Dr. Maniac vs. Robby Schwartz Read online

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  DR. MANIAC VS. ROBBY SCHWARTZ

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  ENTER HORRORLAND

  The Story So Far…

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  TEASER

  FEAR FILE #5

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  “Ouch!” I swatted a mosquito on my neck. Too late. I could feel a trickle of warm blood under my fingers.

  My hiking boots sank into the muddy ground. I heard a rustling sound in the bushes. Probably a killer coyote getting ready to bite my throat out.

  How much do I enjoy these family camping trips?

  How much would I like to have all my teeth pulled out by a crazed orangutan with rusty pliers?

  “Robby, try to keep up!” my dad called as he led the way along the trail.

  “Yeah, Robby,” my brother, Sam, shouted. “Try to keep up!”

  He hates camping, too. But he pretends he likes it. That’s because he’s the middle kid, so he has to try harder.

  “Stop copying Dad!” I shouted.

  “Stop copying Dad!” Sam repeated, like a stupid parrot.

  “Give me a break,” I moaned.

  “Give me a break,” Sam echoed.

  “Give me a break!” my sister, Taylor, whined.

  Mom and Dad laughed. She’s seven. They think everything Taylor does is the cutest.

  They even laugh when she burps. When Sam and I have a burping contest at the dinner table, Mom always gets angry and makes us stop.

  How fair is that?

  “Whoa!” I let out a cry as my foot caught on a fallen tree limb. I lost my balance, stumbled — and fell into the mud. My backpack landed hard on top of me.

  I heard Sam and Taylor laugh.

  “It isn’t funny,” Mom said. She says that a lot. She’s the only one in our family who isn’t a total joker.

  “Sure it’s funny,” Sam said. “Robby is a superklutz.”

  “Superklutz! Superklutz!” Taylor chanted. She did a crazy dance around Mom and Dad.

  Dad set down the tent and helped pull me to my feet.

  “Hey — a new superhero for your comic strip,” he said. “Superklutz. He trips and falls on the bad guys.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ha-ha,” I said. “See me laughing? How funny are you? NOT!”

  My family always gives me lame ideas for my comic strip. I just ignore them. They don’t have a clue how serious I am about my strip.

  Dad tugged my backpack onto my shoulders. Then he rubbed his hand through my hair and messed it up.

  My hair is light brown, almost blond. And I wear it long and wild. I just sweep it back with my hand. I never brush it.

  I have a lot of hair. It doesn’t even fit under a baseball cap.

  I think that’s why Dad is always messing it up. Because he’s as bald as a bowling ball.

  A few weeks ago, I drew a comic character for my strip who looked like Dad. I called him Pink Head. I never showed that one to Dad. He’s kind of sensitive about having a big pink egg for a head.

  I’m the only one who’s blond and pale in my family. Sam and Taylor both have raven-black hair and deep, dark eyes, like Mom. They’re both short, and Sam is a chubster. He hates it when I poke his belly and tell him it’s just baby fat.

  The sun slid behind some clouds. The woods grew darker.

  Dad pointed up ahead. “Let’s set up camp by those tall trees,” he said. “There’s grass there. It should be less muddy.”

  I brushed a swarm of gnats out of my face. What’s the point of gnats, anyway? I mean, do we really need them? I don’t think so.

  We found a nice clear space under the trees. Then we set to work putting up the two tents. Mom and Dad started to unpack the sleeping bags.

  Dad took a long drink from a water bottle. Then he spit a gusher of water at me.

  I ducked out of the way. “Nice try!” I shouted.

  Mom gave Dad a shove. “Norman, give Robby a break.”

  “Do it again, Dad!” Sam shouted.

  Dad laughed. “Hey, Robby, who taught you how to do the perfect water spit? I did — right? The Spritz Master!”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Why can’t anyone in this family ever be serious?” Mom asked.

  I pulled out my laptop and sat down on my backpack. I balanced it on my knees and booted it up.

