by Greyson Mann
The article was so old and yellow that I’m surprised it didn’t catch fire with my explosion. But when the lid to that chest blew open, there was the article, folded neatly in the bottom of the trunk, staring me in the face.
Great-Great-Grandpa GERALD was staring me in the face. The article showed a photo of him, with a caption that read “Creeper extends invitation of peace and hospitality to humans.”
Dad showed me that article before. It’s all about the first Overworld Games, which Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald organized to bring different kinds of mobs—and even humans—together for a friendly, peaceful competition.
Like I said, Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald was all about peace. He was a vegetarian who raised pigs for riding, not eating. He recycled gunpowder to make fireworks. And he volunteered to rebuild houses that OTHER creepers had blown apart. I’m sure there were LOTS of newspaper articles written about my great-great-grandpa.
But why did ANDREW have one of them in his chest? Was this some kind of JOKE?
Turns out, the only joke was on me.
When Andrew saw what I’d done to his things, he started to blubber all over them. (I think the gunpowder was messing with his allergies.) He said that newspaper article was the WHOLE reason he had come to our house. His parents had seen the article and thought that if we were related to Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald, we would be peaceful creepers who would be nice to Andrew and make him feel welcome.
“Well, why didn’t you TELL me that?” I hissed. I mean, it might have been a good thing for me to know.
Andrew said he had TRIED to tell me that first night over dinner. “I thought you’d all be vegetarians like your grandpa!” said Andrew. “But you acted all weird about me not eating pork chops. SNIFF, SNIFFLE. So I figured that maybe you WEREN’T like your grandpa. SNIFF, SNIFF. And maybe you wouldn’t appreciate me bringing him up. SNORT.”
Andrew wiped his nose and said a few more things, but all I heard was my conscience saying, “You’re a loser, Gerald. You’re a loser, Gerald. You’re a LOSER!”
Because I had not only let Andrew down. I had let Great-Great-Grandpa GERALD down. My namesake—the relative that my dad always says I’m the MOST like.
Well, so much for that. I hadn’t been nice to Andrew. Or made him feel welcome. I mean, I did at FIRST—but only till the going got tough for me. Then I pretty much threw Andrew to the wolves (or at least to the spider jockeys).
So now I’m spending the whole night “thinking about what I did.” Mom grounded me, but she didn’t even have to. I feel too lousy to want to leave my room anyway—even though the only things that survived my blow-up were Sticky’s aquarium and that CRUMMY cactus plant.
Sticky is giving me the stink-eye, as if I didn’t feel guilty enough. HE was nice to Andrew. HE was welcoming. Even STICKY acted more like Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald than I did.
So I dunno. Maybe I’ll end up getting kicked out of the Creeper Family Tree.
And you know what?
I’ll deserve it.
DAY 22: TUESDAY MORNING
So Andrew’s the new hero of Mob Middle School.
Turns out, his team beat Bones and the spider jockeys in the hockey game Saturday night. I hadn’t even bothered to ask. (I guess I was too busy blowing up my room and all of my Overworldly possessions, plus a few of Andrew’s, too.)
But I know something that Andrew doesn’t: Bones NEVER gives up. If he wants to take Andrew down, he WILL. One way or another.
So I want to tell Andrew to watch his back. But why would he listen to a thing this creeper has to say? He and Sam are hanging out now. Andrew is even looking pretty chummy with Ziggy. I guess they bonded over hockey or something. And they’re actually talking about playing ANOTHER hockey game this weekend.
But I won’t be refereeing that one. Nope. I’ll just be watching from the shadows like a zombie-wannabe who doesn’t really belong. Hand me a rotten-flesh sandwich, why don’t you, because I’m pretty sure being a zombie would feel better right now than being Gerald Creeper Jr.
SIGH.
DAY 24: THURSDAY MORNING
Here’s the thing about being like a zombie:
When everyone ignores you, you hear a lot of things that no one KNOWS you heard. Like, you hear that there’s going to be a sleepover after the next hockey game, maybe at your very own house. Even though you weren’t officially invited.
