by Greyson Mann
So while Mom writes out back, I’ve been trying to write my newspaper article. But I haven’t exactly interviewed the cafeteria staff about the mystery meat yet. I mean, Mr. Zane gave me some pretty good clues with his stinky briefcase. But Mrs. Collins said she wanted me to get ALL the facts this time.
So I’ve decided that tomorrow at lunchtime, I’ll get the facts. I’ll march right into that cafeteria kitchen and get to the bottom of that meat.
But right now? I think I’ll just march into our own kitchen and get myself a snack. Brain food, I call it. All this detective work kind of makes a creep HUNGRY.
DAY 11: TUESDAY
So last night instead of sitting with my friends at lunch, I slipped into the cafeteria kitchen to investigate the mystery meat.
Lunchtime isn’t exactly the BEST time to interview staff in the cafeteria. I mean, it was pretty noisy back there, with bowls of mushroom stew slopping their way down the lunch line and pork chops flinging off the grill.
On the other hand, it was the PERFECT time to examine a pork chop. I snuck one out of the warming bin when no one was looking. But when I pulled out my magnifying glass, this witch with a hairnet asked me what I thought I was doing.
I read her nametag and said politely, “Ms. Wilma, my eyes tell me that this is no ORDINARY pork chop. What’s in this thing, anyway? Chicken? Fish? Moldy mushrooms? My nose detects a hint of rotten flesh …”
Ms. Wilma wasn’t loving my sleuthing skills, I could tell. She pointed a crooked finger toward the back of the line and said that if I wanted a rotten-flesh chop, I could wait in line for it, just like every other kid. Then she snatched the chop away.
Well, that was all the RESEARCH I needed to do. Ms. Wilma had pretty much admitted she was serving up rotten-flesh chops, right?
So I went back to the lunch table and started working on my article. The headline practically wrote itself: “MYSTERY MEAT: A MYSTERY NO MORE!” I even drew a picture of a rotten-flesh chop with wiggly stench lines above it.
So everything was going my way. I had cracked the Case of the Stinky Briefcase, AND the Case of the Mystery Meat.
But you know what happened this morning after school? Mrs. Collins shot down my article. Yup, she handed it right back to me and said that I was writing FICTION, not facts.
Emma Enderman got this smug smile and said that newspaper reporting was clearly “not my thing.” But Mrs. Collins said she was willing to give me another chance. She said maybe I could choose my own topic this time, as long as I did LOTS of research.
After the meeting, Whisper Witch followed me out. She asked me again if I wanted any help. But I think I’m starting to get how Mom feels about her novel. I mean, maybe I haven’t solved a big mystery or written an award-winning article YET. But I still have 19 days. So if everyone would just back off, I’ll figure this thing out.
Now I’m sitting at home, staring out my bedroom window. Mom sometimes says that “when one portal closes, another one opens.” (She has all kinds of sayings like that.) I think it means that if something doesn’t go your way, you should try something else. At least that’s what she says when her 30-day plans don’t work out.
Anyway, I JUST had a genius idea. (What can I say? They hit me sometimes. … I’m wondering if Mom’s saying works for LOCKED doors too. Because Room 117 has a door that’s always locked—a door that’s so full of cobwebs, no one ever gets through. But Room 117 probably ALSO has a window.
And if I get to school early tonight, I can check it out—look through that window and try to see what in the Overworld is going on in that room.
Who knows? Maybe that portal will even OPEN …
DAY 12: WEDNESDAY
Well, I got to school so fast last night, I practically teleported. I found the library window and then crept to the one next to it—the window to Room 117.
It was dark inside. No surprise there. I ALMOST walked away, but that’s when I saw it—the glow of a TORCH. Coming from inside the room. Someone was in there!
But how’d they get in? The window was locked up tight—I examined every edge of it, wondering if someone had crawled through. Then I remembered my magnifying glass. See, Sherlock Bones would already be on his hands and knees looking for footprints. So I dropped down too. And guess what? I found some!
