My Friends Call Me Monster

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  MY FRIENDS CALL ME MONSTER

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  ENTER HORRORLAND

  The Story So Far…

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  TEASER

  FEAR FILE #7

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  “Michael, this is crazy,” my friend Daisy Edwards whispered. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Too late,” I whispered back. “We’re already here.”

  Daisy was right. Sneaking into our teacher’s house was probably a bad idea.

  But there we were, the three of us — me, Daisy, and our friend DeWayne Walker — standing in Mrs. Hardesty’s kitchen. My eyes darted around, trying to see in the dim light. All the shades were pulled.

  “Weird. She keeps her house as dark as our classroom,” DeWayne said.

  The kitchen smelled of cinnamon. Mrs. Hardesty had a lot of snapshots on her fridge door. I glanced at them quickly. The faces all seemed blurry. An empty egg carton stood open on the sink.

  I led the way into the front room. The shades were down there, too.

  The couch and four chairs all matched. They were black leather. I saw knitting needles sticking out of a ball of wool on a table beside the couch. A tall wooden clock on the mantel ticked loudly.

  “I’m not happy about this,” Daisy whispered. “What if she comes home and finds us? We’re dead!”

  “No worries,” I said. “She’s still at school.”

  “Let’s dump the cat and get out of here,” DeWayne said. He raised the carrier in front of him. I could see the black cat’s blue eyes peering out at me.

  You’re probably wondering why we sneaked into Mrs. Hardesty’s house with a black cat. Well, our plan was simple.

  Mrs. H is very superstitious. So … she comes home. She looks down and sees this black cat rubbing against her ankles … and it totally freaks her mind!

  I wished I could be there when she went nuts. But I planned to be far, far away.

  The cat pawed the front of the carrier and meowed. I think it wanted out.

  “Monster, just open the carrier,” DeWayne said. “Let it go, and we’re outta here.”

  My friends call me Monster.

  It’s kind of a cool nickname. You see, I’m a big dude. I’m twelve, but I look like a high school guy. I’m pretty strong, too.

  That’s a good thing.

  But I guess kids also call me Monster because of my temper. That’s a bad thing.

  My parents say I have a short fuse. That means I explode a lot. But, hey, I’m not angry all the time. Just when someone pushes my buttons.

  Which is why my two friends and I were in Mrs. Hardesty’s house. Our teacher had been pushing my buttons ever since she arrived at Adams Middle School.

  “Let the cat out,” DeWayne said, holding the carrier up to my face.

  “Not here,” I said. “Mrs. H will see it too soon. That’s no fun.”

  “How about the basement?” Daisy said. “Mrs. Hardesty opens the basement door, and there’s a black cat at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her. Can you picture it?”

  “Awesome!” I said. I jabbed my finger into Daisy’s forehead. “I like the way you think.”

  We searched the hall till we found the basement door. I pulled it open, and we stared down into the darkness. I fumbled for the light switch, and a bulb flashed on overhead.

  I led the way down the creaky wooden steps. The cat meowed again. “Be patient,” I said. “You’ll have a nice, new basement to explore. And Mrs. H will take good care of you.”

  We stepped into a short hallway. The air grew cold and damp. The basement was divided into two rooms. Both doors were shut.

  DeWayne set the carrier down on the floor. He bent to open its door.

  That’s when we heard the sound. A heavy thump. From one of the rooms.

  We all froze. DeWayne’s hands shot up, away from the carrier. He stared at me, his mouth open. Daisy took a step back.

  I heard a groan. Another thump.

  My heart did a flip-flop in my chest. “There’s someone down here!” I whispered.

  We didn’t say another word. DeWayne grabbed the carrier by the handle, we spun away from the doors, and took off.

  We scrambled up the stairs. Our sneakers thudded loudly all the way up.

  I was nearly at the top when I heard a metal chiiing. Something hit a stair and bounced down.

  “Something fell out of my pocket!” I cried.

