My Dog's a Scaredy-Cat (12 page)

WE STEPPED BACK INSIDE our living room, grabbed Mrs. Fink, and stampeded like crazed elephants over to her place. When she opened the door, I raced inside and there he was, the cutest dog in the whole world! He was fast asleep on her shaggy gold rug, snoring like a bear. For a little dog, he has a big snore.

Man, did he look great!

“My cherry strudel,” Mrs. Fink said. “I left a whole plate of it here on the coffee table. Where'd it go?”

I went over to Cheerio and scratched him gently behind the ears. He yawned and opened his eyes. When he saw me, he wagged his tail so fast, I thought he was going to take off like a helicopter.

And when he smiled, there were cherry strudel crumbs stuffed in all his teeth—bottom and top.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Fink,” I said. “He has a terrible sweet tooth.”

“That's okay, darling,” she said. “There's still poppy-seed Danish.”

I carried Cheerio back to our apartment, and everyone was completely over-the-moon happy to see him alive and well. My mom picked him up and danced around the room. Frankie and Ashley gave him about a million pets each. Even my dad put out his hand and said, “Shake, Cheerio.” Cheerio, being the nutcase that he is, didn't put his paw out to shake, but he did spin around in a circle until he fell over in a heap.

“That's our Cheerio,” I said, and we all laughed.

“I bet that's McKelty,” Frankie said.

I realized that was the first time I had thought about Nick McKelty since Cheerio disappeared—which just shows you how things you think are important are not so important compared to the things that are really important. You know what I mean? Good, because I'm not sure I do.

Anyway, it wasn't McKelty.

It was none other than the bacteria twins, Emily and Robert, decked out in their finest flu-germ gear.

“So you didn't go as a princess after all,” I said to Emily.

“And Robert didn't go as a knight,” she answered. “You were right, Hank. We're flu germs through and through.”

Then she and Robert each pulled out a trophy from behind their backs.

“We won first place!” Emily grinned, holding the trophy above her head.

“Long live the pus pockets!” Robert added.

“Everyone loved them,” Papa Pete said. “But what really clinched the trophy was their interpretative dance, showing the influenza virus spreading an infection. It was phenomenal.”

“Oh, that sounds so creative,” my mom said. “Show us, kids.”

No one had to ask them twice. Emily and Robert skipped around the room, waving their hands and pushing their stomachs out and spewing imaginary germs into the air. I'm not sure, but I think they danced (if you want to call it that) to the tune of “I'm a Little Teapot,” which Emily hummed as she skipped.

I wish you could have been there. It was something to see.

I have to confess something. As I watched Emily and Robert, I did have the thought that my sister was . . . well . . . pretty weird. I mean, you'd probably think the same thing if your sister was a dancing pus pocket.

But then I realized that maybe she thought I was weird for being a table in an Italian restaurant. What's weird to one person might be normal for another person. Papa Pete's words rolled around and around in my head.

Everyone in the room was smiling at Emily and Robert. My mom was clapping. My dad was tapping his toe. Papa Pete and Mrs. Fink were dancing so close, they almost looked like one whole elephant. Frankie was doing a little freestyle break dancing, and Ashley was waving Cheerio's paws around.

There we were, each being exactly who we were.

And you know what? It was really fun.

I WOULD LIKE TO TELL YOU that I was so happy to get Cheerio back that I gave up any thought of getting even with Nick McKelty. I would like to tell you that because it would show that:

However, if I told you that any of these things were true, I would be lying. I have never lied to you before, and I'm not about to start now.

So here's the truth.

I still wanted to scare the socks off Nick McKelty. Why? Because he was still a mean and nasty bully.

So after Emily and Robert had finished their dance and things had settled down, I begged my parents for permission to reopen the haunted house. There was still a chance McKelty would show up.

“You don't want to scare Cheerio,” my mom warned.

“I'll watch him really closely,” I said. “I promise. I've learned my lesson.”

“I don't think it's a good idea,” my dad said.

“I'll make you a deal, Dad,” I said. “You do one more crossword puzzle and I take one more kid into the haunted house. That way, we'll both close out the evening with a bang. What do you say?”

He hesitated. I could tell he was gearing up to say no. But before he got the word out, Frankie jumped in as only he can. He and my dad have a special bond. For instance, he is the only person in the world who can get away with calling my dad Mr. Z. My dad isn't exactly the nickname type.

“Mr. Z., I have a crossword-puzzle clue for you,” Frankie said. “What's a three-letter word for affirmative?”

“Yes,” my dad said.

“I knew you'd say yes,” I jumped in. “You got yourself a deal, Dad.”

“Pretty clever, youngsters,” my dad said. “Okay, Hank. You have half an hour. It's eight o'clock. If your friend isn't here by eight-thirty, we're closing up shop. Tomorrow is a school day, you know.”

