost second nature.

  Standing in the center of the dusty stone structure, Billy removed the backpack from his shoulder and began to put on his Owlboy costume.

  He hoped this visit to the city of monsters would fix his mental block about his Halloween costume. Maybe a little crime-fighting would get the creative juices flowing again. The memory of the previous night's dream flashed inside his brain and Billy shuddered.

  Monkey ballerina! Never, he thought, slipping on his leather gloves after stepping into his rubber boots. There has to be something better than that.

  And he hoped that that special something would come to him after some Monstros City superheroics.

  Billy slipped the goggles down over his glasses and walked to the back of the burial chamber toward the great stone coffin, as he had done many times in the last few weeks. A strange sensation squirmed around in his belly as he reached the coffin and pushed aside the lid to expose the seemingly bottomless darkness within. It was a feeling he hoped would never go away.

  Outside the mausoleum he was just Billy Hooten. But here, he was so much more.

  He stepped carefully inside the coffin, wading into the pool of darkness. His boots found the stone steps that would take him into another world, and he started to descend.

  Dressed like this, Billy Hooten was Owlboy. A real live s
uperhero.

  How cool was that?

  CHAPTER 4

  Welcome to Monstros City.

  The metropolis of monsters hummed like a giant beehive.

  Beasties of every conceivable shape, size and color lived and thrived in this secret place—this pocket world located deep beneath the Pine Hill Cemetery in Bradbury, Massachusetts.

  It was nighttime in the thriving megalopolis, but then, when wasn't it? It was always night in Monstros, and the creatures that made up its thriving population went about their business; some heading to work, others finishing up their shifts, most just going about their lives, eventually returning to their homes and monstrous families. The streets were jammed with comings and goings.

  The city was alive.

  There was a lot of good in Monstros City, but where there was good, there was also the not so good. The return of Owlboy had cut back on criminal activity, but it had not stopped it completely. Evil still existed in the city, hiding in the deepest pools of shadow, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  Waiting for an opportunity very much like this.

  The Squids entered the Monstros City savings and loan just about lunchtime.

  The bank was bustling with citizens eager to take advantage of the special offer for folks opening a new account.

  What monster didn't need a Dr. Mellman's Home Surgery Kit?

  But the Squids had come for something else.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the leader, who went by the name of Armstrong, said through a small, box-shaped speaker that he wore around his neck like a fine piece of jewelry. “This is a robbery.”

  “What did you say?” asked a short, furry monster clutching his brand-new home surgery kit.

  Armstrong sighed, one of his slimy tentacles reaching to turn up the volume on his electronic voice box. The other five squids in his gang, positioned around the bank, adjusted theirs as well.

  Squids were notoriously soft-spoken, and used specially designed microphones to enhance their voices.

  “I said, this is a robbery!” Armstrong proclaimed, his voice now easier to hear through the crackling speaker. Each of his muscular tentacles held guns that he waved about menacingly. “Does everybody hear me now?”