And you hear that a certain group of skeletons might not only terrorize your friends (EX-friends?) during that game, but that they might crash the sleepover afterward. And totally destroy it. You hear details—things like “flaming arrows” and “spiders.” Those bony bullies do NOT mess around.
And you TRY to tell your friends what you heard. But when you’re a zombie, NOBODY listens.
“Andrew,” I said for the third time after school this morning. “You gotta cancel the hockey game. Bones and his friends are going to play rough. Someone’s going to get HURT.”
But he just stared at me, sniffling. And he finally said, “If you want to play, Gerald, just PLAY. No one’s stopping you.”
SHEESH.
You try to help a guy out, and he turns it around and thinks it’s all about YOU.
So I said to Chloe, “Get Mom and Dad to cancel the sleepover this weekend. Bones and his gang of bullies are going to crash it. Do NOT let that sleepover happen.”
But Chloe’s eyes lit up. See, that girl never backs down from a challenge—or a fight. “Let them crash it,” she hissed, sounding almost EXCITED about the opportunity.
So I went to my parents. And trust me, that’s usually my LAST option. I am NOT the kind of guy who goes around ratting out his friends—or enemies. But it felt like a giant snowball was rolling toward my house, and I was the ONLY one who could see it. The only one who could STOP it!
“Mom,” I said before breakfast. “Andrew wants to have another hockey game, but I know for a fact it’s going to end in DISASTER. Can you put the kibosh on it? PLEASE?”
But she just looked at me with those sad Mom eyes and said, “Gerald, you and Andrew really need to make up. Just tell him you’re sorry.”
SERIOUSLY???
So I went to Dad. Every once in a while, the old guy comes through for me.
This was NOT one of those times.
After I made my case, he grabbed a hockey stick and said, “You just need to build your confidence, son. C’mon. Let’s hit the ice.”
ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!
The LAST thing I need right now is to have my DAD giving me hockey lessons. I might have said those exact words before storming out of the garage in a huff.
So, I give up. I did EVERYTHING I could do to try to protect Andrew this time. And no one listened to a word I had to hiss.
WHATEVS. Not my problem.
Let the coal chips fall where they may (as Mom likes to say).
DAY 24: THURSDAY MORNING (AGAIN)
I. Can’t. Sleep.
I keep putting down my pencil, but it keeps hopping right back up—like it’s BEGGING me to come up with a plan.
But I HAD a plan. A plan to make Andrew look cooler and tougher so that mobs at middle school wouldn’t eat him alive. A plan to get inside that trunk and learn more about Andrew—to find SOMETHING that would make Bones and his buddies RESPECT Andrew.
And none of it worked!
So what do you want me to do, Mr. Pencil? HUH, tough guy? Tell me!!!
DAY 24: THURSDAY NIGHT
Sheesh. Be careful what you wish for.
I finally DID fall asleep, and I had the WORST daymare (thanks to my sister Chloe).
Herobrine was gliding toward me, and that dude is SCARY. I saw his eyes first, glowing like an ocelot’s. Then I saw the twitch, twitch, twitch of his crooked head. But as he got closer … close enough to almost GRAB me … I saw that it wasn’t Herobrine at all.
It was ANDREW.
I must have woken up hollering, because Andrew ran over to see what was wrong. But seeing HIS face scared me even more. Were his eye
s glowing? Did his head look crooked—maybe just a little?
YIKES. I’ll never look at Andrew the same way again, let me tell you. If Bones and his gang had seen what I just saw in my dream, THEY wouldn’t mess with Andrew again either.
The dude doesn’t need a hockey stick or a chest full of treasure. He’s got HEROBRINE on his side.
DAY 26: SATURDAY
Well, I tried to warn them—all of them.
But they’re out there in the backyard RIGHT NOW, playing hockey. I mean, if you can call it “playing.”
