Dinkin Dings and the Frightening Things

by Guy Bass

  “A zombalien! Zom-bay-lee-un! It’s really not hard to remember!” cried Dinkin. Suddenly his eyes grew wide with horror. “Where is the zombalien? Is she still here? Is she waiting for me?”

  “If you mean Molly, she and her parents have gone home. And they’re not at all happy,” said Mrs. Dings. “You just can’t go around throwing eggs at people, Dinkin.”

  “I don’t feel zombified . . . did she bite me?” said Dinkin, panicking.

  “Did who bite you? You mean Princess Puppy-Face?” said Mrs. Dings.

  “No, Molly!” said Dinkin.

  “Of course not! Honestly, Dinkin, you’re not making any sense,” said Mrs. Dings.

  “Maybe we should take him to the doctor’s, just to be sure. He has a nasty bump on the head,” said Mr. Dings.

  “The doctor’s?” squealed Dinkin. “No, not the doctor’s, anything but that!”

  As far as Dinkin was concerned, going to the doctor’s didn’t make you better—it was just an easy way to catch some horrible disease. The doctor’s waiting room was, after all, full of sick people. Every time he went, he was sure he had caught something terrible. Only this year he had complained of:

  “Please, I don’t need to go to the doctor’s! I feel fine! Better than fine!” said Dinkin. He tapped the bump on his head and stifled a scream. “See? I feel great!”

  “All right, all right,” said Mrs. Dings. “But I’ll need to go to the pharmacy and get something for that bump. Do you want me to get you anything else?”

  “Let’s see,” began Dinkin, “how about a Zombalien-Seeking M3000 Megalaser with optional Hypervolt Bazooka attachment? Or a Class 7 Battletank with T-400 Plasma-Charged Slam Cannon and Zombalien-Frying Flame-Thrower?”

  “I’m not sure I can get those at the pharmacy,” said Mrs. Dings, “but I can pop over to the supermarket if you want me to pick up something for you. Something sensible, that is.” This made Dinkin think. If he was to stand a chance of not being zombified, he was going to need equipment. Tools to help reveal Molly’s secret to the world and rid her from his life forever.

  But that meant going somewhere he swore he’d never go again. And saying something he never thought he’d say:

  “Can I come to the supermarket, too?”

  THE CHAPTER WHERE DINKIN BRAVES THE SUPERMARKET

  Stranger danger: 12.46%

  Sky-falling-in danger: 33.09%

  Supermarket danger: 111.11%

  Despite their suspicions, Mr. and Mrs. Dings agreed to take Dinkin with them to the supermarket. Dinkin hated the supermarket. It had to be the most dangerous place in the world! There were a trillion and one hidden hazards that no one warned you about: loose-wheeled shopping carts that went in every direction but forward; vegetables covered in dirt and dirty pesticides; jars of pasta sauce just waiting to leap off the shelf and shatter into a half-sharp, half-slippery slide of death . . . the list was endless!

  In fact, the only thing Dinkin hated more than the supermarket was facing a zombalien unprepared. He held on to his dad as he walked around the aisles looking for good anti-zombalien equipment.

  This is what he picked up:

  2 meat-tenderizing mallets with rubber handles: $8.99

  1 DVD of Revenge of the Sweaty Undead From Planet Fear: The Musical : $14.97

  2 large bags of barbecue charcoal: $9.99

  3 cans of lighter fluid: $10.47

  1 cordless power drill: $99.99

  36 large, free-range eggs: $8.94

  His dad, of course, made him put all of those things back.

  Then he picked up . . .

  1 waterproof, disposable camera with flash: $3.99

  1 packet of bacon: $1.99 and

  1 super-squeaky dog chew toy (bone shaped): $0.98

  . . . which he was allowed to keep.

  “What do you want this stuff for, anyway?” asked Mrs. Dings at the checkout. “I hope this has nothing to do with poor Molly Coddle.”

  “Poor Molly Coddle? You mean, poor Molly Coddle the bloodsucking undead creature from another galaxy?” cried Dinkin in frustration.

  “Someone’s being silly again,” laughed Mr. Dings.

  “Seriously silly,” added Mrs. Dings.

  “Stupendously silly!” said Mr. Dings.

  Dinkin’s parents continued to find ways of describing how silly it was to think Molly Coddle was a zombalien.

  By the time they left the supermarket, Dinkin was sillier than seventeen silly sailors. By the time they got home, they had named him “General Dinkin the Silly, who sailed a schooner filled with six hundred silly sailors along the seven seas.”

