“But how are Mercy and her parents going to move? Do they have insurance?”
“No.”
“Then how are they going to move without any money?”
“They have it now,” Grandfather scowled.
“How? No one’s going to buy a burned–down house.”
“I already did. On the condition that they leave and never return.”
Dill and Peter stared, open–mouthed.
“Mom said you were doing okay when we moved here, but…you have that much money?” Peter asked.
“I have enough.”
“Can I borrow a twenty?” Dill pleaded with his best puppy dog smile.
“No.”
“How about a dollar?”
“No.”
“You know,” Dill said, looking down at his hand like he was studying his nails, “somebody might start asking some questions someday…and, well…I might just start talkin’.”
Grandfather jammed on the brakes and screeched the truck to a halt.
“I won’t talk,” Dill babbled in panic, and made a zipping motion over his lips. “I swear!”
“We’re home,” Grandfather snarled.
Peter looked outside. Sure enough, there was the giant gloomy house. The sun was just beginning to peek over the treetops of the forest.
Dill bolted out the truck door. Peter followed him.
“You an’ me are okay, right?” Dill called out to the old man…from a safe distance. “We’re still friends, right?”
Grandfather didn’t say anything, just walked towards the front door and went inside.
“Jeez, your grandpa hates me,” Dill muttered.
“Well, when you try to blackmail him…” Peter trailed off, then grinned. “We did it, Dill.”
Dill put out his hand as though to keep Peter away. “Don’t talk to me.”
Peter looked genuinely surprised. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s your fault I saw what I saw tonight!”
“Look, I’m sorry I dragged you to Katie’s house — but it all turned out okay. Besides, you got to fly! That must’ve been really cool!”
Dill reflected for a second. “Actually, that was really cool. Except when I peed my pants.”
“I thought you said — ”
Dill flailed his arms all around like a crazy man. “That’s not what I’m talking about!”
Peter looked puzzled. “Then what?”
“YOU KISSED HER, MAN!”
“Yeah?”
“How could you DO that? How could you do that to me?! Make me watch that, blechh…”
Peter smiled. He knew exactly what to say to make Dill flip out.
“You know…it wasn’t that bad.”
“OH GROSS! Dude, this is worse than a chick flick!”
“I was thinking about doing it again…”
“AAAAAAHHH! STOP! STOP IT!” Dill stormed off towards his own house. “I’m going to be sick,” he muttered to himself.
“Hey Dill — ”
“Don’t ‘Hey, Dill,’ me! I don’t know who you are anymore!”
“Kissing is great, Dill — you should try it sometime.”
Dill pointed angrily at Peter. “I DO NOT EVER WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS EVER AGAIN! EVER!”
“See you at the bus stop in an hour, Dill,” Peter called.
Dill grumbled and snuck into his front door.
Peter grinned and looked back at his own yard. He had about thirty minutes before his Mom got up — thirty minutes to pick up all the garbage scattered by the trashcans and come up with a believable excuse for why the back screen door was shredded to bits.
Piece o’ cake.
He yawned and then whistled a tune as he walked towards the house.
The sun rising over the trees had never looked so beautiful.
PETER AND THE CHANGELING
1
Peter’s little sister Beth was crazy, there was no doubt about that. He just never realized how crazy until the afternoon of Mom’s job interview.
Peter and Dill had come home from school and were sitting in the kitchen eating ice cream sandwiches. Peter was a straightforward kind of guy who just took big bites out of his, while Dill claimed there was an art to it. He held up the bar of vanilla ice cream with its chocolate wafers on the top and bottom, then demonstrated step by step.
“First you gotta wait till the chocolate bread is soft. Then you gotta lick the ice cream sticking out between the bread pieces…then you gotta bend the bread top and bottom till they touch and you got, like, a big ‘ol chocolate ravioli with ice cream inside. Then you eat it.” He wolfed the ‘ravioli’ down in two bites. “Mmmmm MMM.”
“You eat the whole thing at the end, anyway,” Peter pointed out. “Why do you do all that stupid stuff?”
