Attack of the Vampire Weenies

by David Lubar

  The Transubstantiator sprang into action, chugging and huffing and making a wide assortment of sounds normally associated with an automobile that is about to stop running or explode. When all the grinding and buzzing faded back into silence, and the last moving parts became motionless, Barnaby reached inside the container and removed the soap.

  “Well?” Myra asked.

  Barnaby sniffed the soap. “I think it isn’t soap anymore. I think it’s candy.” He took a bite.

  “Well?” Myra asked again. She wasn’t alarmed. She’d seen her brother put things far more dreadful than soap in his mouth.

  For a moment, Barnaby was so excited, he couldn’t speak. This was fabulous. He’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

  “Here, try it.”

  Myra, less eager than Barnaby, took a sniff. “It does smell sort of good.” Then she took a small bite. An instant later, she took a large chomp. “This is great!” she said between mouthfuls.

  “Sure is. It tastes like all my favorite candies mixed together.” Barnaby ran through the house, collecting more soap. After he and Myra had eaten their fill, he started sharing his invention with the world. Soon, every home had a Transubstantiator.

  Around the world, people were turning soap into candy. It was fabulous. It was delicious. It was great.

  For a while.

  Then Barnaby noticed that he’d gained a few pounds. He noticed that almost everyone he saw had gained weight. Worse, everyone smelled. Very few bars of soap escaped the Transubstantiator. Very few folks took showers or baths anymore.

  “I’d better do something about this,” Barnaby told Myra.

  “Mmffff,” Myra said, trying to speak with her mouth full of candy.

  Barnaby got to work and came up with the perfect conversion strategy. He constructed a modified model of the Transubstantiator. As the word spread, people flocked to his home, eager to see what he’d done.

  “Watch,” Barnaby said when he’d tightened the final bolt and was ready to test his invention. He struggled to lift the old tire he’d found behind the garage and put it in his new machine. Then he pressed a button.

  The new machine sprang into action, chugging and huffing and making a wide assortment of sounds normally associated with a washing machine that is about to burst into flame. When all was still again, Barnaby reached inside and pulled out an armful of soap, neatly cut into perfectly shaped bars. That had been the hardest part of his new invention—getting the bars cut so neatly—and he was really proud of how well it worked.

  “Soap,” Barnaby said.

  “Soap!” the crowd shouted. “Yay!” They rushed forward and grabbed all the bars. I did it, Barnaby thought as he posted the modification plans on his website.

  He was happy for the rest of the day. The next day, he learned that the people put all the soap they’d taken into their Transubstantiators. They didn’t wash. They made more candy.

  The people grew so fat and stinky that nobody ever invited them to visit. Not that it mattered. Since they didn’t have any tires for their cars, they couldn’t go anywhere, even if they wanted to.

  “I’ve got it,” Barnaby told Myra after a full week of brainstorming. “I’ve figured out how to turn chairs into tires.”

  “Oh boy,” Myra said.

  Barnaby hurried to the garage to start looking for parts.

  Myra hurried into the kitchen to find a chair to sit on. She realized it might be her last chance.

  ROADWORK

  The road crew was working at the end of Jacob’s street. He saw them when he left his house each morning to go to school—five guys wearing ragged jeans, faded flannel shirts, orange vests, and yellow hard hats. He saw them when he came home. Sometimes, a cement truck would be sitting there. Sometimes, an asphalt truck. Once every two or three days, Jacob heard a jackhammer while he was doing his homework. But mostly, the whole crew just seemed to be standing around, or sitting on the open tailgate of a truck.

  “Nice job,” Jacob muttered as he left for school. “They get paid to stand there.”

  His house was the next-to-last one on the street. The crew was at the very end of the road. Jacob knew the road was going to be extended eventually, to connect with the other side of the development. At the rate the crew was going, Jacob figured they were adding about a yard a week. It looked like they’d be there forever.

