by Kirk Scroggs
Copyright © 2009 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 Books for Young Readers
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.lb-kids.com
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: January 2009
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-316-04047-1
Series design by Saho Fujii
The illustrations for this book were done in Staedtler ink on Canson Marker paper, then digitized with Adobe Photoshop for color and shade.
The text was set in Humana Sans Light and the display type was handlettered.
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
Special thanks to:
Steve Deline, Jackie Greed, Mark Mayes, Hiland Hall, Alejandra, Inge Govaerts, Suppasak Viboonlarp, Joe Kocian, Christa, Jim Jeong, Cindy Schmidt, and Will Keightly.
Andrea, Jill, Ames, Elizabeth, Saho, Maria, and the Little Brown Crew woo woo!
Virginia Grumbles, Jeanne Moran, and Martha Brennan.
A scaly, gargantuan thanks to Ashley & Carolyn Grayson, Dav Pilkey, Andrea, and the Mrs. Nelson’s Books crew.
And an ancient prehistoric, fire-breathing thanks to Mamacita, Corey and Candace, and Harold Aulds.
CHAPTER 1
Ladies and gentlemen, paleontologists, archeologists, and any other “ologist” out there . . . The Earth’s crust is made up of many layers. The top layer is rich in nutrients, minerals, and juicy earthworms. Under that is a layer of volcanic rock millions of years old. Beneath that is a layer of fluffy, delicious cherry marshmallow filling, and beneath that you’ll find . . .
A terrifying dinosaur the size of a turnip truck!
Wait a minute! That’s just a cute little lizard my best friend, Jubal, and I discovered out in the desert.
“Hey, little lady,” I said.
“Let’s name her Lupe,” said Jubal, “after my crazy great-aunt from El Paso.”
You see, we were riding through the Saddlesore Mountains on horseback with my Grampa, Gramma, and Merle, the cat. We were in search of buried treasure, dinosaur bones, and rugged adventure.
“Actually, I’d rather search for a Slurpee or maybe an air-conditioned ice cream parlor,” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 2
Lupe the lizard guided us to an old abandoned aluminum foil mine called Nostril Caverns.
“This place looks strangely familiar,” said Grampa. “I feel like I’ve been here before, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
We made our way through the caverns. It was dark, dank, dangerous, and drippy.
We climbed over stalagmites, which point up, ducked under stalactites, which point down, and climbed a rock shaped like Grampa, which was pretty pointless.
“Stay close to me, people!” said Grampa. “Pay no mind to that crunching sound beneath your feet. It’s just thousands of albino cave beetles. And don’t worry — they don’t eat people. They feed on the guano from the millions of blood-sucking bats that are suspended above us. Now let’s enjoy the rest of our hike.”
“Look!” I shouted. “There’s a complete brontosaurus skeleton embedded in that rock. This is the discovery of a lifetime!”
“What would happen if I tugged on this?” asked Grampa as he jiggled a leg bone that was sticking out of the rock.
“Noooo!” I yelled. “Stop pulling his leg!”
But it was too late.
Grampa dislodged the bone, which started a terrifying chain reaction. The ground rumbled. Jubal’s belly quivered like a bowl of lime Jell-O. Then a giant, petrified dinosaur egg came tumbling toward us!
We tried to run, but the natural bridge we’d come in on had collapsed.
“This is it!” said Grampa. “Flattened by a giant egg. We’re gonna look like a five-cheese and lizard omelet!”
“I don’t think so!” screamed
Gramma as she lassoed a stalactite above us with her long hair.
We all jumped onto Gramma and swung across the ravine Tarzan-style just in time.
“We’ve been married sixty years and I still haven’t figured out that hair of yours!” said Grampa.
At last, we spilled out of the caverns in a heap, and boy was it good to be back on safe ground. But someone was waiting for us.
“Vell, vell, vell,” said a voice. “Vhat do ve have here?”
“I recognize that voice,” Grampa said. “From the sound of all those ‘V’ words, it could only be —”
Hans Lotion and his grandson, Jurgen. Gingham County’s most notorious criminals, wanted for kidnapping, possession of a deadly crawdad, and coughing without covering their mouths.
“I believe you have found somezing rare and expensive,” said Hans. “Hand it over!”
“Do what he says, Wiley,” said Grampa. “They’re armed with cake mixers.”
“You can’t have our dino egg!” I shouted. “We found it fair and square!”
“Dino egg? Hah!” said Hans. “Zat is no egg. It is somezing even more valuable — petrified dino dooky!”
“Dooky?” said Grampa. “Does anyone have any hand sanitizer?”
Hans and Jurgen rolled the petrified poop into the back of their truck and took off.
“Sayonara, suckers!” said Hans as they drove away. “Have a nice day! Hee! Hee!”
“I’ve decided that I really don’t like those guys,” said Jubal.