On that happy note, my dad went into the kitchen with my mom. Papa Pete left, too, because Mrs. Fink had a poppy-seed Danish waiting for him.

That left Frankie, Ashley, and me. Oh yes, and Emily and Robert.

“No offense, guys,” I said to the bacteria twins. “But I think the flu-germ thing doesn't exactly go with the haunted house. It kind of breaks the mood.”

“We want to be here to see McKelty's reaction,” Emily said. “Don't forget. He made fun of me, too.”

She had a point.

“I'll make you a deal,” I said. Boy, this was a big night for deal making. “You guys get rid of the pus, and we'll let you work in the haunted house.”

“Really, Hank?” Emily couldn't believe her ears. Almost losing Cheerio had turned me into a total softie.

“Truthfully, I could use a little help,” I said. “My number-one job from now on is to look out for Cheerio.”

I figured Frankie could work the spiders. Ashley, naturally, would be the floating head. Emily could run the eyeballs, and Robert would be the brains. Robert and brains went together almost as well as Robert and mucus.

We sent Robert and Emily to change into black clothes so they wouldn't be seen, and we got the haunted house back up to speed. I went to check on the peeled grapes, but Frankie quickly took the bowl from me.

“Don't forget that I am the chief of all slimy things,” he reminded me.

“How could I forget that, Frankie?”

He picked up the grapes and rolled them around in the egg whites so they were covered with a fresh coat of goo. Meanwhile, Ashley spiffed up the brains with a little extra Marshmallow Fluff. She stuck a finger in the brains.

“Yes,” she said, nodding in approval. “These are definitely a ten on the ick meter.”

After we straightened up the living room, rewound the tape recorder, and turned on the fan under the ghost, we squirted Ashley with some fresh ketchup. When I turned on the black light in the skeleton dude, Cheerio started to get a little jumpy. I could tell because his ears were sticking straight up in the air. I picked him up and held him in my arms.

“This is all pretend, boy,” I said. “There's nothing to be scared of.”

We walked over to the skeleton, and I let him take a sniff of the plastic, so he would know the bony guy wasn't real. Cheerio sniffed the leg bones and the arm bones, then licked the skeleton's ribs a whole bunch of times. This seemed pretty normal to me, because Cheerio also licks the bricks in our fireplace. He has a licking problem, I guess. But, like Dr. Berger, my educational therapist, says, we all have our issues.

“I'm ready,” Emily said, coming out of her bedroom. She was dressed all in black from head to toe, including a black beanie that she had pulled down almost over her eyes. And get this. On her shoulder was—you guessed it—Katherine the Great. Emily had thrown a black washcloth over her scaly body. Katherine's, that is.

“I don't remember inviting the lizard,” I said.

“Katherine would feel very left out if she weren't included,” Emily answered.

“She told you that?”

“In her own way,” Emily said. “We communicate nonverbally.”

There wasn't time to argue, because the doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

“I bet that's McKelty,” Frankie whispered.

“No, it's Robert,” Emily said. “That's our special ring.”

There you had it. Another fine example of nonverbal communication at work.

Emily let Robert in. He was dressed all in black, just like Emily. Robert is so skinny that he looked like a piece of licorice I ate at the movies the Saturday before. I'm not kidding.

I checked out Frankie's watch. It was sixteen minutes after eight. We had ten minutes for McKelty to get there. Or something close to ten. You know me and numbers.

Ten minutes and counting.

HE ARRIVED AT EXACTLY eighteen minutes after eight.

When he knocked, I cracked open the door and spoke in my lowest, raspiest voice.

“Welcome to the chamber of fear. Do you dare enter?”

“You don't scare me, Zipperbutt. I'm only here because I have nothing better to do.”

That McKelty, he sure knows how to deliver a friendly greeting.

I opened the door and let him in. McKelty had added even more blood and guts to his Halloween costume, including a plastic knife sticking out of the side of his head. I was holding Cheerio in my arms because we had turned out all the lights and I didn't want him to freak out.

“You call that a dog?” McKelty said, pointing one of his beefy fingers at Cheerio. “I call it a wiener . . . without the bun.”

Cheerio sniffed McKelty's finger and snarled. Then he saw the plastic knife sticking out of McKelty's head. He sniffed that, then licked it. A lot.

“Your dog is weird,” McKelty said.

“He's a vampire dog,” I whispered. “He loves blood. Want to let him lick you?”

I held the flashlight out in front of us and led McKelty into the living room. It was totally dark outside now, and no light came into the room except for the purple glow of the black light. McKelty tripped on the corner of the rug, lost his balance, and almost fell down. He tried to pretend it didn't happen, but I let out a crazed laugh.

“What are you laughing at, Zipweed?” he snarled.

“Lower your voice,” I said. “You're making the spirits extremely angry.”