  Was it my cell phone?

  I couldn’t go back for it. We had to get out of there.

  Someone — or something — was coming after us!

  TWO WEEKS EARLIER

  “How many of you have heard of the Loch Ness Monster?” Mrs. Hardesty asked. Several hands went up.

  “Here she goes again,” I whispered to DeWayne. He sat beside me in class.

  DeWayne rolled his eyes. “Always monsters.”

  “The other sixth-grade class is doing the Civil War,” I said. “All we talk about is monsters. How weird is that?”

  DeWayne laughed. He’s a lanky, good-looking dude. He wears low-riding, baggy jeans and long T-shirts with hip-hop singers across the front. He has big brown eyes and keeps his black hair shaved close to his head.

  He’s a good guy, except his laugh is too loud, which gets me in trouble a lot.

  I suddenly realized Mrs. Hardesty had her beady little black eagle eyes on me. “Is something funny, Michael?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Would you like to share it with the whole class?”

  I shrugged again. “Whatever.”

  I should’ve just said sorry or something. Why do I always look for trouble with her?

  Maybe because she’s always on my case?

  She stared at me with that cold expression, her face frozen like a statue.

  Mrs. Hardesty looks a lot like a bird, with tiny round eyes pushed up against a long beaky nose. She has short, feathery, white-blond hair that puffs up around her pale narrow face.

  “Would you care to tell the class what you think the Loch Ness Monster looks like, Michael?”

  “Well … it looks a lot like DeWayne, except it’s prettier.”

  That got everyone laughing, except for Mrs. Hardesty. She wrinkled her nose and made that sniffing sound she always makes when she’s unhappy about something.

  She held up a large photograph. “This is a photo of the Loch Ness Monster,” she said. She moved it from side to side, but it was really hard to see in the dim light.

  She always keeps it dark in the room. Kids are always stumbling over their backpacks. When we take tests, we have to hold the paper up close to our faces to read it.

  It was a bright, sunny day outside, but the shades were down and the ceiling lights were dim as usual.

  “As you can see, the monster looks a lot like a dinosaur,” Mrs. Hardesty continued. “A lot of people claim this photo is a fake. People don’t want to believe in monsters.”

  I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my silver dog whistle.

  “But hundreds of people visit the lake in Scotland every year,” Mrs. H said. “They want to see the
monster for themselves.”

  Kids gasped in surprise as one of the window shades shot up with a loud snap. Sunlight poured into the room.

  Mrs. Hardesty shielded her eyes. She edged sideways to the window and tugged the shade back down. The room grew dark again.

  Mrs. Hardesty picked up her lucky rabbit’s foot from the desk. She always squeezes it in her hand when she gets tense. Which means she squeezes it a lot!

  “Many other water monsters have been spotted over the centuries,” she said. “In ancient times, sailors believed in sea serpents. And —”

  SNAP.

  The same window shade zipped back up to the top.

  Mrs. H gasped and dove to the window. She tugged it down and held it there for a few seconds. Then she returned to the front of her desk, rolling the rabbit’s foot in her hand.

  SNAP.

  The shade flipped back up. Everyone laughed. Sunlight poured over the front of the room.

  I hid the dog whistle under my desk. She hadn’t seen me blow it. She had no idea what a mechanical genius Michael Munroe is.

  Yeah, I’m real good with tech stuff. People don’t expect it, because I’m Monster, the big hulk of a dude who is always getting into trouble.

  But I’ve got a lot of skill with computers and all kinds of tech stuff.

  Before class, I rigged the window shade. I put a tiny receiver on it. The dog whistle sent high-pitched sound waves to the receiver. Sound waves that humans can’t hear. And the sound made the window shade go flying up.

  SNAP.

  I did it again. Just to upset Mrs. H and get everyone laughing. Then I hid the whistle behind my textbook.

  Mrs. Hardesty scratched her head. “Why does that shade keep going up?” she asked.

