Attack of the Vampire Weenies (8 page)

As his plastic case full of pencils and markers went plummeting two stories down toward the pavement, Gerald managed to blurt out, “Hey!” and point at the elf. “Look!”

At that same instant, the elf leaped off the desk and disappeared behind a bookcase underneath the window. Also at that same instant, Ms. Crukshank turned toward Gerald.

Gerald's shout died. But it was followed a split second later by the smack of his pencil box smashing to the ground.

“Gerald,” Ms. Crukshank said, “I will not tolerate this kind of stunt in my classroom. You know we have rules about the window.”

“But I…” Gerald had no idea how to defend himself. The last time he'd shouted, when Tommy Pratt swiped his eraser, he had to stay after school. And Tommy hadn't gotten in any trouble at all. Life wasn't fair.

For the rest of the day, Gerald kept expecting the elf to return. It didn't. But Gerald was so stressed, he felt like he was trying to crush a giant aluminum can inside his stomach.

The elf showed up the next day, just in time to knock over the jar of poster paint Gerald was using for his geography project. Ms. Crukshank not only made him clean up the mess, she also made him stay after school and write a three-page paper about carelessness and wasting valuable classroom supplies.

Gerald thought about telling her the truth, but every time he imagined himself trying to explain about the elf, he also imagined his teacher shouting at him and making him write a five-page report on the dangers of having an overactive imagination.

The next day, the elf broke the tips off of all Gerald's pencils. He had to sharpen them several times. Finally, Ms. Crukshank told him he couldn't use the sharpener anymore.

The day after that, the elf ripped up Gerald's homework. Gerald had to stay inside at recess and do it over.

Life really wasn't fair.

The next day, Gerald tried to catch the elf. He waited and waited, ready to grab it the moment it showed up.

It didn't show up. But Gerald got in trouble for not paying attention in class. Ms. Crukshank told him he had to stay after and clean the blackboards.

As the rest of the kids were leaving the room, Gerald saw the elf climbing up the leg of his desk. He lunged for it.

The elf leaped from the desk. Gerald's fingers swiped across its back, snagging its shirt. When he tried to make another grab, Gerald slipped off his chair and fell to the floor. The elf got away.

“Gerald!” Ms. Crukshank shouted, “get off the floor this instant.”

Gerald sprang to his feet with the elf's shirt in his hand. He had proof! Finally.

He ran over to his teacher's desk. “Look, Ms. Crukshank! See?” He thrust his palm under her nose.

“Ick!” Ms. Crukshank shouted. “Don't shove your dirty tissues in my face, you grubby boy.” She grabbed the giant pump bottle of hand sanitizer she always kept on her desk and blasted Gerald's hand with a double shot. It knocked the shirt right out of his hand and onto the floor.

Ms. Crukshank snatched a couple tissues from the box on her desk, scooped up the soggy shirt, and tossed everything in the garbage. “Filthy boys,” she muttered as she left the room. “You're all just walking sacks full of germs.”

“But…” Gerald watched her go. Then he sighed and started cleaning the chalkboards.

Life really really wasn't fair.

As Gerald was leaving school after cleaning the blackboards, he passed the cafeteria, where the teachers were having a meeting. He glanced in the door as he went by.

Ms. Crukshank was sitting right next to the principal, Ms. Owens. Gerald almost kept going, but something caught his eye. A shirtless elf was climbing up the table leg next to Ms. Crukshank. Even from this distance, Gerald could tell the elf was grinning.

It got up to the top of the table, then kicked over Ms. Crukshank's coffee cup just as she was reaching for it.

“Yipe!” Principal Owens screeched as hot coffee poured into her lap.

Gerald watched as Ms. Crukshank apologized and fussed and looked all flustered. Then he smiled and walked out of the school. Maybe life wasn't fair, but at least it wasn't fair all around.

That, Gerald decided, almost made things fair.

 

SUN DAMAGE

He was chained to
the wall in a room hidden beneath a trapdoor in the basement. “I call him Fang,” Roy told me. He shined the flashlight beam at the man.

I'd always thought
gooseflesh
was just an expression, but I could feel my arms twitching like my skin wanted to escape from the room. “This is too creepy.”

The room was just a hole, really, dug into the floor of the basement. Maybe six feet wide, with cinder block walls and a dirt floor. Nothing in it except for a ladder against the wall beneath the opening, and a pair of iron rings attached to the opposite wall. And the guy, of course.

“Sort of cool, though,” Roy said.

I kept my back pressed against the wall next to the ladder. I didn't want to get too close to the guy. If he'd been down here for a while—and he had to have been, since nobody had lived in this house for years—he was far from human. Kids had been sneaking into the house for ages, but I'm pretty sure Roy was the first one to discover the room.

“What's he doing here?” I asked.

“I don't know. I guess someone wanted to keep him locked up. Maybe he's dangerous.” Roy bent down. “Watch this.”

He picked up a jagged piece of stone from the floor. Before I could say anything, he jabbed the guy in the arm, slicing his skin open.

I shouted. The guy didn't. As my cry died against the barren walls, the shallow wound pulled together and the flesh healed itself.

“I think he's a vampire,” Roy said.

The guy flinched. It was slight, barely more than a shiver. But there was no doubt he'd reacted to Roy's words.

“You're right.” I'd always been good at reading people. I took a step closer. But I stayed a safe distance away. “You're a vampire, aren't you?”

His lips moved. I watched his face, looking for a reaction that would prove I was right. He spoke, but it was too quiet for me to hear. I took another step. Then I froze. “You won't trick me that easily.” He'd tried to lure me close enough to hurt me. Nice try. But I wasn't stupid.

I backed away. His head drooped. I almost felt sorry for him, trapped here for who knew how long, living in total darkness.