  After a few minutes, I called to Dad. “I’m trying to upload my comic strip. But there’s no network out here. How am I supposed to get online?”

  “Why don’t you try to enjoy the woods instead?” Mom asked. “This is a camping trip. Put that away.”

  I groaned. “It’s so boring out here! Nothing but nature, nature, nature!”

  Dad grinned at me. “Your mom and I like nature. Fresh air. The great outdoors …”

  “You’re both weird,” I said.

  He pointed to the trees. “You promised not to grumble, remember? The sun is going down. Go help your brother gather firewood.”

  I grumbled some more. Then I put away the laptop and trudged into the woods to help Sam.

  I really wanted to work on my new comic strip. I’ve been drawing comics since I was seven. But my new supervillain is my best one ever.

  Dr. Maniac. The Totally Mental Maniac of Mayhem.

  Awesome, right?

  I tripped again and banged my shoulder against a tree trunk. Leaves shook and shivered above my head. A chipmunk stood up and stared at me. Then it scurried into the woods.

  Dr. Maniac vs. Chipmunk Boy.

  That might work. Dr. Maniac forces a boy to eat a poisoned acorn and he grows into a giant chipmunk. Dr. Maniac decides to turn a thousand boys into chipmunks….

  I can’t help it. I get these great story ideas everywhere I go. Even in the woods.

  I stopped and glanced around. Where was the path? I was walking over a thick blanket of sticks and dead leaves. The tall trees blocked out the sun.

  How far had I walked? I have a terrible sense of direction. I get lost in my own bedroom!

  “Hey, Sam!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Sam? Are you here?”

  No answer.

  “Hey — SAAAAAM!” I shouted louder. “Where ARE you?”

  A bird cawed loudly somewhere in the forest.

  Then I heard footsteps. Behind me.

  I spun around — and gasped as a figure stepped out from behind two trees.

  “No! It c-can’t be!” I stammered. “You — you’re not real! I made you up!”

  A grin spread over Dr. Maniac’s face.

  Yes. Dr. Maniac. The comic villain I created.

  He walked up to me with that crazy grin on his face. He brushed back his leopard-skin cape. “I’ll show you how REAL I am!” he shouted. “Eat this DEAD SQUIRREL!”

  He raised his yellow-gloved hands. He held a decaying dead squirrel. Its eyes had sunk deep into its head. Patches of fur had fallen off its back.

  “EAT it!” Dr. Maniac shouted.

  I tried to move away, but I backed right into a wide tree trunk.

  “You’re crazy!” I cried.

&n
bsp; Dr. Maniac shook his head. “I’m not crazy — I’m a MANIAC!”

  He bumped me with his chest. It had a big gold M on it. “Now, eat it!” he demanded. “EAT it!”

  And he shoved the putrid dead squirrel into my face.

  Hope I didn’t confuse you. That last chapter was just a comic strip I drew.

  Sam and I were sitting in the back of our SUV. We hadn’t gone camping yet. We were on our way.

  Dad was driving the whole family to the woods. I was showing Sam my newest Dr. Maniac strip on my laptop.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “The dead squirrel thing is good — right? Do you like it when Dr. Maniac shoves the disgusting squirrel corpse right in my face?”

  “Yeah. Pretty cool,” Sam said, staring at the screen. “But one thing I don’t get. Who’s the chubby little shrimp who goes camping with our family?”

  “That’s you,” I said.

  Sam punched my arm. “No way I look like that,” he said.

  “Ever look in a mirror?” I said.

  “Ever take drawing lessons?” he shot back. “I’m almost as tall as you are!”

  Trees whirred past us as Dad roared down the highway. He couldn’t wait to get there. Mom and Dad love camping, and they drag us with them almost every weekend.

  The only thing I like about camping is that it gives me new ideas for my Dr. Maniac strip.

  Farms with grassy green fields rolled past. Taylor sat in the middle seat, clapping her hands to music from the radio. Mom kept pointing out every cow and horse. But no one paid any attention.

