Dr. Maniac vs. Robby Schwartz

by R. L. Stine

  Then he grabbed me under the arms and lifted me off the ground.

  “Whoa — wait!” I cried. “What about your promise? Is this your plan to help me find my brother?”

  “Of course,” he said. “When your brother sees you are about to be stung to death by these scorpions, don’t you think he’ll escape from Dr. Maniac and come to rescue you?”

  “Uh … maybe there’s a better plan?” I cried.

  The Rage didn’t reply. Instead, he raised me high above his head — and tossed me into the glass case.

  I landed in a sitting position. Scorpion shells squished and crackled under me.

  Before I could move, scorpions rolled their shiny dark shells over my legs. The creatures never stopped moving. They felt warm and dry and prickly against my skin.

  I struggled to stand. But I slid and slipped on the wriggling hard bodies.

  I cried out as a scorpion scrabbled over my waist. I tried to swat it off me. Lost my balance. And fell onto my back.

  As soon as I was down, they swarmed over me. Their shells clacked and bumped as they covered me. Pincers swiped the air, snapping wildly.

  “Ohh, help,” I muttered.

  And then I remembered two words that sent a cold shudder down my body: scorpions STING!

  Yes. One sting from a poisonous scorpion could KILL.

  So far, they were climbing over me, covering me. Crawling and snapping.

  One sting! Just one …

  Carefully pulling a scorpion off my chest, I struggled to my knees. I pressed my hands against the front of the glass case.

  On the other side of the glass, I could see the Purple Rage. He stood in front of the TV camera. He kept pounding his chest with his fists, talking away.

  “Get me out of here!” I shouted. But the glass muffled my voice. He didn’t seem to hear.

  Or care.

  Why didn’t I create some HEROES? I asked myself. Why did I only create VILLAINS?

  “Ow!” I pulled a prickly scorpion out from under the back of my T-shirt.

  Two scorpion pincers snapped at my arms. All around me, it sounded like scissors snapping … snapping … snapping.

  One sting, and I was dead meat.

  Even if Sam was watching this somewhere on TV … even if he was somehow able to escape from the clutches of Dr. Maniac and come to my rescue … he’d be too late.

  I knew I had to break out of the case. The Purple Rage wasn’t going to help me. I had to escape on my own.

  But how?

  I beat my fists against the glass.

  No. No way I could break it with my hands.

  Maybe if I lowered my shoulder and rammed the glass with it.

  No way I could get any speed. I was knee-deep in scorpions.

  Maybe if I dropped onto my back and kicked the glass?

  No. I couldn’t kick it hard enough to break it.

  Scorpions wrapped around my waist. A pincer reached up and snapped at my neck. Missed me by an inch!

  How could I escape? How?

  Suddenly, I had an idea.

  A frantic, desperate idea. My only chance.

  I batted away a snapping scorpion. I struggled to my knees. Then I gathered up all my strength, reached both hands up, and jumped as high as I could. I grabbed the top of the case.

  It was seven feet tall. Above my head. No way I could climb out.

  But I pulled my head up above the edge. And I shouted to the Purple Rage: “You GEEK! You CREAMPUFF! You WIMP!”

  He went on talking into the camera. He thumped his chest and talked about how angry he was.

  “YOU DUMB CREEP!” I shouted. “You FAT WIMP!”

  That got his attention.

  He turned to me. “What did you say?”

  “You BABY! You WORM!” I screamed. “You’re no match for the incredible Dr. Maniac!”

  He stomped up to the case. His eyes flamed red and his face turned deep purple. “Know what CRUNCHES my CREDENZA?” he boomed. “YOU do! How DARE you!”

  “You’re PITIFUL!” I cried, hoisting myself up to the top of the case. “You’re DIRT! You’re ROADKILL!”

  His eyes bulged. His mouth flew open. His nostrils flared, and his teeth began to chatter.

  I waited for his head to explode!

  Instead, he let out a roar. “Face the power of my Breath of Fury!” he boomed.

