Curse of the Kitty Litter

by Kirk Scroggs

  Copyright © 2008 by Kirk Scroggs, LLC

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group USA

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: August 2008

  ISBN: 978-0-316-03289-6

  The “Little, Brown and Company” name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The illustrations for this book were done in Staedtler ink on Canson Marker paper, then digitized with Adobe Photoshop for color and shade.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Take a Whiff

  Chapter 2: Bad News Bearers

  Chapter 3: Mind Your Manors

  Chapter 4: Brain Food

  chapter 5: Can You Dig It?

  Chapter 6: Send in the Clowns

  Chapter 7: Heir to the Throne

  Chapter 8: The Dook of Merle

  Chapter 9: That’s Phenomenomenal!

  Chapter 10: The Real Nitty Gritty

  Chapter 11: It Was Just the wind

  Chapter 12: Sock It to Me

  Chapter 13: Whatever possessed You?

  Chapter 14: Poltergeezer

  Chapter 15: The Ghost of Gas Passed

  Chapter 16: The Whole Kitten Kaboodle

  Chapter 17: Soggy Bottoms

  Chapter 18: Reeking Havoc

  Chapter 19: Try Some Nasal Spray

  Chapter 20: That’s a Wrap!

  CrackPot Snapshot

  CrackPot Snapshot

  CrackPot Snapshot

  Special thanks to:

  Steve Deline, Jackie Greed, Suppasak Viboonlarp, Mark Mayes,

  Hiland Hall, Alejandra, Inge Govaerts, Joe Kocian, Jim Jeong, Frank Ortiz, and Will Keightly.

  A supernatural thanks to Andrea, Jill, Ames, Elizabeth, Saho, Maria, and the Little, Brown Crew. Woo woo!

  A creaky, cobweb-covered thanks to Ashley and Carolyn Grayson, Christa and Andrea and the Mrs. Nelsons crew, and Dav Pilkey.

  And a levitating, ectoplasmic thanks to Harold Aulds, Corey and Candance, and Diane Scroggs.

  Chapter 1

  Take a Whiff

  Ladies and gentlemen, Swedish pastry chefs, and connoisseurs of fine odors . . . A horrible presence roams these halls. A ghoulish, gooey, and sometimes gassy ghost that breaks furniture, wails and moans like a hippo with a toothache, and smells like a Limburger cheese and sauerkraut quesadilla.

  Turn back now! Your nostrils are in grave danger. . . .

  AAAAAH!

  Don’t be frightened! Those aren’t ghosts. It’s just Gramma and Merle in their nightly avocado, cucumber, and cold cream beauty masks.

  “Hold it down in here!” yelled Gramma. “Merle and I are trying to get our beauty rest. Merle’s gotta look his best for the Gingham County Cat Show this weekend.”

  “Sorry, Granny!” Grampa said. “But we just installed our new eleven speaker surround sound system. Howl of The Poodle People is coming on at midnight and I want the walls to shake with every shriek of terror.”

  Chapter 2

  Bad News Bearers

  Just then, the phone rang with the fury of a thousand angry trombones!

  I answered it and got some very bad news.

  “Grampa,” I said sadly, “I’m afraid I’ve got some terrible news for you.”

  “They’ve cancelled Wheel of Fortune?” asked Grampa.

  “No,” I said. “Your fourth cousin- in law, Lord Rankonstink, passed away in a tragic rabid aardvark incident and you’ve been left something in his will.”

  “Nooooooo!” screamed Grampa as he swung from the chandelier and threw breakables. “Why does fate have to be so cruel?”

  “Wow!” I said. “You guys must have been close.”

  “Actually, I didn’t know I even had a fourth cousin in law,” said Grampa. “I just felt like breaking something.”

  Chapter 3

  Mind Your Manors

  The next day we headed toward Lord Rankonstink’s home. I even asked my best friend, Jubal, to come along.

  “Are you kidding?” said Jubal. “It was either this or do my math homework.”

  We arrived at our destination, a ginormous, spooky, ramshackle mansion called Badtable Manor.

  “Just think,” said Grampa, “this could all be ours.”

  “How will I ever keep it dusted?” said Gramma.

  The interior of the mansion was even less inviting.

  “This place is creakier than my lower back,” said Grampa.

  We were greeted by a large, proud woman with a handsome beard. “Greetings, I am Maid Swartwood. Please don’t touch anything. Some of these cobwebs are over a hundred years old and are quite valuable.”

  In the parlor, Maid Swartwood introduced us to a smarmy looking lawyer.

  “Okay, folks,” said the lawyer. “So here’s the deelio. I shall now read from the will of Lord Clifford “Spanky” Rankonstink, then I will follow up with a song and, perhaps, a few knock knock jokes.”

  The Lawyer read from the will.

  “There is a catch,” said the lawyer. “You must survive one night in Badtable Manor. If just one of you can make it until dawn without running out shrieking or dirtying your drawers, the vault’s contents are yours. Prepare for a night of terror!”

  “Terror! Hah!” said Grampa. “I’ve climbed a live volcano, I’ve battled hungry zombies, I’ve eaten Gramma’s cookin’ for seventy five years— oh, I know terror.”