CHAPTER 3
Our story was big news. Grampa was even interviewed by Channel 5’s Blue Norther.
“It was horrible,” said Grampa. “We struggled and strained for that dooky, then it was swiped right out from under us. All that hard work flushed down the drain. It really stinks!”
“Don’t worry,” said Blue. “We’ll get to the bottom of this and get that dooky back in your hands, where it belongs.”
After watching Grampa on the news, we had a delicious breakfast loaded with bacon, eggs, extra-strong coffee for Merle, and hotcakes. But poor Grampa had to eat healthy whole-grain cereal.
“The doctor says I have to eat more fiber,” said Grampa, “so your Gramma’s been feeding me pebbles and dry twigs. She won’t even let me eat my beloved Pork Cracklins. I think you should report her to the authorities.”
Suddenly, the alarm on Gramma’s new watch went off.
“Ooh! It’s time to take your laxative,” said Gramma, shoving a heaping spoonful of milky blue liquid into Grampa’s mouth. “The doctor said to take it every six hours.”
“I can hardly wait for the next delicious dose,” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 4
Later that day at school, Lupe the lizard was a huge hit in science class. Ms. Frecklebeak, our teacher, even let everyone st
op work on their science projects to gather around America’s most talented reptile.
Lupe could stand on her hind feet like a meerkat.
She could beat anyone in a staring competition, even Harvey Blinkless, who was born without eyelids.
And her skateboarding skills were sick. (That’s skateboarder speak for “pretty cool.”)
Ms. Frecklebeak was most impressed. “Gentlemen, I nominate this lizard to be our new class mascot, replacing Gertie, the guinea pig who is oh-so-yesterday’s news. Pack your bags, Gertie!”
She rewarded Lupe with a snack of Nature’s Nuggets all-organic lizard pellets with actual bits of dried dragonflies. Yum!
Then something strange happened. Lupe started to gyrate and jerk uncontrollably!
“Look!” said the Sugar Sisters. “That lizard’s ’bout to bust a move!”
Lupe started to grow, and she sprouted huge, razor-sharp teeth that were dripping with dragonfly bits.
Before long, Lupe had transformed into a full-size T. rex! And she was no longer so sweet.
“Could somebody shoo this lizard out the door?” said Ms. Frecklebeak. “And tell Gertie the guinea pig she’s my favorite again!”
We quickly reported to our battle stations and unleashed the fury of the most dangerous weapons on Earth — our science projects.
I let Lupe have it with my vinegar and baking soda volcano.
Jubal launched a tumbling tater from his hand-crafted potato launcher.
The Sugar Sisters washed out the lizard’s mouth with their disgusting homemade lard soap.
And little Ronty Derlick fired his Watermelon Conversion Laser Blaster that can turn any melon or medium-sized pork roast into a laser beam.
“What a show-off,” said Jubal.
But the melon-scented laser beams only made Lupe angrier, and she chased us out into the hall.
“Run, fellow students!” I screamed. “There’s a T. rex on the loose, and she’s having some serious anger-management issues!”
Vera the lunch lady tried to appease the T. rex with a healthy portion of her world-famous Salisbury steak with candied hog snouts. Lupe screeched in horror!
“Wow!” said Jubal. “Even vicious carnivores are terrified by Salisbury steak.”
Lupe fled from the cursed cuisine and burst through the wall.
“Look!” I screamed. “The T. rex is running straight for the preschool and the old folks’ home!”
“Thank goodness!” said Ms. Frecklebeak. “At least it’s someone else’s problem now.”
CHAPTER 5
Suddenly, a humongous military vehicle pulled up and two women dressed in safari gear jumped out.
“Stand back, people!” said one of the women, twirling a lasso. “Ladies with live ammo and large hair comin’ through!”
The bigger woman lassoed the T. rex’s foot to trip it up.
The smaller lady jumped on the T. rex’s back and zapped it with a 400,000-volt stun gun, which is the proper voltage for a T. rex but too much for a small rodent or a little brother.
Then they fitted the beast with a shiny electric collar that calmed it down.
And finished off with a pedicure and a fresh coat of sparkleberry nail polish.
“It’s all under control, little darlin’s!” said the large woman. “I’m Winona Pellet, and this is my sister, Petunia, owners of Nature’s Nuggets all-organic pet food. We grow all the ingredients and brew our own rich, meaty gravy.”
“She’s making me hungry,” said Jubal.
“We’ll take this big ol’ lizard to our compound for further study,” said Winona.
The Pellet Sisters strapped Lupe to the top of their SUV and took off for their giganto Nature’s Nuggets compound.
“I hope they take care of Lupe,” said Jubal. “Even though she tried to devour us, I still have a soft spot for her.”
“There’s something familiar about those two,” I said. “I don’t trust ’em.”
CHAPTER 6
I couldn’t wait to tell Grampa about our crazy school day. I invited Jubal over and we hopped off the school bus to find . . .