  But Dinkin knew it was his parents’ own silliness that was going to get them both zombified if they didn’t start taking him seriously. Now more than ever, he needed proof.

  DOG DAY AFTERNOON

  Fear of outdoors: 17%

  Fear of dogs : 53%

  Fear of zombaliens : 97%

  Dinkin knew that every second wasted was a second closer to zombification. The Frightening Things wouldn’t reappear for another seven hours, but Dinkin had to act now. He shut himself in his bedroom and got to work on his Zomb-O-Tron 6000. He made a helmet out of a colander and one of his dad’s best shirts, added the camera and a small pen-flashlight, then wrapped around some radiation-reflecting tinfoil and attached a small mirror using glue and spit. Finally, he taped a plunger to the front.

  By the time afternoon turned into early evening, the Zomb-O-Tron 6000 was complete. It may well have been Dinkin’s fifth greatest creation—much better than the Zomb-O-Tron 5000! The secret was in the head-mounted Mask-Demasker. All he needed to do was stick the sucker to Molly’s disguise and yank it off! He’d have a clear shot of her in all her zombalien hideousness! One click of the camera and he’d have the evidence he needed. He just had to get close enough to use it.

  Dinkin secured the Zomb-O-Tron 6000 to his head and peered out his bedroom window into the garden next door.

  At first he didn’t see it, then he caught a flash of pigtail. There she was—Molly the zombalien—playing with Princess Puppy-Face in the front garden.

  “Got to get closer,” whispered Dinkin. Fortunately, he had the perfect invention for such a challenge. He ran downstairs and out the back door. There, at the side of the patio, sat a large, black trash can with wheels. Dinkin took it by the handle and steered it around to the front of the house. He was almost there when his mother blocked his path.

  “I thought you were scared of trash cans,” she said suspiciously.

  “I am,” said Dinkin. Then he looked at the trash can. “Oh, you mean this? This isn’t a trash can. It may look like one, but then that’s the whole point of . . . the Concealinator.”

  The Concealinator was one of Dinkin’s earliest and best inventions. He often used it to hide from (and spy on) anyone who came to the house. With a few simple changes, he had created the perfect mobile shelter. Though it looked like a normal trash can, the Concealinator was as tough as a tank. At least that’s what Dinkin hoped.

  “Well, whatever you’re up to, try and stay out of trouble.” Mrs. Dings sighed and went back into the house.

  “Okay, Agent Dings, time to go behind enemy lines,” whispered Dinkin to himself, hyperventilating with fear. He lifted the lid, took out the trash bags, and got in (being careful not to trap his plunger). Then, from the inside, he detached the false bottom, put his feet through the holes he’d cut out of the real bottom, and flipped open the viewing window. The Concealinator was complete! Although perfectly disguised, Dinkin could see where he was going and propel himself along! He shuffled the Concealinator around to the front of the house.

  “Target sighted—approach w-with c-caution,” he stuttered, breathless with horror.

  Sure enough, there was Molly, still happily playing with Princess Puppy-Face. She was too far away for a clear shot.

  Slowly, carefully, Dinkin edged the Concealinator toward them. Within thirty-six seconds, he was at close range. And she didn�
��t suspect a thing!

  “Target unaware—proximity achieved,” whispered Dinkin to himself. He inched his head up, opening the trash can lid just a crack, and stuck out the Zomb-O-Tron 6000’s Mask-Demasker. All he needed to do was attach the sucker to her head and bingo—no more mask! He was only feet away from revealing her secret! Suddenly he saw Princess Puppy-Face’s ears prick up.

  “What is it, Princess?” said Molly. Princess Puppy-Face gave a low growl and started barking at the Concealinator!

  Then she began to race toward him. Dinkin was gripped with horror—he was nearly as scared of dogs as he was of zombaliens! He closed his eyes and hoped that the earth would open up and swallow him.

  “What are you barking at? It’s just a stupid trash can . . . ,” said Molly. Finally, after what seemed like 19.6 seconds, the yapping stopped. There was silence. Dinkin sighed with relief. Maybe the disguise had worked . . . he did look like a bin, after all! He dared to open an eye and peer out of the window. For a moment he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Then he realized: It was Molly’s face.

  “Hi, Dinkin! What are you doing in there?” said Molly.

  “AAAAAA-AAAHAAHHHH!” screamed Dinkin. The zombalien had found him! He spun the Concealinator around and headed back toward the house as fast as he could.