  Chapter 4

  Brain Food

  Before bed, we had a deluxe, barf-inducing dinner.

  “Tonight’s special,” said Maid Swartwood. “Bulgarian braised brains and boiled turkey necks with goat butter.”

  “Sounds good,” said Grampa. “I’m so hungry I could eat a pickled pig’s rump.”

  “You are in luck, sir. That’s on the menu, too.”

  Maid Swartwood showed me and Jubal our quarters for the evening.

  “Nighty night, young ones,” she said. “This was young Billy’s room before he was taken to the asylum. I think you’ll find it most comfortable. His beloved collection of clown dolls will watch over you as you slumber.”

  She shut out the light and left us with the grinning clowns. I just couldn’t get to sleep in that bizarro bedroom.

  “Jubal,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go exploring than sleep next to these bug eyed bozos.”

  “I was afraid you might say that,” said Jubal.

  We ventured out into the dark hallway, which gave Merle a chance to try out his new infrared night vision goggles.

  “Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?” Jubal asked.

  Suddenly we heard a piercing shriek of terror!

  “It’s all right! It was just me!” screamed Grampa from the bathroom. “This water’s colder than a polar bear at a popsicle convention!”

  Chapter 5

  Can You Dig It?

  “Whew!” I said. “It was just Grampa. I thought it might be some leathery old monst—”

  Suddenly, a leathery old monster jumped out of nowhere! We screamed bloody murder.

  “Pardon me. Would you happen to have any skin conditioner?” asked the monster, who actually was just an extra pale, wrinkly human.

  “Who are you?!” I said, startled.

  “I’m the local grave digger, Barry Dunderdirt. You kids shouldn’t be out of your room. This night is cursed. I’ve already dug graves for fo
ur humans and one cat.”

  “Cool,” I said. “You must know a lot about this place. We’ll give you some Pork Cracklins for a tour of the joint.”

  “Sure! Why not?” said the coot.

  Barry took us on a tour of Badtable Manor. Every room was either dripping with slime, bursting with bizarre critters, or filled with noxious gas—it reminded me a lot of the school cafeteria.

  “Not only is this wretched house cursed by the spirits of those who died within these putrid walls,” said Barry, “but it doesn’t even have digital cable or a garbage disposal.”

  “I’m gonna leave you boys with a little poem I wrote. Hang on to it. It just might come in handy.”

  “I’m still working on that last line.”

  Then, all of a sudden, Barry was gone. But on the wall near us hung his portrait.

  “According to that painting,” I said, “Barry Dunderdirt’s been dead for over twenty-five years! We were just talking to . . . his ghost!”

  “Let’s go back to our room,” said Jubal. “Creepy clown dolls don’t seem so bad after all.”

  Chapter 6

  Send in the Clowns

  When we returned to our bedroom, the clown dolls were waiting for us. Unfortunately they were also hovering three feet above the bed and laughing maniacally!

  “Oh man!” said Jubal. “Like I needed another reason to hate clowns.”

  The clowns launched into an impressive trampoline attack.

  But they had to deal with Merle first. After years of clawing up Gramma’s furniture, Merle proved to be a master of removing clown stuffing. He gutted most of the smiling beasties in no time.

  One feisty clown nailed Jubal with a pinwheel-throwing star.

  “Noooo!” I yelled as Merle and I performed our famous Kitty Twister strike and split the devilish doll in two.

  “Jubal!” I screamed. “Speak to me, Jubal!”

  “That’s it! I’m outta here,” said Jubal, sitting up and pulling something out from under his shirt. “If I didn’t keep an emergency box of instant mac ‘n’ cheese tucked under my shirt at all times, I’d be a goner. I’m spending the rest of the night out in the car.”

  And so it began—Jubal was the first to leave that awful house.

  Soon, Gramma was attacked by a mob of linedancing cockroaches singing selected tunes from Bugs Over Broadway.

  “As much as I like musical theatre,” said Gramma on her way out the door, “I’ll be joining Jubal in the car. See you in the morning.”

  Merle was lured outside with the old piece of string trick. He and Jubal and Gramma were all disqualified! It was up to me to stick it out ’til dawn. Nothing was going to frighten me away.

  That was when I met Marty the Mayonnaise Monster. . . .

  “Well,” I said, “spending the night in the car isn’t such a bad thing. I guess we’ll never know what was in that mystery safe.”

  “Wait a minute!” said Jubal. “Where’s your Grampa?”

  Grampa had slept through everything! The inheritance was his!

  “Eeeeyaaaa!” Grampa yawned as he woke up. “Boy, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a restful sleep. I had lovely dreams filled with chipper songs, smiling clowns, and my very own river of mayonnaise.”

  Chapter 7

  Heir to the Throne

  Maid Swartwood opened the safe and revealed Grampa’s inheritance— a 24k gold-plated litter box.

  “This was the master’s beloved cat, Mr. Spittles’s litter box. It’s lined with diamonds and pearls, and is equipped with two ice makers and a bun warmer.”

  Merle passed out with excitement.