Bones showed up riding a SPIDER. And his buddies are carrying SWORDS instead of hockey sticks. So that ice looks a lot more like a battlefield than a hockey rink.
And even though I know it’s not going to be pretty, I can’t look away.
Bones is taking the puck down the ice with his sword. No one’s trying to stop him—I mean, WHO would? Even Sam bounced right out of the goal when he saw Bones coming with that sword. Score one for the spider jock.
Andrew’s got the puck now, but guess who’s playing goalie for the skeletons? A SPIDER.
Andrew’s usually pretty good with critters, but that red-eyed beast in front of the goal is making Andrew sweat, I can tell. Just looking at that hairy-legged monster is making ME sweat. And itch.
The spider just tripped Andrew with one of its hairy legs. Now he’s pulling him toward the goal!!!
I. Can’t. Look.
Should I go out there? Get Dad involved? I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!
Okay, Andrew made it out of that mess alive. PHEW!!!
And I’m going to keep recording all of this so that if my friends perish, I can tell the world what happened. I’ll write a newspaper article that people will HAVE to read. I’ll cut out the article and send it back to Andrew’s parents in his wooden trunk. I’ll sniffle and say, “I’m sorry about your son. He was a good one.”
Okay, I just took another peek out the window. Chloe is all up in Bones’s face right now. Leave it to my sister to take a stand, even when she doesn’t stand a chance.
I think I can hear her hissing.
Yup, that’s definitely hissing.
I know what happens next.
BOOM!!!!!!
It’s snowing outside my window right now, except that’s not snow—it’s gunpowder and shards of ice. CLINK, CLINK, CLINK. Andrew’s precious hockey rink just got blown into a gazillion pieces.
It’s awfully quiet out there now.
I just looked, and it’s not pretty.
Bones and his spider are taking a victory lap around what USED to be a hockey rink. Sam is a green puddle of sadness. Ziggy is staggering around like he doesn’t know what happened. But … where’s Andrew?
There he is—sitting in the penalty box (Sock the Sheep’s pen). I guess Andrew is giving himself a time out.
He looks so LITTLE out there, slumped over his broken hockey stick. I’m pretty sure I just saw him wipe his nose on his sleeve, poor drippy kid. I want to shout at him, “GET UP! BLOW YOUR NOSE! DON’T GIVE UP!”
But the game is over. Done. Kaput.
And the sleepover? Well, Bones is probably rubbing his bony hands together right now, perfecting his evil plan to wreck that, too. And I can’t do a thing to stop it.
Where’s the ghost of Herobrine when you need him?
I can see it all in my mind—Andrew rising up, larger than life, and staggering toward Bones with his twitchy head and glowing white eyes. Bones would be so spooked, he’d fall right off his disgusting spider. I’d pay good emeralds to see THAT.
But like I keep telling Chloe, Herobrine’s not real. He’s not coming to save the day.
UNLESS …
Oh, man. When you’re a brainiac like me, Gerald Creeper Jr., you never know when genius is gonna strike.
I’d tell you my idea, but there’s no time. I gotta go find the one creeper who can help me pull this off:
CATE.
DAY 27: SUNDAY
You know what?
I think if Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald could have seen what went down today, he’d be proud of me.
It was a pretty sorry bunch of mobs who stayed for the sleepover this morning. Andrew was so bummed about the hockey rink that he was especially drippy. The kid didn’t even bother to wipe his nose anymore. He just let it run.
Sam was as flat as a pancake. And Ziggy didn’t even have the energy to pick at his scabs and blisters.
Until I told them my plan.
See, I knew Bones was going to show up at the break of dawn to ruin the sleepover. And I figured we could all just sit here like mushrooms on a log, or we could take action.
So here’s what went down:
Bones showed up, alright. I heard the scratch of his long, yellow fingernail across my windowpane. Now, normally that would have freaked me out. But today? I was ready.
Sam and Ziggy could have won awards for their acting, too. We all crept outside, pretending like we were “investigating” the source of the scratching noise.