  “Can I play, too?” shouted Molly. She ran after him, closely followed by a barking Princess Puppy-Face.

  “AAAA-AAHAH!” screamed Dinkin again, plowing the Concealinator straight into a tree and throwing himself onto the front lawn.

  “Hee-hee! You fell down!” squealed Molly, running toward him.

  “Mom! Dad! Help!” screamed Dinkin, scrambling along the ground.

  “ARF! ARF!” yapped Princess Puppy-Face.

  “You’re funny, Dinkin!” cried Molly.

  “Get away from me! I don’t want to be a zombie!” screamed Dinkin, but it was too late. Molly loomed over him. Dinkin closed his eyes and prepared for the worst, when . . .

  “What’s going on out here? It’s past your bedtime, Molly Coddle!”

  Dinkin turned slowly to see who it was. There, on the lawn, stood Mr. and Mrs. Coddle.

  “Molly, I thought we told you to get your pajamas on,” said Mr. Coddle.

  “I was playing with Dinkin,” said Molly, twisting a pigtail.

  “It’s too late for playing,” said Mrs. Coddle. “Duncan’s older than you—he doesn’t have to go to bed yet. But you should have been tucked in ages ago!”

  “ARF! ARF!” yapped Princess Puppy-Face.

  “That’s enough from you, Princess,” said Mr. Coddle. As Princess Puppy-Face scampered off, Mr. and Mrs. Coddle took Molly by the hand and led her indoors. Dinkin tried to call out “Don’t go in there! She’s a zombalien! You’re in severe danger!” but he was paralyzed with fear.

  Molly looked back at Dinkin and grinned. “See you in the morning!” she shouted. In the morning? thought Dinkin. Then she’s planning on zombifying me first thing tomorrow! He only had one night to reveal her secret to the world! And one thing was certain . . .

  . . . he couldn’t do it alone . . .

  THE RETURN OF THE FRIGHTENING THINGS

  Chance of rain: 94%

  Chance of making it through

  the night : 3%

  Dinkin lay awake in bed. Now more than ever, he needed the help of The Frightening Things.

  He watched as the clock ticked from 11:59 PM to the much more useful 12:00 AM. Dinkin took the Ancient Summoning Parchment from under the Ancient Summoning Mattress and assumed the Ancient Summoning Position (a cross between kneeling and pooing). Then (at 12:00:22) he took a deep summoning breath and began:

  “Frightening Things, Frightening Things

  Creep from the gloom,

  Crawl from the shadows and into my room,

  Frightening Things, Frightening Things

  Come to my aid,

  Save me from danger (and being afraid!).”

  Dinkin waited for the Frightening Things to appear. (12:01:04)

  And then waited a bit longer. (12:01:59)

  Nothing. (12:02:16)

  Not so much as a whiff of ghostly wind. (12:02:26)

  Where were they? (12:02: 34) Dinkin’s heart skipped several beats. What if they’d disappeared, never to return? (12:02:45) What if they’d got lost in . . . wherever it was that they went during the day? What if they’d gotten bored? Or worse, what if they’d gotten sick of being at the beck and call of a nine-and-a-quarter-year-old boy? (12:02:56) It was all too much to bear. Dinkin repeated the chant:

  “FRIGHTENING-THINGS-FRIGHTENING-THINGS-CREEP-FROM-THE-GLOOM-CRAWL-FROM-THE-SHA—”

  The closet burst open! Edgar the skeleton tumbled out, and immediately began jabbering wildly. Unfortunately, he had lost his bottom jaw, so he could only speak in vowels:

  “Ih-ih, I oh o-ee I ay, I ih oo-ih or eye aw away, uh I arr eye ih eh-ee-air! A oo ee ih?”

  [Translated for the benefit of those who don’t speak Vowel: “Dinkin, I’m so sorry I’m late, I’ve been looking for my jaw all day, but I can’t find it anywhere! Have you seen it?”

  A moment later, Herbert crawled out from under the bed. He had his mouth crammed full.

  “Dorry I bade, Dib-gib. I wud jud abib a bid-eye dack,” he said.

  [Translation for the benefit of those who don’t speak Talking With Your Mouth Full: “Sorry I’m late, Dinkin. I was just having a midnight snack.”]

  “What’s going on?” huffed Dinkin. “Can’t I leave you alone for nineteen-and-a-half hours without you all losing your voices?”