“It all just comes out as poop at the end, anyway,” Dill said in a mocking, fake–intellectual voice. “Why don’t we skip all the in–between stupid stuff and just eat p— ”
“DON’T SAY IT,” Peter shouted. “I’m EATING, you dork.”
Dill continued in the nerdy professor voice. “But it would be so much simpler if we would skip ice cream sandwiches and just eat — ”
“SHUT UP!” Peter yelled.
Mom rushed into the kitchen carrying Beth in her arms. Strangely enough, Mom was dressed in a silk blouse, black skirt, and high heels. Beth, not strangely at all, was wearing corduroy pants and a long sleeve shirt with her Strawberry Shortcake bathing suit over the top of them.
For over a year, Beth had worn that one–piece Strawberry Shortcake bathing suit almost every day. During the summer it was fine — the weather was hot, and little kids sometimes wore their bathing suits all day long. But Beth refused to give it up when cooler weather rolled in. And she wanted everyone to know she was wearing it. Wearing it under her shirt and pants wasn’t good enough; nooo, she had to wear it outside her normal clothes.
A week ago Dill and Peter had been playing checkers in the den when Beth walked into the room — wearing her bathing suit, of course.
“Why do you think she does that?” Dill had whispered. “The bathing suit, I mean.”
Dill was whispering because if Beth was ignoring you, it was usually best not to draw her attention. Unless you wanted your toys broken or your hair pulled.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”
“Hey Beth, why do you wear — ”
“SHU’ UP!” Beth screamed at him. Then she kicked the checkerboard into the air and ran out of the room.
“Maybe she likes Strawberry Shortcake a LOT,” Peter mused.
“I like TV, but I don’t walk around wearing one.”
“You can’t wear a TV.”
“Just because you said that, I’m going to go find a dead TV somebody threw out on the side of the road and I’m gonna make clothes out of it,” Dill said resolutely. “I’m gonna take out the insides and I’m gonna cut a hole in the top for my head and I’m gonna wear it around like poor people wear barrels in old movies.”
“If you do that, everybody’ll see you naked through the TV screen.”
Dill thought about that for a second. “I’ll turn it around and wear it backwards, so all they’ll see is my butt. That way I can moon everybody, and they can’t say anything, cuz I’m wearin’ clothes.”
Thankfully, so far, Dill had not made good on his threat.
2
Back in the kitchen, Mom shifted Beth from her left arm to her right. “Peter, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
Peter winced. Whenever Mom said she had a favor to ask, it wasn’t a favor, it was a command with ‘please’ attached to it.
“I sent out my résumé to Charterton University.”
“What’s a rez–uh–may?” Dill asked as he unwrapped a second ice cream sandwich.
Mom ignored him. “The Legal Affairs department just called and asked if they could move up my interview from tomorrow to today — ”
“What’re you interviewing for?” Dill aske
d before licking the ice cream sandwich.
“ — so I need you to babysit Beth for the next couple of hours.”
“What?!” Peter shouted.
“Wha?!” Beth asked in almost equal shock.
“HA haaaaa,” Dill said to Peter, imitating the bully from THE SIMPSONS.
“No way!” Peter refused.
“Nunh–unh!” Beth bellowed. “No ba’ysit!”
“Guys, this job is very important to me,” Mom said calmly, but with a great deal of stress in her voice. “I need you both to be on your best behavior and help me out here, okay?”
“No! Let Grandfather babysit her!” Peter said angrily.
“Y — NO!” Beth said, quickly changing her mind. She hugged Mom fiercely. “I wan’ stay w’ you!”
Mom pried Beth’s arms from around her neck. “I’ll be back soon, sweetie. Until then, you’re going to be good and do what Peter says, okay?”
“Nooooo!” Beth wailed.
“Why can’t Grandfather do it?” Peter asked. Grandfather was the only one Peter had ever met who could keep Beth in line. She was so scared of him, she ran out of the room every time he walked in.
“I already asked him and he said no.”
“Why not?!”
Mom rolled her eyes. “He said he had something important to do. Like my job interview isn’t ‘important’ enough for him…”
At that very moment, Grandfather walked into the room, looking like he always did: fancy tie, suit vest, dress pants, and wild, unkempt beard. He retrieved his set of keys from the kitchen counter without looking at anyone else.