“Is it Herobrine?” I hissed to Sam—super loud like.
He wiggled and jiggled as if he really WERE scared. “I d-d-d-dunno,” he said. “I hope not! Herobrine can take control of our MINDS.”
“He’s HEEEEERE!” moaned Ziggy, really getting into it. “I can FEEEEEL it!”
That’s when Bones jumped out from behind a bush. “HA!!! GOTCHA!!!” He raised his bony fingers in the air and wiggled them. “Oooohhhh, I’m Herobrine, coming to take control of your MINDS! Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha.” He slapped his bony hand on his bony thigh, as if we were the saddest, sorriest mobs he’d ever seen.
That’s when Andrew made his move.
He floated out of the darkness, glowing like a wither skeleton in the Nether. His eyes were SO white. TWITCH. TWITCH. TWITCH. His head jerked toward his shoulder as he crept toward Bones.
“Aaaaan-drew?” Ziggy moaned. “Is that yooooooou?”
“N-no!” blubbered Sam. “It’s the g-ghost of Herobrine!”
“Andrew IS Herobrine!” I shouted.
TWITCH. TWITCH. TWITCH. Andrew kept his glowing eyes trained on Bones and took another step toward him. And then another.
And that’s when Bones fell apart.
I never saw that jock look more rattled. His bones shook so loud, I thought they were going to come unhinged. I thought we’d have a whole PILE of bones to give to Pearl, Eddy’s wolf-dog.
But somehow, Bones pulled himself together enough to run for the hills. He screeched and squealed all the way.
And that’s when Andrew started laughing—we ALL did. And before I knew it, Andrew started looking more like himself again, even with all that white makeup and the glow-in-the-dark contacts we’d borrowed from Cate.
So like I said, I think Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald would be proud. I found a PEACEFUL way to stand up for Andrew—or to help the dude stand up for himself.
And it felt a whole lot better than blowing my bedroom to smithereens.
DAY 30: WEDNESDAY
So we just got home from Andrew’s last night at Mob Middle School. Everyone threw him a going-away party in the cafeteria. Well, every mob EXCEPT Bones and his buddies. Bones has steered clear of Andrew since the Herobrine incident. (MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.)
I pretty much accomplished ALL of my missions in my 30-Day Plan. I mean, I did learn more about hockey. And Cate helped me give Andrew a killer makeover—to make him look like Herobrine. And I got inside that locked trunk and found a treasure, even if it wasn’t the kind I was looking for.
But you know what? I never DID find out what Andrew was allergic to—at least, not until this morning.
See, I still had that newspaper article about Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald on my dresser. And when Andrew was packing up his things, the article fell off the dresser and landed upside-down on the floor. And the article on the BACK was all about ALLERGIES, and how mold on HOUSEHOLD PLANTS can lead to sniffling and sneezing.
And you know what one of the photos showed in that old articl
e? A CACTUS.
Well, I pointed that cactus out to Andrew right away, and we both agreed that Mom could stand to ditch a few prickly plants around here.
Turns out, Andrew dislikes those dumb cactus plants as much as I do. REALLY? I guess we DO have a few things in common.
I mean, we both like sleepovers. And we’re both kind of into Herobrine these days. And if Andrew were sticking around for another week or two, who knows? Maybe we’d find even MORE things we both like. Yup, we probably would.
Anyway, Mom got all teary-eyed when she saw Andrew packing. Then she let it slip that she’s planning one more Saturday night dinner with special guests.
Andrew looked as freaked out about that as I felt, so I guess that’s one more thing to add to the list. (We’re both terrified of Mom’s Saturday night dinners.) But then Mom said her “special guests” would be Andrew and his family, all the way from Humanville. YAAASSSSS!
So I guess I’ll be seeing some more of the dude. Maybe by the time he comes back, Dad and I will have that hockey rink all cleaned up and ready for action. Or … maybe we won’t. But either way, Andrew and I will figure out something fun to do.
Or maybe we’ll just hang out.
You know, like brothers.
