by Guy Bass
Table of Contents
FOREWORD
PROLOGUE
THE FIRST CHAPTER
THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL
THE SECOND CHAPTER
ENTER ARABELLA
THE THIRD CHAPTER
THE FORGOTTEN ROOM
THE FOURTH CHAPTER
UPON REFLECTION
THE FIFTH CHAPTER
A TRUSTY SWORD
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
A TRUSTY COMPANION
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
STITCH HEAD'S FIRST CREATION
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER
I SHALL CALL HIM . . . POX!
THE NINTH CHAPTER
THE LETTER
THE TENTH CHAPTER
A TRUSTY SHIP
THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER
SHIP SHAPE
THE TWELFTH CHAPTER
THE SECOND LETTER
THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER
MOAT FLOAT
THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER
THE PIRATE'S EYE
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
RAISING THE GADABOUT II
THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
A TRUSTY CREW
THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER
GRUBBERS HARBOR
THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER
FOLLOW THAT SHIP
THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER
ALL ABOARD
THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER
CRATE EXPECTATIONS
THE TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER
FIENDISH FULBERT FREAKFINDER
THE TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER
STITCH HEAD VS. FREAKFINDER
THE TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER
CREATION OVERBOARD
THE TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER
RESCUING THE MAD PROFESSOR
THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER
ONWARD
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
When the seas be rough and the waves be quick,
Yo ho ho and slap your thigh!
There’s only one sailor who isn’t sick,
Ahoy! Captain Flashpowder!
The waves do crash with brutish clout,
Yo ho ho and spit in your eye!
But steady sails the Gadabout,
Ahoy! Captain Flashpowder!
The captain hunts for long-lost gold —
Yo ho ho and tickle your toes!
He’ll be rich afore he’s old,
Ahoy! Captain Flashpowder!
His eagle eye looks out to sea —
Yo ho ho and pick your nose!
He goes o’er the edge if he wants a wee,
Ahoy! Captain Flashpowder!
It was the night that everything changed. The circus had come to Grubbers Nubbin.
Yesteryear! What a wonderful time it was. Yesteryear was filled with song and cheer, with funny hats and mustaches and horses pulling carts, with cobbled streets and expressions like “Lawks-a-mussy!” and “Hooken-snivey!” Yes, all in all, yesteryear was just about the best time to be alive.
Unless you lived in the small town of Grubbers Nubbin, that is. For in Grubbers Nubbin, even on the brightest day, a dark shadow fell upon the town. The shadow of CASTLE GROTTESKEW.
High on a hill above the town loomed the castle. It had loomed there since before anyone could remember. The castle was home to the maddest of mad professors, Mad Professor Erasmus. For more years than it is possible to count on four people’s fingers, the professor had busied himself creating hundreds of monstrous, unearthly creatures.
The very first of his monstrous creations was a small, almost-human creature that the professor had named STITCH HEAD.
Stitch Head was a jigsaw of bits, pieces, and spare parts. His bald and round head was covered with stitches, and his eyes were different colors. One eye was black and boring, but the other was a bright, ice-blue orb. It shined like the ocean on a cloudless morning.
Long forgotten by his master, Stitch Head spent his days hiding in the darkest shadows of the castle, silently watching over the professor and his many creations. Fortunately, the castle’s inhabitants rarely caused trouble. After all, they were some of the nicest monsters you could ever meet.
But they rarely started out that way.
“Run!”
Stitch Head raced down the moonlit corridor, his mismatched eyes flashing with fear. He had a small bag slung over his shoulder, which clanked and clinked as he ran. In his tiny hand he gripped an ink-blue bottle.
“Empty . . .” he whispered — and looked behind him.
“Oh . . . oh, no,” he said. “It’s here!”