All heck was breaking loose! Grampa was up in a tree, being poked and prodded by two woolly mammoths!
“Helllllp!” yelped Grampa. “I’m being attacked by Mister Snuffyluffagus and his slightly hairier sister!”
I pulled Grampa out of the tree while Jubal distracted the mammoths with some peanut butter and Gummi Bear sandwiches he had in his pocket.
“Hey!” said Grampa as I dragged him to safety. “Throw one of those sandwiches this way, will ya? All I’ve eaten today is a bowl of twigs.”
Once inside, we barricaded the door. Grampa was babbling incoherently.
“Snap out of it!” I said, slapping him upside the head. “Now tell us. What happened?”
“One minute I’m feeding Esther and Chavez some puppy pellets; the next, they turn into angry mastodons and chase me up a tree. I haven’t seen anything as horrifyingly hairy since your uncle Artie wore that pair of Speedos.”
CHAPTER 7
Grampa was cut short by a scream from Gramma, who was battling a megalodon that was bursting out of Paco’s fishbowl!
“I don’t know what happened!” said Gramma. “This morning Paco seemed normal, then, after lunch, he transformed into a fifty-ton species of the genus Carcharodon, thought to have been extinct since the Pliocene era more than 1.5 million years ago!”
I managed to jam Paco’s mouth with a vacuum cleaner, but he was growing bigger and bigger by the second.
“Why would perfectly normal hound dogs turn into mammoths and a cute goldfish go great white on us?” I asked.
All of a sudden, we heard a roar from the living room.
We looked over to see Merle by his cat bowl, only Merle wasn’t himself. He had turned into a prehistoric saber-toothed house cat and was staring at us like we were filet mignon with chicken giblet gravy!
“Merle, you look different,” said Grampa. “Have you been working out?”
Merle jumped right at us with his huge, slobbery fangs. But instead of clawing us, he jumped past us to his scratching post and started purring.
“Still the same ol’ Merle,” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 8
We grabbed Merle and took off across the yard for Grampa’s car. The mammoths were in hot pursuit.
“Look!” screamed Gramma. “The chickens have transformed into pterodactyls and one is flying off with the car!”
“Well, it’s been that kind of day,” said Grampa.
CHAPTER 9
“Hey, you!” screamed a small child with a snotty nose and a whole posse of kids on Big Wheelz trikes. “Prehistoric hairy butts!”
“Don’t talk about my family that way,” said Grampa.
“Not you!” screamed the tyke. “I’m talkin’ to the moronic mammoths and the birdbrained flying lizards. Pick on someone your own size!”
Dem was fightin’ words. Esther and Chavez struck their Drunken Mammoth Monkey stance.
But two of the biker kids snuck in from behind and tripped the beasts with their Big Wheelin’ Bamboo Maneuver.
The pterodactyl chickens dive-bombed in a screaming eagle formation.
But the head biker spun out on his trike and sent a wave of pebbles and dirt into their eyes, which really irritated their contact lenses.
Grampa, Gramma, and Jubal hitched rides with the bikers, while I rode Merle kittyback–style.
“Put the pedal to the plastic!” yelled Grampa. “They’re gaining on us!”
“The whole town’s gone prehistoric,” said the head biker. “All the pets have turned on us! My own canary tried to eat my left pinky toe just this morning.”
“I hate to tell you this,” I said, “but you’ve got a glob of mucus hanging from your nose.”
“That’s how we roll, daddy-o!” said a biker with glasses. “We’re known as the Snot-Nosed Punks. We wear it like a badge of honor. It’s way cool.”
“Hey, look!” sa
id Grampa, pointing at his nose. “I’m cool, too.”
CHAPTER 10
“We’ll drop you off in town, where you’ll be safe,” said the punk. “We’ve gotta get back home for apple juice and nap time.”
Downtown Gingham was nuts. Dinosaurs ran amok while the Pellet Sisters were busy trying to wrangle them into their vehicle. But there were just too many monsters.
“My parakeet turned into a pteranodon,” said Old Man Jorgensen. “I wouldn’t stand underneath him if I were you!”
“I can’t even keep up with my Seeing Eye raptor!” said Jack Moss, a local banker.
“My doggy turned into a Torvosaurus!” said little Carol Diane. “Boy! They do not like bubble baths!”
Nate Farkles’s veterinarian’s office was a shambles, too. Everyone and their dog — er, dinosaur — had shown up wanting answers.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Nate. “Every pet in Gingham has devolved into a primitive beast. It’s making my job very difficult. Have you ever tried to give a velociraptor a rabies shot? It’s no picnic.”
“Ooooh!” yelped Gramma. “Some little critter’s got hold of my patooty!”
“Fascinating,” said Nate. “Moments ago, this was just a simple hamster. Now it is a new species of dinosaur. We shall have to come up with a name for it.”