The footprints were about yea big and wide. Square, like the shape of my feet. About the SIZE of my feet, too, which I thought was a real coincidence. Until it hit me.
They WERE my footprints.
Yup, those are the moments in a detective’s life when he’s GLAD he doesn’t have a sidekick—that there’s no one there to witness his mortification. Except … lucky me! There WAS a witness after all. Someone cleared her throat—and asked me what I was doing face-down on the ground.
I glanced up and saw Mrs. Enderwoman’s long black legs. She’s my friend Eddy’s mom, and also my history teacher. As I stared at her legs, trying to avoid her eyes, I had to think FAST. I told her I was examining the “architecture” of the school building. I figured a history teacher would eat up that sort of thing. (I know—genius, right?)
Mrs. Enderwoman said there were plenty of books about building and architecture in the library, if I wanted to learn more. She went on and on about how the school rooms were designed for “very specific purposes” and that there might be a “floor plan” of the school in the library, too.
A WHAT now? I asked her to repeat that.
She said a floor plan was like a map of all the rooms—ALL the rooms. Well, that had to mean Room 117 too, right?
I swear my nose started itching, as if it could SMELL the clues I could get from a map like that. So when school started, I headed for the library. Mrs. Collins was happy to make me a copy of the map—ecstatic, in fact. (Especially after I said Mrs. Enderwoman had assigned me a project on architecture. I mean, it wasn’t a TOTAL fib.)
Anyway, I stuffed the map in my locker before anyone could ask about it. But now I’m home, and I’ve studied every inch of that map. And I’ve already DEDUCED something important—something that might help me crack the case of Room 117.
See, Room 117 doesn’t have just one door. It has TWO. One leads into the hall—that’s the one that’s always locked. No surprise there. But guess where the other one leads?
Into the LIBRARY.
So I might have just found a way into Room 117 after all.
DAY 13: THURSDAY
You know how I was celebrating the other day because I didn’t have a sidekick—no one to see me examining my OWN footprint with a magnifying glass?
Well, here’s the thing. It’s nice not to have witnesses when you do something dumb. But it sure would be nice to have a sidekick when you figure out something BRILLIANT.
I could barely sleep yesterday because of that map—because I’d found a new door to Room 117. And I would have given ANYTHING for a Dr. Webson, someone I could share my secret with. I tried talking to Sticky, but he just floated around in his aquarium staring at me. He was more like Dr. WET-son than Dr. Webson.
I suddenly really, really, REALLY wanted to talk to Sam. I mean, that slime is the one I tell when bad things happen. And he’s the one I tell when good things happen.
I decided that I HAD to tell him about Room 117. Maybe he could help me figure out what was going on in there. And maybe figuring out THAT mystery would somehow help me figure out what was going on with Sam, too.
So as soon as I got to school last night, I found Sam. I pulled him with me into the janitor’s closet, grabbed that map out of my backpack, and spread it out on the floor by the mop buckets. Then I told Sam I’d been investigating Room 117.
“Wait, is that the room by the library?” he asked.
“That’s the room you get to THROUGH the library,” I announced, happy to share my latest deduction.
That’s when Sam got all weird. He started jiggling, the way he does before a test or when he’s hyped up on hot chocolate. And suddenly, he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I might as w
ell have been an Enderman.
I asked Sam if he knew what was going on in Room 117. And I could TELL that he did. But he wouldn’t say a word! When the bell rang, he mumbled something about science class and practically flattened me on his way out the door.
Well, after that whole closet scene, I couldn’t WAIT to get to the library to look for the door to Room 117. If that’s where Sam had been going all this time, I HAD to find out what was in there!
At lunchtime, I told Sam I had a stomachache—that I must have eaten a rotten potato for breakfast or something. I don’t think he heard a word I said. He was still acting all weird and jittery. So while he wiggled off to find Willow, I snuck toward the library. I hoped I’d have it all to myself.
The bad news? Mr. Zane was in the library. The good news? He didn’t have his briefcase with him. Maybe after the whole wolf attack, he’d decided to come up with a better place to store his stinky meat.