  The Purple Rage sucked in a deep breath, so deep his chest popped out like a beach ball. And then he blew his Breath of Fury — a hurricane-force wind — at the case.

  The glass shattered and shards crashed and clattered in all directions.

  Scorpions went sailing out of the cage and flew to the wall, flailing their pincers.

  The force of his breath made me do a backward somersault. I toppled out of the cage, onto the floor. It took me a few seconds to gain my balance. Then I spun to my feet.

  My escape plan had worked. I was out of the case. But now I really had to escape!

  Snarling like an angry dog, the Purple Rage dove for me.

  With a cry, I grabbed two scorpions. I heaved them at him — and took off running.

  He let out a roar. I felt his Breath of Fury on my back. It pushed me out the door, into a long underground hallway.

  The hall was lined on both sides by big color photos of the Purple Rage. As I ran past them, his face stared out angrily in picture after picture.

  I heard his thudding footsteps behind me. Catching up fast.

  “This really GRIPES my GOATEE!” he bellowed. “Come back, kid. I’m only trying to HELP you!”

  Help me? Help me feed his scorpions?

  I reached the door at the end of the hall. Twisted the knob. And shoved it open.

  It led into a wide dressing room. As I ran through it, I saw open closets on both sides. Hanging in the closets dangled pair after pair of purple tights and bodysuits.

  A small closet at the end was piled high with purple boots.

  The Rage thundered after me. I grabbed a handful of boots and tossed them into his path.

  He stomped over them and kept coming, screaming and snarling.

  I found another hallway and ran faster. A dark wooden door stood at the end of the hall.

  Gasping for breath, I flung the door open — and stepped through.

  My feet kicked air. Nothing beneath them. No floor. No ground!

  “WHOOOA!” I let out a startled cry. My hands flew above my head as I dropped straight down.

  I dropped hard into a deep darkness.

  And landed with a SPLASH.

  Icy water rose over me. I held my breath as I sank into it.

  A sewer. It didn’t take long to figure out I had dropped into a deep, fast-flowing sewer.

  The sewer water was thick and lumpy. Like cold pea soup.

  I thrashed my arms and legs and struggled to stay afloat. My hands splashed against chunks of rotten garbage.

  “Ohhhhhh.” It smelled like week-old vomit. I started to choke and gag.

  I reached for the sewer wall with both hands. But the current swept me up and pulled me away.

  Was that a dead rat floating beside me?

  No. Only a rat’s head.

  My stomach lurched.

  The current pulled harder, carrying me into darkness. I crashed against the sewer wall. Bounced off. Tried to kick away.

  Crashed again.

  The putrid, disgusting water splashed over my head. I felt myself sink under the surface. I tried to pull myself up. But panic froze my body. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

  My chest throbbed. Couldn’t breathe … drowning … I’m going to drown, I realized. Drown in this putrid, swirling gunk.

  Finally, I got my legs moving. I kicked hard and rose to the surface, sputtering and gasping.

  Shaking the thick gloppy sewage from my eyes, I spotted something up ahead — something jutting from the sewer wall. A ladder?

  Yes. A ladder. I could see it glowing in a beam of yellow sunlight.

  A way out!
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  I held my breath as the current carried me closer … closer. I made a desperate grab for it.

  Missed.

  Grabbed again. This time I caught the second rung. Holding on with both hands, I pulled my body up from the water. “Yes! Yes!” My cries were hoarse and weak.

  My shoes slid off the slimy metal rungs. I held on with both hands. Gasping for breath, I lifted myself out, rung by rung.

  It seemed to take forever. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds!

  Finally, I reached the top. I hoisted myself through a sewer grate and onto the street. I pressed my hands on my knees and struggled to catch my breath.

  Water rolled off me. My wet T-shirt clung to my skin. I pulled a pukey brown blob of goo out of my tangled, matted hair.

  I smelled as if I’d been sprayed by a hundred skunks. Wiping sewage off my face, I pushed my hair back and gazed around. The street sign on the corner read WAYNE STREET.

  “Hey!” I uttered a cry. I was only two blocks from home!