  “Mm? Oh, dorry,” said Herbert, and took something large and yellow out of his mouth. It was Edgar’s jaw! Edgar screamed in rage and pounced on Herbert, sending them both crashing into the wall!

  “Oo at oh, a eye aw, o-h or ih-er!” said Edgar, his bony fingers wrapped around Herbert’s neck.

  [Translation: “You fat oaf, that’s my jaw, not your dinner!”

  “It’s not my fault, I’m a monster-underthe-bed! Eating stuff I find lying around is in my nature!” said Herbert, struggling to get free.

  As Edgar and Herbert tumbled around the room, Arthur flew through the window.

  “Sorry I’m late, I’ve been dodging raindrops all the way here . . . It’s going to be a stormy night, I can feel it in my vapors! So, what did I miss?” he said, and immediately got caught up in the tumbling mass of bones, scales, and slobber.

  “Stop it! STOP IT” cried Dinkin, throwing the blanket on top of The Frightening Things to try and put a stop to their fighting. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about!”

  It was at that moment that Dinkin’s dad stuck his head in the room.

  “What’s going on, Dink?” said Mr. Dings. “You do know it’s the middle of the night . . . ”

  “It’s not me, it’s The Frightening Things—they’re messing around,” said Dinkin.

  Mr. Dings looked at the blanket on the floor. It seemed to have something underneath it. Probably a pile of clothes, he thought. Still, he knew better than to debate the existence of The Frightening Things—it was better that Dinkin had three imaginary friends than no friends at all.

  “Well, just try to get some sleep, okay? And maybe turn the volume down a bit,” said Mr. Dings.

  “Don’t tell me, tell them!” said Dinkin.

  Mr. Dings stared at the blanket.

  “Um . . . right. You guys keep it down as well,” he said.

  And with a shake of his head, Mr. Dings closed the door and went back to bed.

  Dinkin lifted up the blanket.

  “Right, no more messing around. We’ve got one night to blow that zombalien’s cover —or I’m doomed,” he said.

  “Eye oh ee . . . ?” began Edgar, then managed to put his jaw back in. “That’s better—I mean, why, what’s happened?”

  “What’s happened? You mean, besides being chased around the house by a hungry zombalien, knocked unconscious, barked at by a dog that clearly has a grudge against me, and
nearly turned into a zombie?” screeched Dinkin. “Well, besides that, the worst thing in the world has happened! The zombalien knows I know she’s a zombalien! And she knows I know she knows I know!”

  The Frightening Things looked a bit confused.

  “Which means I’m going to be her first victim! She’s going to zombify me tomorrow morning!”

  screamed The Frightening Things.

  “Our only chance is to reveal her secret tonight, before she gets a chance to transform me into a mindless, brain-sucking slave. We’ll need our wits, my Zomb-O-Tron 6000, and this—the Dog-Distracter Mark IV,” said Dinkin, holding up the chew toy he’d bought. It was wrapped in a piece of bacon and had a long piece of string attached to one end.

  “What’s that?” asked Herbert.

  “That is the final part of The Plan,” said Dinkin.

  “Oh, so there is a plan this time?” said Edgar.

  “Well, sort of,” said Dinkin.

  THE PLAN (AS OF 12:58 AM)

  1) DINKIN AND THE FRIGHTENING THINGS make it to the CODDLE’S house without chickening out. (Likelihood of success: 52%)

  2) EDGAR and HERBERT (Super Secret Team ALPHA-1) distract PRINCESS PUPPY-FACE with the DOG-DISTRACTOR MARK IV. The coast is clear! (Likelihood of success: 39%)

  3) DINKIN and ARTHUR (Super Secret Team BETA-2) FLY into the house through the WINDOW. (Likelihood of success: 27%)

  4) DINKIN and ARTHUR locate the ZOMBALIEN using the ZOMBO-TRON 6000, DEMASK the ZOMBALIEN, and PHOTOGRAPH it in all its HIDEOUSNESS! (Likelihood of success: 18%)

  5) Having NOT been EATEN, ZOMBIFIED, or BARKED at, both teams then RETREAT to the relative safety of Dinkin’s bedroom for debriefing and a GLASS OF MILK. (Likelihood of there being enough milk for everyone: 9%)

  6) Dinkin shows the PICTURE OF THE ZOMBALIEN to the POLICE, the ARMY, the GOVERNMENT, and his PARENTS. The ZOMBALIEN’S secret is REVEALED TO THE WORLD! (Likelihood of success: 4%)