A strange-looking, three-armed creature appeared from the gloom, stampeding after him. It was a hulking, beastly thing with a terrifying combination of monstrously strange parts. It charged along the corridor, gaining on Stitch Head with every step. Then, when it was almost upon him, its ear-piercing roar filled the air . . .
“WAAA-AAAHH! Faster, Stitch Head! It’s going to EAT us to PIECES!” cried the Creature.
Stitch Head and the Creature both glanced back. Behind them, in the dim light of the corridor, emerged another monster. It was huge — five times bigger than the Creature, and an impossible combination of octopus, sea snake, squid, and upside-down-faced horribleness. It writhed its way toward them, roaring and screeching so loudly that it cracked the castle walls.
“I thought your POTION was meant to CURE it of its monstrousness!” cried the Creature (it still hadn’t chosen a name for itself, so it was just called the Creature).
“It was!” cried Stitch Head, searching in his potion bag as he tore down the corridor. “We’re going to need a bigger dose!”
“What do you think it’s so GRUMPY about, anyway? It’s only been almost-alive for FIVE WHOLE MINUTES . . .” cried the Creature. “Maybe it didn’t WANT to be brought to almost-life.”
“It’s the Root of All Evil!” panted Stitch Head, as the shadow of the octo-monster loomed over them. “The professor has been growing the root in his laboratory . . . he must have added it to his creation! It’s made it . . . bad. I thought my Serenity Salve would cure it, but —”
The tentacled octo-monster launched itself toward them with all its crazed might. Stitch Head and the Creature leaped aside as the beast crashed through the floor, plummeting to the level below.
The Creature dusted itself off and peered though the hole left by the octo-monster. “Well, THAT was a stroke of LUCK,” it said.
A moment later, the remains of the ancient floor crumbled beneath their feet. Stitch Head and the Creature plunged to the lower level with an “AAAAH!” and a cascade of rubble.
“Creature?” whimpered Stitch Head, dragging himself to his feet. He looked around, but all he could see was rubble. Where was it? “Creature? Are you there?”
A vast, dark shadow fell over Stitch Head. He heard a deep, rumbling growl and felt hot breath on the back of his head.
“Uh-oh . . .” he said in a tiny, frightened whisper. He turned slowly to see the octo-monster looming over him.
The octo-monster roared in Stitch Head’s face, almost knocking him over with the force and foulness of its breath. Stitch Head stared into the beast’s mouth, frozen with fear. This was the end. Silvery drool dripped from the octo-monster’s hundred-toothed jaws as it closed in.
“Hey! Snot-breath! Don’t make me come down there and smash your nose in!” came a cry. The octo-monster whirled round and looked up at the hole in the ceiling. There, standing on the edge, was a thin, scruffy-looking girl.
“Arabella . . .” whispered Stitch Head, peering up.
Arabella was a girl from Grubbers Nubbin and, apart from the professor, was the only human being Stitch Head could cal
l his friend.
Unlike the other townsfolk, Arabella couldn’t get enough of the monsters, creatures, and crazy things in Castle Grotteskew. In fact, Stitch Head was pretty sure she wasn’t scared of anything.
Even if she was about to be eaten.
“Arabella, get out of here!” shouted Stitch Head. “RUN!”
The octo-monster reared up to its full height. Its tentacles were flailing wildly.
But Arabella didn’t move an inch. She just shook her head and pointed to her shoes.
“You see these?” said Arabella. “These are my brand-new kicking boots. They’re polished up all nice and shiny, so you’ll be able to see your face in them when I kick it in!”
The octo-monster slithered up the wall and launched itself through the hole with another rage-filled scream.
The octo-monster wrapped one of its tentacles around Arabella and held her over the hole.
“ARABELLA!” screamed Stitch Head. “Hang on!”
“I’ll kick you into next week!” she growled, as the octo-monster gnashed its jaws.
“GREO . . . ooR . . . GReorhh . . . uhhhg . . . ?” the octo-monster gurgled.
Suddenly, the monster shook its head and rubbed its huge, black eyes with two of its tentacles.