  I didn’t have the strength to run. So I half walked, half dragged myself across the front lawns all the way to my house.

  As I trudged up the driveway, I thought about Brooke. She probably escaped those security guards, I decided. She’s probably safe at home by now.

  The front door swung open as I limped up the front walk. Mom stepped out, her dark eyes wide with surprise.

  “Robby!” she cried. “Where were you?”

  She studied me up and down. Then she pressed her hands against her cheeks. “Oh, my!” she murmured. “Have you been swimming?”

  “No,” I choked out. “It’s a long story. I —”

  “Robby, you stink to high heaven!” she cried. “Why did you run away? What on earth have you been doing?”

  I wanted to tell her everything. But she didn’t give me a chance.

  She grabbed me by my hair and tugged me into the house. “Go upstairs,” she ordered. “Take off those disgusting wet clothes. Take a shower. No. Take two showers. You reek! I’ve never smelled anything so bad in all my life.”

  “I — I can explain,” I choked out. “Mom, some very weird stuff happened to me today.”

  “Not now,” she said. “Go take a shower first. I can’t believe you wandered off, with your brother Sam missing.”

  “But —”

  The phone rang.

  Mom hurried across the room to answer it. She began talking softly. After a few seconds, she turned pale. Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head.

  “Mom — what is it?” I asked, hurrying over to her. “What’s wrong?”

  She set down the phone. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured.

  “What?” I cried. “What happened?”

  “That was Brooke’s mom,” she said. “Brooke is missing, too.”

  I spent a long time in the shower. I soaped myself again and again. I wondered if I could ever wash the smell off my skin.

  The shower gave me time to think about Brooke.

  She came with me to the TV station. She followed me in that wild chase up the stairs to the roof. But she never made it to the roof.

  Did the TV security guys grab her? If they did, they wouldn’t keep her for long.

  So where was she?

  Should I go back to the TV station and search for her?

  I dried myself off. I smelled my arm. No trace of sewer rot.

  Thinking about Sam and Brooke, I walked into my room and began pulling on jeans and a clean T-shirt.

  Did the Purple Rage take Brooke away?

  No. No way. She never stepped onto the roof. The Rage never saw Brooke.

  I shook out my wet hair, then brushed it back with both hands.

  As I passed my desk, I saw that my laptop was on. I squinted at the screen.

  What was that? Something I’d never seen before?

  I leaned on the desk and lowered my gaze to the screen.

  “Huh?” A gasp escaped my throat.

  I stared at a comic strip in bold colors. I recognized the character.

  Dr. Maniac.

  Drawn in my style. But new.

  A new Dr. Maniac comic.

  My mouth dropped open in shock as I started to read it.

  “What’s up with this?” I cried. “How can there be a new strip? I didn’t draw this one!”

  The strip showed Dr. Maniac standing on a city street. His leopard-skin cape fell behind his shoulders. He raised a gloved fist at the reader.

  “I’m going to kidnap every kid in the city!” he bragged in the dialogue balloon above his head. “Every kid in the city, one by one. And I’m going to make them ice-skate twenty-four hours a day! It’ll be the biggest ice show in history!”

  In the next panel, Dr. Maniac had an evil grin on his face. “Do you know how much money that will bring me?” he asked.

  “You’re crazy!” said a character beside him.

  “I’m not crazy — I’m a MANIAC!” the evil supervillain boomed. “And my giant ice show — all singing, all skating — is going to make me the RICHEST maniac on earth!”

  I scrolled down to see the rest of the comic strip. In the next panel, Dr. Maniac bellowed: “I’ll call it MANIAC ON ICE! I love it! I LOVE show business! Hahahahaha!”

  Then he pulled two kids into view. Leaning onto my desk, staring into the glow of the laptop screen, I cried out in disbelief.

  Sam and Brooke!

  He grabbed each one of them under an arm and took off. He flew them to a large brick building at the edge of town.

  The building looked familiar. I knew I’d seen it before.

  A sign on one wall read: PUBLIC SWIMMING POOL. DANGER — NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY.

  My heart pounded as I kept reading.