On cue, Beth stopped crying and watched the strange old man in quiet terror. In normal situations, Peter would be afraid to challenge his Grandfather about — well, about anything. But he had fought dead men and little girl vampires in the last four weeks, and that had given him a bit more confidence. Besides, the threat of babysitting Beth wasn’t a ‘normal’ situation.
“Grandfather! Where’re you going?” Peter asked.
Grandfather looked first at Beth, then Peter. “I have things to do in town,” he said brusquely.
“Can’t they wait a couple of hours?” Peter begged.
“NO.”
“He just doesn’t want to babysit her, that’s all,” Dill announced.
Grandfather stared at him.
Dill tried to hid behind his ice cream sandwich. “Dude, I don’t blame you, man,” he said meekly.
“Oh PLEASE, you all act like Beth is so difficult,” Mom said in exasperation. “She’s NOT.”
Dill started snickering. “Yeah, right.”
Grandfather pointed at Dill. “For once, I agree with the idjit.” Then he walked out of the house.
“Mom — ”
“Peter, I don’t have time to debate this with you! You’re going to be babysitting Beth for a couple of hours, and that’s final! Please? Thank you!” she said without waiting for a reply to the ‘please.’
“HA haaaaa,” Dill repeated.
“And you can help him, young man,” Mom snapped.
“Me?!” Dill asked in surprise. “No. Unh–unh. No thanks.”
Mom walked over and snatched the ice cream sandwich out of Dill’s hand just as he was about to take a bite.
“HEY — !”
“HA haaaaa,” Beth said, doing a pretty passable imitation of the SIMPSONS bully…for a two–and–a–half year–old, anyway.
Mom flashed her dangerous, tight–lipped smile. “You come in my house, you eat my food, you annoy me to within an inch of my life, and you don’t want to do anything to help? Is that how it is?”
Dill squinted as though in deep thought. “Well, technically it’s not your house, it’s the crazy old man’s…”
“Dill!” Peter hissed, trying to hush him.
“Fine. No more ice cream sandwiches. No more eating here. No more favors. No more nothing. Get out, Mr. Bodinski.”
“Yeah, Mi–tuh Bo Inkies,” Beth said, full of self–satisfaction.
Dill watched with great anxiety as Mom walked over towards the garbage can with the ice cream sandwich. It had already been licked, pressed, and formed into a delicious, chocolate–vanilla ravioli… and now it was about to go in the trash.
Peter knew that Dill wouldn’t hesitate to eat it out of the trash can after Mom left, if that’s what it took. But he was also undoubtedly weighing the fate of every other ice cream sandwich that he might not get in the future. With four older brothers and sisters, ice cream sandwiches were a rare commodity in Dill’s house. They tended to get eaten very, very quickly.
Dill pointed at the treat in her hand. “Can I…take that with me?”
“Absolutely not. I’m throwing it away.”
Then Mom delivered the death blow. She bypassed the garbage can…and headed straight for the trash disposal in the sink.
“WAIT!” he shrieked, his eyes peeking out from behind his fingers. “Okay…if I help out Peter, can I…can I have that back?”
Mom smiled evilly. “I guess.”
“And I can still have other ice cream sandwiches?” Dill asked, defeated.
“I suppose.”
She handed back the ice cream sandwich ravioli. Dill let out a phew, and looked over at Peter. “She doesn’t fight fair, dude,” he whispered.
“HA haaaa,” Beth roared again.
“I don’t see what you’re ‘ha–ha–ing’ about,” Peter told her crossly. “That means we’re both gonna babysit you.”
Beth stared down blankly at Peter, then Dill.
Then she screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed some more.
3
Five minutes after Mom left, Beth was still screaming.
“No ice cream sandwich is worth this,” Dill grumbled.
“Let’s take her outside,” Peter suggested. “Maybe she won’t sound so loud out there.”
They herded her out the kitchen door and into the backyard.
Beth kept screaming.