“My dear child, I must apologize for such improper behavior on my part,” it said in a soft, eerily polite tone. “I cannot for the almost-life of me imagine what could have prompted such abominable conduct! Although I confess I don’t remember anything at all — even my own name. I must choose one — being nameless feels quite improper.”
Creature sighed. “TELL me about it,” he said.
“The Serenity Salve,” whispered Stitch Head. “It’s working . . .”
“Yeah, well, count yourself lucky,” huffed a disappointed Arabella. “I was just about to get kicky all over your face.”
“Then I am profoundly grateful I came to my senses when I did,” said the octo-monster, lowering Arabella through the hole and placing her delicately on the ground.
“Now, if you’ll be kind enough to allow me to take my leave, I suddenly feel rather dehydrated,” continued the octo-monster. “Is there by chance a body of water nearby in which I might take up residence? As you can see, I do not have a home.”
“There’s . . . um, there’s a moat around the castle,” said Stitch Head. “You can get to it through the sewer pipes — that is, if you can squeeze through them . . .”
“A fantastic suggestion! My humblest thanks to you,” said the octo-monster. “And if I can ever be of assistance — anything at all — just give me a whistle!”
With that, the giant octo-monster slid into the shadows of Castle Grotteskew and disappeared.
“I don’t even know if I can whistle . . .” muttered Stitch Head..
“Too bad I scared him off,” grumbled Arabella. “Would’ve been nice to try out my new boots.”
“Uh, I think it was the Serenity Sal — um, never mind,” said Stitch Head quietly. “Thanks for . . . wait, where’s the Creature? Creature! Creature, where are you —?”
“That was GREAT!” boomed the Creature, clambering out from under a mound of rubble. “I haven’t FALLEN through a HOLE on my HEAD in WEEKS. It really clears out the COBWEBS. Hi, Arabella! I like your BOOTS! But HOW did you get into the CASTLE?”
“I got my own key made,” replied Arabella, showing off a large key around her neck. “Good thing too. That monster was going to swallow Stitch Head like a pickled egg. So, have you thought of a name for yourself yet?”
“I’ve narrowed it DOWN,” boomed the Creature excitedly. “Do you want to hear the SHORTLIST? I’ll start with the A’s: ABRAHAM, ALBATROSS, ALBERT, ALFRED, ALGERNON, ALVIN, ANGELA, ANGELINA, ANGELO, ANTELOPE, ARCHIBALD, ARTHUR —”
“Yikes, Creature, I’ll be older than my grandma by the time you get to the Z’s — and my grandma’s so old that her toenails have fallen off!” said Arabella, chuckling.
“Hey, where ARE we?” asked the Creature, glancing around. “THIS doesn’t look ANYTHING like the rest of the castle.”
Stitch Head glanced with his mismatched eyes across the room . . . and froze. “It can’t be . . .” he began.
“Are you all right?” asked Arabella. Stitch Head didn’t reply. He just stared into the doorway. Arabella waved her hand in front of Stitch Head’s face. “Anyone in there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I didn’t think there WERE any GHOSTS in Castle Grotteskew,” said the Creature, panicking. “Should we start RUNNING and SCREAMING now?”
“This is the room,” whispered Stitch Head, finally.
“What room?” asked Arabella. “What is this place?”
“This is my master’s — the professor’s — old playroom,” said Stitch Head. “This is where I was created.”
“NO WAY — this is the PROFESSOR’s old playroom?” boomed the Creature. The Forgotten Room was like no other in the castle. It wasn’t filled with brains in jars or hideous, half-finished creations. There were no chains hanging from the ceiling, or strange creations roaming around. Instead, there were toys — a rocking horse, a bucket of rusty tin soldiers, a moth-eaten teddy bear, a train set . . . and mountains of books, all covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. In the middle of the room was the only clue to the professor’s future — a small table attached to a makeshift electrical generator.