  “The late Mr. Spittles took many a poopsy in this box,” said Swartwood with a tear in her eye.

  “I’m sure he did,” said Grampa. “I only hope we can use it with the same care and dignity that Mr. Spittles graced it with years ago.”

  Chapter 8

  The Dook of Merle

  The next day we were back at Grampa’s. It sure was good to be in a house that was free of killer clowns and crooning cockroaches.

  Merle got back into his rigorous training schedule to prepare for the cat show.

  Gramma helped Merle sculpt his body into a ripped, well oiled show cat machine.

  Merle was on a strict diet of peanut butter and tuna sandwiches, which were loaded with protein and heck on the breath.

  “Hey!” I said. “Maybe it’s time to try out that new fancy litter box.”

  “I just did!” said Grampa. “I have to say it’s very luxurious in here but a little cramped and stinky.”

  Chapter 9

  That’s Phenomenomenal!

  That night a huge storm raged outside while Grampa napped. I was busy assembling my new

  Destructor water balloon launcher when I got a strange feeling that we were not alone.

  A chill crawled up my spine. Suddenly, we heard Gramma scream in the kitchen!

  We ran into the kitchen to find total chaos. Everything was hovering in midair.

  “Grampa!” I yelled. “Gramma’s floating up toward the ceiling!”

  “Boy! She’s really lost weight!” said Grampa.

  Then everything fell back to earth with a plop!

  “I think we have a ghost!” I said. “We might need to call a paranormal expert.”

  “Or, at the very least, a cleaning service,” said Grampa.

  Things just got weirder and weirder at Grampa’s house. First, Paco’s fishbowl was haunted by the ghost of a dead floater.

  Objects hovered mysteriously.

  “Heavens to Betsy!” shouted Grampa. “That balloon is floating all by itself!”

  Then the vacuum cleaner sprang to life and came after us.

  “Could you at least vacuum under the drapes?” asked Gramma. “It’s filthy under there.”

  Then, strange claw marks ripped through the sofa, almost as if an invisible phantom kitty was on the loose.

  Chapter 10

  The Real Nitty Gritty

  And that wasn’t the only bit of feline weirdness. Merle’s antique litter box was starting to smell even more ripe than usual.

  “Pewww!” said Grampa. “What is that odor? Smells like a diaper full of feta cheese!”

  Gramma and I bravely attempted to clean out the litter box, but just as we approached it, the box jumped up into the air and out popped a huge, snarling kitty ghost!

  “Holy cat chow!” I screamed. “It’s the ghost of Mr. Spittles!”

  “Maybe we should come back later,” said Gramma.

  The ghost cat mashed together all of Merle’s stinky kitty clumps to form a massive insect.

  “Holy cow!” said Grampa. “It’s a giant litterbug!”

  The smelly beast grew to a towering ten feet and clutched Grampa in its moist, gritty bug beak!

  “All I wanna know is, what on Earth has Merle been eating?” asked Grampa.

  Luckily for us, Gramma jumped in with her air freshener and a jumbo pooper scooper.

  “Back, you carpet soiler from the nether regions!” yelled Gramma as she hosed it down with melon-scented Whiff.

  Mr. Spittles and his buggy friend retreated back into the litter box.

  “I think I’ve got a clump in my throat,” said Grampa.

  Chapter 11

  It Was Just the wind

  The next day we called in some experts from the Gingham County Institute of the Paranormal and Downright Weird.

  “Hi, there, folks. I’m Dr. Vapor, this is my colleague, Vick, and this is one of the world’s greatest psychics, Madame Inuzat. She can get rid of all evil spirits and she’s also great at removing tough cranberry juice stains.”

  “Tell me, child,” said Madame Inuzat. “What kind of disturbances plague this house?”

  “Well,” I said, “ever since we inherited an antique litter box, this joint’s been smelling pretty rank.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said. “My Super Snifr 5000 is picking up a horrid stench from beyond the grave. An otherworldly odor l
ike nothing I’ve ever whiffed.”

  “Actually, that was just me,” said Grampa, leaving the bathroom. “I shouldn’t have had that cabbage and kidney bean omelet for breakfast.”

  Next, they pulled out fancy sound equipment and pressed it up against the wall.

  “What are you doing now?” I asked.

  “With this equipment I can hear the unhappy spirits trying to communicate with our world,” said Madame Inuzat. “Can you hear that? It sounds like the wailing and crying of a lost soul.”

  “Sorry,” said Grampa, sniffling. “That was me again. I was just reading the ending of Charlotte’s Web. That darn pig just breaks my heart every time.”

  Finally, I showed Madame Inuzat to the litter box, but as we approached, the ground started to rumble and shake.

  “The spirits are angry!” screamed Madame Inuzat. “They are creating an earthquake to frighten us away!”

  “Oh, that time it was me,” said Gramma, dancing in front of the TV. “I was playing Dance Dance Retribution and I got a little carried away.”

  “That litter box is a doorway to another dimension,” said Madame Inuzat. “We call it a Portal Potty. It has allowed Mr. Spittles and his ghostly friends to cross over into our world.”

  “How do we send the ghosts back?” asked Jubal.