Anyway, when Mr. Zane asked if he could help me with anything, I told him I was just “browsing the books.” I made SURE this time to avoid the Facts of Life section. Instead, I skimmed over the biographies. I slid past a few books about Redstone railways. And the whole time, I was creeping closer and closer to where I THOUGHT the door to Room 117 should be.
At first, I didn’t see it. I crept down a whole row of bookshelves and back again. Nothing! Just shelf, shelf, shelf, painting, shelf, shelf …
Then I took a closer look. (I mean, I AM a detective, right?) And I spotted something. That painting of potted plants hanging on the wall WASN’T hanging on the wall. It was hanging on a DOOR!
I almost let out a “WHOOP,” but I sure didn’t need Mr. Zane staggering over. So I tried to play it cool. I found the doorknob behind the painting, and I very carefully gave it a turn. Well, I TRIED to, but the door was locked. (I know. Big surprise there, right?)
Now I’m not really the giving-up kind of creeper. So instead of creeping away, I took another look. I even pulled out my magnifying glass to look for clues—like fingerprints or cobwebs or ANYTHING.
There weren’t any. But then I remembered something that I’d read in my Sherlock Bones book. See, sometimes what you DON’T see is actually a clue. If there weren’t any cobwebs, then mobs were actually USING this door! At least ONE mob. Was it Sam?
When someone shuffled up behind me, I almost jumped out of my skin. Seriously—I nearly blew up right there in the library.
When I spun around, I must have still been holding up my magnifying glass, because Mr. Zane jumped too. (Did I mention how ginormous my eye looks through that thing?)
Anyway, when Mr. Zane asked what I was doing, I made up some excuse about how I was examining the painting—to be sure it wasn’t a fake. “I’d hate to think that Mob Middle School was getting ripped off or something,” I said.
Then I got out of there quick.
So now I’m home, and I’ve figured out a few things. Four things, actually:
• I’m getting pretty good at this detective thing. I mean, that line I fed Mr. Zane about the fake painting? That was genius. Just saying …
• Something sketchy is going on in Room 117. Why else would someone hide the doorway with a painting?
• Sam knows what’s going on in Room 117. But he’s not the smartest slime in the swamp, so he can’t be the brains behind the operation. So … who is?
• That slime needs my help. He’s probably in WAY over his head!!!
DAY 14: FRIDAY
What would Sherlock Bones do? That’s the question I kept asking myself yesterday before I fell asleep. And I ended up having this dream that I WAS Sherlock Bones.
Yup, I looked down and I had these skeleton arms and bony skeleton fingers. And I was RIDING on a spider. It wasn’t exactly Dr. Webson. It was Leggy, Ziggy’s spider. (What can I say? Dreams are weird that way.)
Anyway, we were hot on the Case of the Potato Thief. See, someone had been stealing crispy potatoes out of the refrigerator. Now that might not be a case Sherlock Bones would be interested in, but I, Gerald Creeper Jr., have a thing for crispy potatoes. If someone is stealing them, I want to KNOW.
So I did what any good detective would do—I set a trap. Well, actually, Leggy set a trap. He spun this web right across the refrigerator door. Then we waited around the corner.
It didn’t take long before we heard a loud hiss, and when we got back into the kitchen, CHLOE was all wrapped up in that spider web. BUSTED. With a chunk of crispy potato on her cheek.
I woke up right away, because I HATE spider webs. (I once got caught in a ferocious cave spider’s web, but that’s a whole other story.) Anyway, I jumped in the shower to wash off the memory of my dream.
And suddenly, I had one of my genius ideas.
See, if I want to know who’s been going in and out of Room 117, I have to do what Sherlock Bones would do. Or what Ziggy’s pet spider, Leggy, would do. I have to set a TRAP.
All the way to school last night, I tried to psych myself up to join Web Weaving. Maybe I’d only have to take a class or two—just long enough to weave a web to stretch across the door of Room 117. But by the time I got to school, I had an even BETTER idea.