  Saturday morning, he decided to walk down and see what was going on. As he approached, nobody even looked at him. One guy was holding a shovel, pushing around a small pile of gravel the way a little kid would push around a plateful of peas he didn’t want to eat. Two of the others were sitting on the back of the pickup truck, drinking coffee from paper cups. The other two were leaning against the truck.

  “What are you doing?” Jacob asked.

  The guy with the shovel looked over at him. He had a shaggy beard that brushed the collar of his shirt. “What’s it look like we’re doing?”

  “Nothing,” Jacob said.

  “It might look that way,” one of the guys on the truck said. “But this is very special work. Most roads don’t last long. They get cracks and potholes. Ours are built to last. We guarantee them.”

  “How can you do that?” Jacob asked. He’d seen trucks all over town fixing the roads. He knew that the roads started to break down right after they were built. They got really bad in the winter.

  “We’ve discovered long-lost secrets,” the guy with the shovel said. “We studied road building throughout history, all the way back to ancient Rome and beyond, and all around the world, from Ireland to Ecuador. We’ve hunted down ancient manuscripts and lost scrolls.”

  “And the secret is sitting around drinking coffee?” Jacob asked. He was enjoying himself. He didn’t get many chances to make fun of adults.

  The man with the shovel shook his head. “No. That’s not the secret. And we aren’t sitting around.”

  “It sure looks to me like you’re sitting around,” Jacob said. “What a great job. Sit around, stare at the sky, drink coffee, and get paid.”

  The guy with the shovel stepped away from the gravel pile. “No. It might look that way. But what we’re really doing isn’t just sitting around. We’re waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?” Jacob asked.

  The guy didn’t answer him right away. Instead, he looked over at the rest of the crew. They nodded, as if agreeing with some unspoken questions.

  “Come on, tell me,” Jacob said. “What are you waiting for?”

  “A sacrifice,” the guy with the shovel said. “That’s the secret. For a road to last, it requires a sacrifice.” He lifted the shovel over his shoulder.

  At first, Jacob didn’t understand what he meant—not until the shovel was swinging toward his head. And by then, by the time he understood, he really didn’t care how long the road would last. But he realized whether the road lasted a day or a century, it would outlast him.

  FINDERS LOSERS

  “What’s that?” Maddie pointed up to the second-floor window of Oliver’s house as he came out to join her. She and the other kids had stopped there on the way to the ball field. “It looks like a trapped bird.”

  Oliver squinted against the sunlight and shaded his eyes with his hand. “I think it’s that tot-finder thing.”

  “Oh yeah, I have one on my window,” Maddie said. She could barely remember when the sticker was bright red. After years of sitting in the sun, all the color had faded, leaving the sticker a dull silver, like the one on Oliver’s window.

  “I got one, too,” Brad said.

  Katie and Sarah nodded. So did Stan.

  “What’s it for?” Nolan asked.

  Maddie stared at him. “Don’t you have one?”

  Nolan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s for firemen and stuff like that,” Oliver said. “So they can find you if there’s an emergency.”

  “I guess your parents don’t care about you,” Brad said.

  “That’s not true,” Nol
an said. “I’ll bet I have a sticker.”

  “Let’s go,” Maddie said. As she turned away from Oliver’s house, a glittering flash caught her eye. “Hey, it came off.”

  She watched the tot-finder sticker flutter to the roof of Oliver’s porch.

  “They’re supposed to stick forever,” Katie said.

  “I guess your sticker is defective, Oliver,” Brad said. “Just like you.”

  “Shut up,” Oliver said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. And they don’t have to stick on forever. They just have to stick while we’re little.”

  “This is stupid,” Maddie said. “Who cares about the sticker? So what if it’s a cheap one? Let’s play ball.”

  “It’s not defective,” Oliver said again. “I’ll prove it.” He grabbed one of the supports on the side of the porch and started to climb to the top.

  Maddie watched as he pulled himself onto the roof. “Got it,” he said, holding up the sticker. He started to climb back down, but slipped at the edge of the roof.