It had rained the night before and the grass was still damp. In addition, brown mushrooms had sprung up everywhere. Tiny ones the size of Peter’s thumbnail, big ones wider than his palm — there were literally hundreds of them throughout the meadow.
Beth wasn’t the least bit interested in mushrooms. So she kept screaming.
“Stop that!” Peter yelled back.
She didn’t stop. In fact, she was starting to turn purple.
“It’s too bad the hobos aren’t around anymore,” Dill mused. “We could just take her over to the garden and let them get rid of her.”
“Dude, that’s messed up,” Peter scolded him.
“Dude, she’s messed up.” Dill turned to Beth and shouted, “Shut up! We’re babysitting you! You gotta do what we say!”
Beth stopped long enough to sneer. “Yeah, wight.” Then she started screaming again.
“You didn’t really think that was going to work, did you?” Peter asked.
“It worked for about five seconds,” Dill said defensively. “I don’t see you doing any better.”
“If you stop screaming, I’ll give you an ice cream sandwich!” Peter told her.
Didn’t help.
“If you stop screaming, I’ll…I’ll…” Peter said, flailing about for a better reward.
Dill yelled, “Hey, Beth — you know where the word ‘babysit’ comes from? It’s cuz when the baby was being bad, you sat on it! You’re being bad, so I’m gonna sit on YOU!”
With that he started running backwards towards her, his butt in the air.
Beth stopped screaming. She gritted her teeth, balled up her fists, and kicked Dill squarely in the rear end.
“OW!” Dill yelled as he faceplanted in the wet grass. “EW!” he exclaimed as he wiped dewy pieces off his forehead.
Beth started cackling.
Peter laughed, too. “Hey, that was a pretty good plan.”
“That wasn’t in my plan. She was supposed to run away,” Dill
muttered angrily. “Not kick me.”
Peter tried to contain his snickering. “Oh. Well, she’s laughing now.”
“I’m supposed to be the one who’s laughing,” Dill seethed. “Not her. Not you…ME.”
Peter looked over and saw that now, of course, Beth had developed a fascination with the toadstools. She had picked one from the grass and was examining it closely.
“BETH!” he yelled. “Don’t touch that, it could be poisonous!”
“Nunh–unh,” she said.
“Uh–huh, mushrooms are poisonous!”
“Why dey on pizza, den?”
“Those are special mushrooms that aren’t poisonous. We don’t know about that one!”
Beth looked dubious, and kept eyeing the mushroom as though she might eat it just to spite Peter. He wanted to walk over and slap it out of her hand, but he knew Beth: if he did that, she would run through the meadow and chow down on every mushroom she could grab.
“You should just let her eat it,” Dill whispered. “If it actually is poisonous, it’ll take care of her faster than the hobos.”
“Shut up, Dill,” Peter scowled.
“Wha you sayin’ ovah dere?” Beth shouted.
“I was just saying how you’re gonna get warts now,” Dill said matter–of–factly.
Beth looked confused. “Wha?”
Dill pointed at the mushroom in her hand. “Those give you warts. Even if you just touch ‘em. You better go wash your hands, or you’re gonna get warts out the wazoo.”
Beth scrunched up her face. “Whassa wart?”
“You know those hairy bumps on witches’ noses?”
She nodded.
“That,” Dill emphasized. “You can get ‘em on your hands, on your tongue, all over your face — ”
Beth wrinkled her nose, stuck out her tongue in disgust, and threw the mushroom as far away as she could.
Peter looked back at Dill and grinned. “Good one.”
“I know,” Dill said haughtily.
Peter couldn’t let Dill’s head get that big without deflating him a little. “It’s nice that your plans go the right way sometimes.”
“My plans always go the right way.”
“So having Mercy pick you up and fly you back to her vampire hideout was part of your plan?”
Dill looked momentarily panicked. “I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Besides,” he sneered, “that was your plan, dummy. ‘Oh, oh, let’s save some girl we don’t even like! Oh, oh, pie tins stop vampire teeth!’”
Peter grimaced, then went back on the offensive. “So Beth kicking your butt now was in your plan, too.”
“Yyyyyes,” Dill said, slightly hesitating.
Peter And The Vampires (Volume One) Page 21