  Sam read my comic strip again. “What if you go picking up firewood in the woods today and Dr. Maniac really does show up?” he asked.

  “Robby,” Mom called from the front seat. “I hope you’ll put the laptop away and help out this time. You always make Sam and Taylor do all the work.”

  “Yeah. Join the family for once!” Taylor said. She turned around and stuck her tongue out at me. Her tongue was bright purple from the candy she was eating.

  Attack of the Purple Tongue!

  Good name for a comic, I thought. What if a boy is at the dentist’s office? The dentist messes up — and the boy’s tongue falls out. The tongue starts to grow. It’s very angry. It doesn’t like being outside the mouth. The tongue ATTACKS!

  “Look at those sheep,” Mom said, pointing out her window. “Are you two boys enjoying the beautiful scenery?”

  “Sam, what do you think I should do next?” I asked. “Should I eat the disgusting, gross squirrel? Or should I try to escape? I can’t decide which is cooler.”

  “Maybe both,” Sam replied.

  He is never any help. He doesn’t like writing stories. He is a total game freak. He spends hour after hour playing Battle Chess. What a weirdo.

  “I like Dr. Maniac’s costume,” Sam said. “He dresses like a total maniac! Red-and-blue tights with a gold M on his chest? Yellow gloves? White boots with yellow feathers all over them? And a leopard-skin cape? That’s insane!”

  “Yeah. He’s a crazed nutcase,” I said.

  “You’re the nutcase!” Taylor chimed in. “Why don’t you draw a comic called Robby Schwartz, the Maniac Older Geek Brother?”

  I reached over the seat and bopped her gently on the head.

  “Maniac!” she screamed.

  “Can’t we talk about anything else?” Mom said. “Look at those interesting shrubs over there.”

  Interesting shrubs? Sam and I burst out laughing. “Good one, Mom!” I said.

  Dad turned off the highway. We bounced along a gravel road until we came to a small muddy parking lot.

  I stepped out the door into bright sunlight. The air smelled fresh and sweet. Two big red hawks glided round and round a grove of tall evergreen trees.

  I packed my laptop carefully into my backpack. Taylor jumped out of the car. She ran up to me and stomped down hard on my sneaker.

  “OWW! Why’d you do that?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “No reason.”

  I limped to the back of the SUV. Time to unload our stuff.

  We always take two tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, and lots of sweaters and extra clothes. We loaded up like pack animals and lugged everything into the woods. Not my favorite part of camping.

  Actually, I don’t have a favorite part of camping. But what can you do when your parents are total outdoor freaks?

  We always follow the same dirt path through the trees. And after about twenty minutes, we came to a nice grassy clearing. Time to set up the tents and build a fire before the sun went down.

  “I guess you want me to go find firewood,” I said to Dad once the tents were set up.

  “We all have our jobs,” Dad said.

  “Oh, yeah?” I said. “What’s Taylor’s job?”

  “Being cute,” Dad said.

  Taylor stuck her tongue out again. Still purple. Real cute.

  I set my pack with my laptop inside it down carefully at the back of my tent. Then I wandered across the tall grass to the trees to search for sticks and logs.

  The air grew cooler as I stepped deeper into the shade. The wind blew my long hair around my face. A black-and-orange butterfly fluttered in front of me, as if it were leading the way.

  Wow, I thought. Here I am, alone in the woods, picking up firewood.

  Just like in my comic.

  This is the exact scene where I call to Sam, and he doesn’t answer. And then Dr. Maniac pops out from behind the trees.

  And suddenly, I heard the bushes rustle. The scrape of footsteps. Moving toward me — fast.

  “Dr. Maniac!” I gasped.

  No. Not Dr. Maniac.

  I stared as Sam stepped forward, his arms filled with twigs and sticks for kindling. “Robby — what’s your problem?” he asked.

  “You — you scared me,” I stammered. I pushed my hair away from my face with both hands. “I thought it was Dr. Maniac,” I said. “You know. Like in my comic strip.”