  Maddie let out a scream as Oliver fell. Oliver let out a grunt as he hit the ground. Everyone else ran over to him. Maddie waited to see if there’d be blood. She had no idea what to do to help someone who’d been in an accident. Whenever anyone got hurt, her first instinct was to run away.

  Luckily, Oliver sat up, still holding the sticker.

  “You okay?” Nolan asked.

  “I think so.” Oliver got to his feet. “See, there’s nothing wrong with it. The glue just dried out.”

  “It isn’t supposed to dry out,” Katie said.

  “Oh yeah? Let’s check yours, then,” Oliver said.

  They headed down the street to Katie’s house. When they got there, Oliver pointed at a window on the first floor. “Yours is coming off, too.”

  “Just a little,” Katie said. “It’s only a tiny corner.”

  “I’ll bet it’s loose.” Nolan grabbed the corner and pulled. The whole sticker came off.

  “You ripped it,” Katie said. She snatched the sticker from Nolan.

  Maddie saw there was a tear in one side of the sticker, right through the leg of the child in the picture. “So what!” she yelled. “It’s a stupid sticker. We don’t even need them anymore. We’re not babies. Let’s just go play ball! Okay?”

  “We never needed them,” Nolan said. “There’s never been a fire around here.”

  “Yeah, there was,” Maddie said. She pointed down the road. “We were really little. A chemical truck came around the curve too fast and hit that house.”

  “Yeah,” Oliver said. “My dad took some pictures. He’s always shouting at the trucks. They aren’t supposed to come through here.”

  “Mine shout at them, too,” Maddie said. Their street was between two busy highways. A sign at each end read: NO TRUCKS. “But who cares? Come on, can we please go play ball now?”

  They headed to the ball field. But on the way, Nolan stopped at his house. “Hey, I was wrong. I have one, too. I guess I never paid any attention to it.”

  His sticker was loose, too. Oliver went over and pulled it off the window, rolling it into a tight tube. “You mind?” he asked Nolan.

  “Nope. I’m not a tot,” Nolan said.

  And then, finally, they got to the ball field, where they met up with the rest of their friends.

  In the first inning, trying to slide into second base, Katie cut her leg on a stone.

  This time, there was blood.

  “I think you might need stitches,” Maddie said, backing away and hoping someone else would step in.

  “I’ll walk you home,” Sarah said.

  She and Katie left.

  In the second inning, Nolan caught a line drive with his stomach. He dropped to the ground and curled up.

  As Maddie stood off to the side, it hit her. “Oh, no!”

  “What?” Oliver asked.

  She pointed at him. “Your sticker fell. Then you fell. Right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “And then Katie,” Maddie said. “Her sticker’s leg was torn. Then she cut her leg. And you rolled up Nolan’s sticker. Now look at him. He’s all rolled up, too.”

  Maddie thought about her own sticker. Was it loose? Could it fall soon and get stepped on or blown down the street? She knew what she had to do—peel it off carefully and put it somewhere safe. “I gotta go.”

  She headed off the field. Oliver followed her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” He sped up and moved past her.

  “Liar. You’re going to do something to my sticker,” Maddie said.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “No, I’m not.”

  But she could tell, from his grin, that this was exactly what he had in mind. And it would be something bad. Maybe he’d rip the head off, or tear it in half. She had to stop him.

  Oliver dashed off. Maddie grabbed her baseball, then chased after him. He was faster than Maddie, but not by much. Luckily, she looked before she crossed the street near her house. A milk truck was barreling past. She almost ran right in front of it. She wasn’t the only one who had a close call. If the driver hadn’t hit his brakes, Oliver would have been flattened.

  She got to her house seconds after Oliver. She saw him running for the backyard. Her bedroom was in the rear, on the first floor. She followed him.

  Her sticker was just starting to peel. Oliver reached for it.

  “Stop!” Maddie screamed.