Remember how Ziggy was bugging me about helping with my investigations? Well, I said to myself, “Self, why do you want to learn how to weave a web when ZIGGY can do it for you?” Well, not actually Ziggy—but Ziggy’s spider. (Most mobs don’t know this about me, but I’m really all about teamwork.)
So I decided to talk to Ziggy about it at lunch. But you know what that zombie said? Well, I didn’t hear EVERYTHING he said because there was a whole lot of smacking going on. But he said he was only JOKING about bringing Leggy to school. Because I guess there are rules about that sort of thing.
Anyway, his new idea was that we should hang out at HIS house and get Leggy to weave a cobweb THERE. Then we could snip the strings and bring it to school on Monday.
I gotta say, it wasn’t a HORRIBLE idea. I mean, I don’t love hanging out at Ziggy’s house. The whole place kind of smells like Mr. Zane’s briefcase, and I almost ALWAYS get stuck in one of Leggy’s cobwebs. But here’s the thing: it’ll be a whole lot easier to sneak a cobweb into school than it would be to sneak a SPIDER into school. So I’m going over to Ziggy’s tomorrow night.
As soon as I said yes, Ziggy got all weird and started talking like Sherlock Bones. As if HE were the detective and I was his sidekick. “Elementary, my dear Gerald. Elementary,” he kept saying, with rotten-flesh juice dripping off his chin.
So, yeah. I’m pretty much already regretting my decision. All I can say is, this cobweb thing better pay off. BIG-TIME.
DAY 15: SATURDAY
Waiting for a spider to spin a web is like waiting for mushroom stew to boil. If you watch it and wait for it, it NEVER happens!
I thought I could go to Ziggy’s, get the cobweb, and get out—keep the visit short and sweet, you know? But that’s not what happened. While I followed Leggy around, waiting for him to spin a web, Ziggy followed ME around. “Gerald, you want to see my blister?” “Gerald, you want to hear my new ‘Stagger and Stomp’ playlist?” “Gerald, want to go freak out some villagers?”
He almost got me with that last one. See, Ziggy lives near a human village, and he’s pretty good at sneaking up on villagers and spying on them. He likes to moan and groan just to freak them out. I guess it’s Ziggy’s hidden talent.
Anyway, I tried to stay focused—I had a case to solve, for cryin’ out loud. So I told Ziggy that I had to stay close to Leggy. I waited and I watched. The WHOLE night.
I ate dinner with Ziggy (avoiding the rotten-flesh meatballs), ate lunch with Ziggy (avoiding the rotten-flesh tacos), and even ate BREAKFAST with Ziggy (avoiding the rotten-flesh sausages). I told his parents that I couldn’t eat meat on Saturdays or Sundays—that it was a creeper thing.
I killed about as much time as a creeper can kill—but still, no cobwebs. Ziggy said he thought we were making Leggy nervous by staring at him. So I tried looking aw
ay. But every time I snuck a peek at Leggy, he was watching me, too. It was like a creeper-spider showdown.
Dawn was about to break, and I knew Mom and Dad would want me home. I also knew that Ziggy HAD to be in bed by dawn—his parents are pretty strict about that sort of thing. But I couldn’t leave without a cobweb. I couldn’t!
So when Ziggy asked me to sleep over, I said yes. While I called my parents, Ziggy put down this tattered old sleeping bag next to his bed. Well, I wasn’t going to touch that stinky bag with a ten-foot pole—no sirree. Instead, I said I was going to get a glass of water. I figured that by the time I got back, Ziggy would be snoring up a storm. And I was right.
But someone else wasn’t. See, Ziggy has this baby sister, Zoe, who isn’t a big sleeper. The last time I stayed at Ziggy’s, Zoe and I hung out during the day while the rest of the zombies got their Z’s. I figured that if I hung with Zoe, I MIGHT catch Leggy spinning a web—and be able to get out of there before the sun went down.
Turns out, Zoe had ALL kinds of plans for me. We had a tea party with her pet chicken. We sang nursery rhymes (well, we RAPPED them).