“You were born here?” asked Arabella.
“Well, made . . .” said Stitch Head.
“Of COURSE! And you’re very well made!” bellowed the Creature reassuringly. “The stitches really bring out the different parts of your FACE.”
“That — that’s a creating table. It is where my master brought me to almost-life,” said Stitch Head, pointing at the table. “This room was my home for years. When my master’s father took him away to become a mad professor, I was locked inside. I hoped my master would come back for me . . . but he never did. Eventually, one of his mad monsters rampaged through the castle. It broke down the door and freed me. But by then the castle was full of creations, and I was forgotten.”
“POOR Stitch Head,” whimpered the Creature, wiping away a tear with its third arm.
“You’d better not start crying,” groaned Arabella. “Crybabies make me clench my fists.”
“I — I wasn’t GOING to . . .” replied the Creature with a sniff.
“You know what you need, Stitch Head?” said Arabella, as she started sifting through the piles of books. “You need to get out more.”
“That’s a GREAT idea!” cried the Creature, who thought almost everything was a great idea. “We should go on a TRIP! We could all go to the BEACH and work on our TANS. I’m such a PALE shade of GRAY these days. . .”
“Leave Grotteskew? We can’t! I mean I can’t — not ever,” said Stitch Head, with a rare determination.
Only once had Stitch Head ventured beyond the castle walls. One dark, foreboding night, a circus ringmaster by the name of Fulbert Freakfinder had come calling at Grotteskew’s Great Door, promising Stitch Head fame and fortune as the star of his Traveling Carnival of Unnatural Wonders. For the first time, Stitch Head had considered the possibility that there was something more to almost-life than being forgotten. Indeed, if it weren’t for Freakfinder’s final betrayal, Stitch Head might have left Castle Grotteskew forever. What would have become of his master then? Who would have cured each new creation of its madness and monstrosity? Stitch Head never forgave himself for his selfishness. From that moment, he had vowed never to leave the castle again.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave,” Stitch Head repeated, wiping the dust from the professor’s creating table. “The professor needs me.”
“Yeah, right . . . needs you to cure all his mad monsters, you mean,” quipped Arabella, as she tossed books over her shoulder. “I’m surprised he ain’t better at it,
what with all these professoring manuals — there’s hundreds of ’em! He should get another hobby, or . . . hang on, what’s this?”
She picked up a thick, leather-bound book and blew off the dust. On the cover was a picture of a pirate.
“Who’s Captain Flashpowder?” asked Arabella, holding up the book.
Beneath the title was a painting of a heroic-looking figure with an eyepatch. In his hand he wielded a gleaming cutlass sword. He was standing at the stern of a huge ship — a pirate ship — and he had a bright red and yellow parrot perched on his shoulder.
“My master loved that book,” whispered Stitch Head, his ice-blue eye gleaming in the moonlight. “He used to read it to me every night. It’s the diary of a great pirate. It tells of his adventures to faraway lands, searching for treasure . . . excitement . . . piracy on the high seas.”
“GREAT! I LOVE pirates!” the Creature exclaimed. “HEY, that gives me an IDEA — let’s play PIRATES! Oh, can we, PLEASE? All the other creations want to play is TEA PARTIES . . .”
“Stitch Head will have to be Captain Flashpowder,” said Arabella, showing the Creature the diary. “He’s already got his eye. Look!”
“Hey, you’re RIGHT!” boomed the Creature. “Captain FLUSHPOWDER’S got Stitch Head’s eye. I mean, Stitch Head’s got HIS! I mean —”
“What . . . what do you mean?” asked Stitch Head. He peered at the diary’s cover. Flashpowder’s left eye was bright, piercing, almost glimmering — and ice blue.
Arabella chuckled. “Ain’t no denying it, Stitch Head — that eye of yours is the absolute same as the pirate’s.”
“Are . . . are my eyes different from each other?” asked Stitch Head, more than a little embarrassed.