  Oliver ignored her. He grabbed the end of the sticker.

  “No!” Maddie hurled the ball at him, aiming right for his shoulder. He deserves to get hit, she thought.

  Oliver ducked. The ball smacked the window, right on the sticker. The whole window shattered.

  Maddie froze for an instant. Then she heard her father shout, “What was that?”

  “Run!” Oliver raced out of the backyard.

  Maddie wanted to flee, but she had to see what happened to the sticker. She went to the window, stood on her toes, and looked inside. Shards of glass littered her bedroom floor. Some of them were covered with small pieces of the tot-finder sticker. The sticker wasn’t just torn; it was totally shattered.

  Maddie heard her parents coming down the hallway. She fled from the yard, wondering whether she’d shatter, too.

  No way, she thought as she reached the sidewalk. A kid could fall or get cut. A kid could crumple. But there was no way a kid could shatter.

  “I’ll be okay,” she gasped. “Maybe I’ll get a cut or scratch, or I’ll get hit by a baseball, but that’s got to be all.”

  The front door flew open. Her father came onto the steps. Maddie raced across the street.

  She heard a screech of tires. A car was hurtling right toward her. Maddie froze. She was too terrified to save herself. But some small part of her brain told her—This isn’t your fate. The car can’t shatter you. In a weird way, she felt safe.

  The small voice was right. The car swerved. It didn’t hit Maddie. Instead, it shot past her and slammed into the cab of a truck that was speeding the other way down the street. The truck jackknifed, and the cargo tipped. Maddie tried to leap back. The giant silver tanker smashed down right in front of her. She read the sideways lettering. DANGER. LIQUID NITROGEN.

  The tanker burst open.

  Liquid nitrogen.

  Maddie remembered when her science teacher had stuck a tennis ball in a beaker of liquid nitrogen and then hit it with a hammer. The ball was frozen so solid, it had shattered.

  Shattered. Like the sticker.

  Behind her, Maddie heard the screech of more tires. She froze, too scared to move. She knew this car would hit her. But not quite yet. Not while she still had a chance to survive the impact in one piece. It wouldn’t hit her until it could shatter her.

  The flood of spilled liquid nitrogen reached her. As the stunningly cold liquid splashed over Maddie, she froze again. For real.

  CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MESSAGE

  Janet was walking home from schoo
l when she saw it. There was no mistake. It wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t something that might or might not be, like the animal faces she sometimes imagined she saw in the swirling grain of a piece of wood. This was definitely real. There, in the clouds, was a perfect image of the letter T.

  This means something, Janet thought as she stood gazing into the sky. The T, a pure white piece of cloud with unnaturally straight edges, stayed together for a long time, then slowly drifted into formless fluff.

  What can it stand for? Janet wondered. Surely, this was a message with deep meaning. Maybe it was even something that would change her life.

  As she walked home, she tried to find an answer. She had no close friends whose first or last name began with a T. There was Tanya Wirth, who sat two seats away from her in class, and Bill Trixton, who sat in the back of the room. But she really didn’t hang out with either of them.

  Maybe it isn’t a person. Janet was suddenly sure it was a word. But what word?

  “Tree?” she whispered.

  No, all the trees along the block were new and small, barely more than saplings. There was nothing good or bad they would do to her.

  “Trumpet?”

  She’d never even seen one close up.

  “Tarantula?”

  There weren’t any around here.

  “Taco … tennis … tablecloth?…”

  Nothing seemed to fit. Maybe I should just forget about it.

  Just then, she saw another T in the clouds, as perfect and undeniable as the first one. She stood and watched until this letter, too, drifted apart.

  That was enough to convince her that this was a special message. There was only one thing to do. The very thought of it made her cringe. It was a huge task, but she had to do it. As soon as she got home, she’d get the dictionary and look at every word that began with the letter T. The answer would be there. It had to be. Janet was sure of that. And she was sure she’d know it when she saw it.