  “Maybe an evil spirit is doing it!” DeWayne said.

  He knew I was doing it. But he liked to torture her, too. “Owooooo.” He made a nice ghost howl.

  Mrs. Hardesty’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t think it was funny. She was squeezing that lucky rabbit’s foot flat!

  “One should never joke about evil spirits,” she said. Her voice trembled.

  She kept a jar of black powder on her desk. She reached into the jar, pulled out a handful, and tossed it over her shoulder.

  Is she the weirdest teacher on earth or what?

  We’re always trying to figure out what the black powder is. Daisy thinks it’s ground-up bat wings. DeWayne says it’s powdered eye of newt. He learned about eye of newt in one of the scary books he’s always reading.

  Mrs. Hardesty tugged the window shade down and examined it carefully. I hoped she wouldn’t spot the little receiver I’d planted there.

  She returned to the front of the class. I raised my dog whistle and prepared to blow it again.

  OOPS.

  The whistle slipped out of my hand. I made a wild grab for it. But it bounced off my desk, hit the floor, and rolled halfway to Mrs. Hardesty.

  Did she see it?

  Yes.

  She squinted at it, then raised her eyes to me.

  “Uh … am I in trouble?” I asked.

  Yes, I was in trouble. She made me come back to class after school.

  Outside, rain clouds covered the sky. That made the classroom even darker than before.

  Mrs. Hardesty had two tall white candles flickering on her desk. She was leaning over them, whispering to herself, when I dragged myself in.

  “Mrs. Hardesty, I’m sorry about the whistle thing,” I said. “But I can’t stay after school.”

  She kept whispering for a long while, her eyes shut. The candle smoke floated over her face, but she didn’t seem to mind it.

  Finally, she looked up at me. Her skin appeared gray and powdery in the candlelight. “Of course you will stay, Michael.”

  “No. Really,” I said. “I can’t. I’ll miss wrestling practice.”

  Monster Munroe is the captain of the wrestling team. Who else?

  “Sit down, Michael,” Mrs. H said. She pointed to a chair. “I want you to wrestle with your thoughts.”

  I let out a groan. “I can’t go to practice?”

  She reached into her jar and tossed a little black powder over her shoulder. “Sit down,” she said.

  I sat down. I threw my backpack angrily to the floor. I muttered some bad words under my breath.

  I had that burning feeling in my chest. The feeling I get when someone is making me really mad.

  Mrs. Hardesty blew out the candles. She seemed to inhale the smoke. “Michael, do you think it’s smart to make a fool of your teacher?” she asked.

  “I really didn’t have to try!” I blurted out.

  OOPS. I did it again. Why can’t I ever shut my trap?

  I heard kids burst out laughing in the hall. I knew it was Daisy and DeWayne.

  Mrs. Hardesty leaped up from behind her desk. She strode to the classroom door and dragged my two friends in.

  DeWayne plopped down next to me, shaking his head.

  Daisy didn’t look too happy, either. She never gets in trouble. She has this cute, innocent look. Curly carrot-colored hair, lots of freckles, and dimples in her cheeks even when she isn’t smiling. So everyone thinks she’s totally sweet and adorable.

  Of course, I know better. I know she has a wicked-cold sense of humor. She could be a big problem child like me — if she put her mind to it.

  “We didn’t do anything,” Daisy told Mrs. Hardesty. “Why do we have to stay?”

  The teacher waved for Daisy to sit down. Then she frowned at us one by one.

  “You three need an attitude change,” she said. She rubbed her pointed chin. “I think I know what will help.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “Wrestling practice will help me. It’ll change my attitude. Really.”

  DeWayne grinned at Mrs. Hardesty. “I got an A in Attitude last semester,” he said. “You can check it out.”

  Mrs. Hardesty rolled her eyes. “We don’t grade for attitude,” she muttered.

  DeWayne squinted at her. “You sure?”

  He was goofing on her. But she never got a joke.