  Dr. Maniac carried Sam and Brooke to the indoor pool and dropped them on the side. They were surrounded by yellow-tiled walls. No one else there.

  I stared at the pool. The water had been frozen. It was solid ice, a skating rink.

  Dr. Maniac handed ice skates to Sam and Brooke. “Lace them up tight,” he ordered. “Start skating back and forth.”

  “For how long?” Sam asked.

  “For as long as your NOSE!” Dr. Maniac exclaimed. Then he tossed his head back and laughed his hyena laugh.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re crazy!” Brooke cried.

  “As CRAZY as a monkey in a meatball factory!” he screamed. “Hahahahaha! I’ve got a MILLION of ’em!”

  Sam and Brooke laced up their skates. They had no choice. Then Dr. Maniac pushed them onto the ice. They started skating the length of the long swimming pool, back and forth.

  Dr. Maniac grinned again. “That will keep you two busy!” he said. “Twenty-four hours a day! The audiences will LOVE it! Now I’m going to add all the other kids in town to our skating troupe! What a good show! Hahahahahaha!”

  Leaning forward, Sam and Brooke skated side by side. They kept casting frightened glances at each other. They both looked terrified.

  I tried to scroll down to see more. But that’s where the comic strip ended.

  For a long time, I stood there staring at the screen. My mind was doing flip-flops. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen.

  How could there be a new Dr. Maniac strip that I didn’t draw?

  Did the characters I created really come to life? Sam and Brooke really disappeared. What was real and what was just a comic strip?

  I suddenly felt dizzy. This was too hard to figure out. My head started to ache.

  I ran to the head of the stairs. “Mom!” I shouted. “Come upstairs. Hurry! I want to show you something.”

  A few seconds later, Mom started up the stairs. Behind her, I saw the policeman who had been here earlier — Officer Rawls.

  He reached the top of the stairs and stared at me coldly. “Robby, you’re in serious trouble,” he said softly.

  Mom started to say something. But Rawls raised his hand to silence her.

  Then he turned back to me. “Your brother and yo
ur friend have both disappeared,” he said. “Why did you run away this afternoon? I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on.”

  He stuck his face up close to mine. “Robby,” he said, “you’d better start talking. Now.”

  I stepped back. “I didn’t run away,” I said. “I —”

  “Robby, you have to tell us everything you know,” Mom interrupted. “Do you know where Sam and Brooke are? Do you?”

  “It’s all in the comic strip,” I said.

  “Kid, we don’t have time for comics now,” Officer Rawls said. “Tell us —”

  “Come look at this,” I said. I spun away from them and started jogging to my room. “This will explain everything. It’s a comic strip that I didn’t draw. It — it just appeared on my computer!”

  They followed me into my room. I pointed at the laptop screen. “Sam and Brooke are in the strip,” I said. “Look!”

  They stared hard at the screen. I turned and stared, too.

  The screen was blank. Solid gray.

  My heart started to pound. “It was here a second ago,” I said. I leaned over the laptop and began scrolling up and down.

  Nothing.

  A blank screen.

  Officer Rawls put a hand on my shoulder. “Enough about comic strips,” he said. “Do you want to tell us what’s really going on?”

  “I — don’t know,” I stammered. “Really.”

  “Do you have any idea where the two missing kids might be?” Rawls asked.

  “In the comic strip, Dr. Maniac took them to that abandoned swimming pool across town,” I said. “He froze the pool and turned it into an ice rink. He plans to kidnap all the kids in town and make them skate in his ice show.”

  Officer Rawls let out a long sigh. “This isn’t a comic book, kid,” he growled. “You’re starting to annoy me. Do you think this is some kind of a joke?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer. He turned and lumbered down the hall and down the stairs. Mom gave me a worried glance. Then she followed him downstairs.

  I could hear them arguing. “Your son is totally mental,” I heard the officer say. “Comic books have gone to his brain.”

  I heard the front door slam. Out my bedroom window, I saw Officer Rawls stomp across our front yard. He climbed into his patrol car and sped off.