  Sam squinted at me. “Don’t get weird,” he said. “Don’t start mixing up comics and real life.”

  My heart had been racing. It slowly returned to normal.

  “Hey, Sam,” I said. “Can you imagine what a messed-up place this would be if superheroes and villains were real? And they were always flying around in tights and capes?”

  We both laughed. It was kind of a funny idea.

  I bent down and started to pick some twigs up off the ground.

  Sam had his arms full. He stood over me, watching. “Robby,” he said, “how come you made your main character a villain? Why not make him a superhero instead?”

  “I just think villains are a lot more interesting,” I said.

  A loud crackle from the bushes behind me made me jump. The twigs flew from my hands. “What was that?”

  Sam laughed. “A squirrel, probably. Or a raccoon. We’re in the woods, remember? Animals live in the woods?”

  “Just joking,” I lied. “I was trying to scare you.”

  I bent down to pick up the sticks I dropped.

  And suddenly, my eyes went wide — and I let out a startled cry. “NO!” I screamed. “It’s IMPOSSIBLE!”

  “Nice try,” Sam said. “But you didn’t scare me. Try again.”

  “N-no. You don’t understand,” I stammered. “I’m not joking. Look.”

  A strip of cloth was caught on a tree branch. I pulled it off and held it up for Sam to see.

  His dark eyes bulged. “Leopard skin?” he said in a whisper.

  “Leopard skin,” I said. “Just like Dr. Maniac’s cape.”

  “That’s stupid,” Sam said. “What’s that doing here?”

  I stuffed the strip of cloth into my jeans pocket. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to find out.”

  * * *

  I didn’t tell Mom or Dad about the leopard-skin cloth. They probably would think that I put it there.

  My family is always playing jokes on one another. So sometimes it’s hard to know what to b
elieve and what not to believe.

  We made a big campfire and cooked dinner on it. We all roasted hot dogs, except for Mom. She doesn’t eat meat. So she grilled two soy burgers for herself.

  They looked kind of green and gross. But she said anything tastes good cooked on a fire. Especially if you drown it in ketchup!

  After dinner, we goofed around. Dad told some really lame jokes.

  My favorite was about a boy who has a banana in his ear. Someone asks him, “Why do you have a banana in your ear?” And the boy answers, “I can’t hear you. I have a banana in my ear!”

  It’s probably an old joke. But I never heard it before. And it cracked me up.

  Taylor tried to make up some knock-knock jokes. But they didn’t make any sense. Sam and I had to beg her to stop.

  The moon floated low over the trees when we crawled into our tents to sleep. The night air was growing colder.

  Taylor, Sam, and I were jammed into one tent. I snuggled deep into my sleeping bag. I tried to pull it up over my head, but it was too short.

  I shut my eyes, ready for sleep. In the sleeping bag next to me, Taylor sang softly to herself.

  “Shut up,” I whispered. “How am I supposed to fall asleep?”

  “You know I like to sing,” she replied. “It’s the only way I can go to sleep.”

  She’s such a little freak. That’s not the only weird thing she does. She also sleeps with her eyes wide open.

  Is that disturbing or what?

  I rolled over and turned my back to her. Outside the tent, I heard the hoot-hoot of an owl. A gust of wind rattled the whole tent.

  I shut my eyes tight. And tried to clear my mind … not think about anything at all.

  I drifted off for a short while. But something woke me up.

  I sat up, blinking. My heart was pounding.

  Someone was walking outside the tent.

  I heard a low cough. The soft thud of footsteps on the ground.

  Did I hear someone calling my name?

  With a shiver, I pulled myself out of the sleeping bag. Sam and Taylor were asleep. Taylor made little whistling sounds with each breath.

  I climbed to my knees and poked my head out of the tent.

  The pale yellow moon glowed high in the sky. A dark line of clouds — like a snake — cut it in half. Clouds covered the stars. The air felt heavy and damp.

  The footsteps were coming from the trees. I heard a voice speaking rapidly. What was it saying?