  “I know what will help you,” Mrs. H repeated. “Some honest work.”

  All three of us groaned.

  “I’ll give you a choice,” she said. “You can stay two hours after school every day for a week.”

  We groaned again, louder.

  “Or you can do some community service,” Mrs. H said.

  We stared blankly at her. I had a sudden urge to take out my dog whistle and make the shade fly up again.

  “I have a project that’s perfect for you three,” Mrs. Hardesty said. “It’s in the lot right by my house. You can come on Saturday.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “My dad is taking me to the big computer tech show. I —”

  “I can’t,” Daisy said. “I have my tennis lesson, and —”

  “Saturday,” Mrs. Hardesty insisted. “No excuses.”

  I heard a cough behind us. I turned and saw Mr. Wong step into the room.

  Mr. Wong is our new principal. He’s a little weird looking. He’s not old, but he has these sagging cheeks and bulging eyes that make him look like a frog. I’ll bet his nickname was Froggy or Toadboy when he was a kid.

  He wears dark pin-striped suits, white shirts, and dark ties. He’s a short dude. But he has a deep, booming voice. Kinda like a bullfrog.

  But he’s a good guy.

  We never saw our old principal. She never came out of her office. Mr. Wong is always out in the hall, greeting everyone and slapping high fives. He likes hanging out with us.

  Mr. Wong pulled Mrs. Hardesty aside and asked what was going on. He kept glancing at the three of us. Mrs. Hardesty had a frown on her face and kept pointing a long bony finger at me.

  I couldn’t hear everything they said. But I heard Mr. Wong say, “I think you’re being too hard on them. They were only having a little fun.”

  I told you. The Wongster is a good dude.

  But Mrs. Hardesty kept shakin
g her head, making her feathery hair bounce up and down. Finally, Mr. Wong shrugged his shoulders and stepped back. Defeated.

  Mrs. Hardesty turned to us. “You three will show up for community service at two o’clock on Saturday. No excuses. We will meet at my house.”

  She walked back to her desk and started piling up papers.

  Mr. Wong walked up to us. “My house is right down the street from hers,” he whispered. “I’ll come out and check on how you’re doing.”

  He turned and left the room.

  The three of us started complaining to each other.

  “Listen up,” Mrs. Hardesty said. “This is important. Be sure to wear work clothes on Saturday. And you’d better bring nose plugs.”

  Huh? Nose plugs?

  What did she want us to do on Saturday?

  Saturday was supposed to be totally fun. Dad promised to take me to the computer tech show at the convention center. I waited all year for this show.

  But where was I on Saturday afternoon? Standing with Daisy and DeWayne in back of Mrs. Hardesty’s house.

  It was a warm, sunny day with a few white puffy clouds floating in a clear blue sky. But I didn’t care.

  I was really, really angry. I wanted to toss back my head and roar, and then start heaving things through Mrs. Hardesty’s window.

  Instead, I followed my friends as Mrs. H led us to the abandoned lot. The warm air started to smell — a really gross, sick smell. She stopped at a huge Dumpster. A garbage Dumpster that stunk to high heaven.

  “I need you to go through the garbage,” Mrs. H said, “and pull out all the cans and bottles that can be recycled.”

  “Whoa!” DeWayne staggered back.

  “Excuse me?” I said to Mrs. H. “You want us to climb into the garbage?”

  “I thought I made it clear,” she replied.

  Daisy held her nose. She looked a little green.

  “This is your community service,” Mrs. Hardesty said. “Climb in. Dig through the garbage. Find all the cans, bottles, and jars you can.”

  “But it stinks!” DeWayne cried. “It’s putrid. It’s sickening!”

  Mrs. Hardesty handed us each a long-handled shovel. “Good hunting,” she said.

  “But — but —” I sputtered.

  She trotted back to her house.

  Daisy, DeWayne, and I stared at each other. Did we have a choice? I didn’t think so.