As if he could read my mind, he said, “Some of us are harmed by sunlight.”

“That would be totally cool,” Roy said. “Crackle, crackle, whoosh. Just like in the movies. We could drag him out into the sun.”

I shook my head. “No way. We're not touching those chains.”

To my relief, Roy nodded. “Yeah, you're right.” He lowered the flashlight. I heard Fang sigh as the darkness fell across his face again. I guess he didn't even like artificial light.

“Let's get out of here.” I put my foot on the first rung of the ladder that was against the wall opposite Fang.

Before I could climb up, Roy shouted, “I got it!”

“What?”

He turned the flashlight back toward Fang. “We can bring the sunlight here.”

“How?”

“Mirrors.”

This time, the guy did more than quiver. He jerked his hands against the chains and screamed, “No!”

I watched the wall. The rings holding the chains were solid. Fang had no chance of breaking free.

“Oh, we definitely gotta do this now,” Roy said.

“Definitely.” I liked the way Fang squirmed at the idea. I wondered how much more he'd thrash around when we actually brought down the sunlight. “Hey, let's make a video!”

“Awesome.” Roy held his hands up like he was pointing a camera at Fang. “We'll post it online and get a zillion hits.”

It took us a couple days to find enough mirrors. I borrowed two from my house, and Roy had one in his attic. I don't know where he got the others.

We had to wait a couple more days, until the rainy weather passed. But on a brilliant Saturday morning, with no clouds at all in the sky, we started setting up the mirrors.

“Kind of like a video game,” Roy said as he placed the first mirror in the front yard. The reflected light hit the door.

“Yeah, except we already know how to beat the boss at the end of the level.” I opened the front door and put the next mirror in the hall, sending the light past the door to the basement. Roy got everything on video, but he made sure not to show our faces. We didn't want to get in trouble like those idiots who film their fistfights or vandalism sprees.

It was harder than we expected to get the light all the way to the basement. Especially getting the beam down the stairs. We had to prop that mirror at an angle. But finally, we reached the trapdoor above the pit. One more mirror, placed down in the floor of the hidden room, and Fang would be hit right in the face by a beam of sunlight.

He looked up at us through the opening. I studied his eyes for any sign of terror, but he just seemed tired.

“Don't,” he said. “You'll regret it.”

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. I grabbed the last mirror. “Nothing personal,” I said. “We just can't miss our chance. Something this awesome probably only comes around once in a lifetime.” I'd fried ants with a magnifying glass when I was little. And Roy and I burned a wasps' nest once. But this would be way more exciting.

“Hold on.” Roy took off his shirt and draped it over the next-to-last mirror. “I want to see this from close up.” He found a piece of rope in the basement and tied it to the shirt.

Roy and I climbed down into the pit. Then I placed the last mirror where the beam would strike the floor, and aimed it at Fang's face.

“Ready?” Roy asked.

“Totally.” I hoped I'd placed the last mirror right.

“Time to sizzle!” Roy pulled the rope. The shirt slipped down. Light bounced off the last mirror, striking Fang right in the face. I'd placed everything perfectly.

Fang's body jerked. He arched his back and howled like he was being jolted with a billion volts of electricity.

I watched, waiting for smoke to rise from his flesh. The little bit of remaining guilt was replaced by excitement. I was going to see something legendary. How many kids could say that?

There was still no smoke. It was a moment before I realized Fang's skin was changing in a different way.

“He's getting younger!” I shouted. “Knock over the mirror!”

Roy kicked at the mirror on the floor.

Fang thrust his hands forward. Both chains snapped. He sprang straight off the wall with a leap that took him to the other side of the pit.

He grabbed Roy by the hair and threw him down hard against the floor, right by my feet. He stood there, bathed in light from the mirror above us.

“Some creatures are harmed by the sun.” Fang stepped toward me.

I flattened myself against the wall. Roy was twitching like he'd been hurt pretty badly.

Fang moved closer. “But some creatures gain strength from the sun. I'm not one of those pale-faced blood-drinkers. I prefer my meals to be a bit more solid.”

He held up one hand with his fingers rigid. Light flashed off the tips. “Perhaps
Claws
would have been a better nickname for me.”

He thrust his hand down, spearing it right into Roy's back, and pulled something out. Roy screamed once, then stopped moving.

I pressed harder against the wall. “Don't hurt me.”

“Nothing personal. I just can't miss my chance.” Fang thrust his hand toward me. As pain exploded through my body, I heard him say, “It's so nice to be back.”

 

SWEET SOAP

Barnaby Pointdexter, the world's
youngest inventor, stood before his greatest invention, ready to run the first test. Built from an assortment of old parts he'd found in the basement and a few new pieces he'd bought with his allowance, the Transubstantiator would change the world. Barnaby was sure of that.

“How's it work?” his sister, Myra, asked.

“Very complicated,” Barnaby said. “Hard to explain.”

“In other words,” Myra said, “you really don't know.”

Barnaby shrugged. “I guess you could say that. But it doesn't matter whether I know how it works. As long as it works, I'm happy. Now, hand me that soap.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Myra said, her voice hinting that she wouldn't take too many orders from her brother.

“Thanks.” Barnaby put the bar of soap into the container in the middle of the Transubstantiator. The soap was an extra-large bar that Barnaby had snatched from his parents' bathroom cabinet. The container was an old butter tub. There was no longer any butter in it.

“Ready?” Barnaby asked.

“I guess.”

“Here goes.” Barnaby put his finger on the button, then froze. He realized that
here goes
was a pretty unimpressive statement. He really needed to make a great and memorable quotation on this special occasion. He took a deep breath, then said, “I do this for all my fellow humans.” Then he pressed the button.

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.