The Mystery of the Mystery Meat (3 page)

“Eat her eyeballs,” Pretty grumbled, sinking her fangs into the splintering wood.

She tore out such a huge chunk that a crack shot up the center of the pole and split it in half. Both halves slammed against the sidewalk with truly impressive force. The power lines snapped free and sparked and danced in the puddles of melted ice on the sidewalk.

Pretty scooted into the shadows and skittered away on her tentacles, balling and unballing her fists. She didn’t know what to do next. Maybe he had gone home, where she could talk to him…make him see that she was everything he could want in a girlfriend. Beg him to take her to the dance instead.

But a monster had her pride. Back in the Underworld, she had been very popular. Boy monsters lined up to ask her out. They brought her all kinds of presents to bribe her—fresh chunks of wood, large boulders, and delicately seasoned carcasses. Freekin just took her for granted. He thought she would always be there by his side, supporting him and cheering him on.

Well, what if she wasn’t? What if someone else wanted to be her boyfriend? Then he would be sorry.

What Freekin needed was competition.

Her eyes spun. Her teeth clacked. She was on to something here! She would conjure up the cutest, most adorable boy monster in the entire Underworld, and
he
would be her honey-bunny. He would even be her date to
the dance! And when Freekin saw her all dressed up, dancing the night away with someone else, he would eat his heart out!

With renewed hope, she trundled on her tentacles through the stinging, icy mud as she skittered toward Snickering Willows Cemetery. She didn’t mind the pain. It was worth it if it helped her get Freekin back.

“Okeydoke, me going for it,” she whispered as she prepared herself to deliver a summoning spell. She gnawed for a while on a headstone, which put her in a zone. She smoothed her jumper and gave the little dead bunny head on the front a pat for good luck. Spitting in her palms, she slicked back her ponytail ears and pushed up the sleeves of her turtleneck sweater.

She took a very deep breath.

Her two huge eyes rotated like planets. Her five little eyes spun like miniature Ferris wheels zooming out of control. Steam rose from the top of her head. She threw back her head and in her best monstervoice shrieked:

“AIYIYIAZEEEKOOTIEBOIIIE! SHAMALAMAHOTHOTHOT! YOOHOOOOOOOOO!”

Flames shot from her eyes and mouth. The ice melted on the skeletal branches overhead and hissed into more steam. An owl shrieked,
“Wooooooooooohoooooooo!”
and flapped into the night. The ground shook. Headstones shifted and fell backward and so did Pretty, right on her bottom, as autumn leaves showered down on her like colorful dead bats. They ignited, and Pretty’s field of vision filled with smoke.

“Ha, Freekin,” she whispered. “Ha ha ha.” She blinked as the smoke began to clear, anticipating the arrival of the cutest boy monster in the Underworld.

But he wasn’t there. Instead, she had summoned the rotten corpse of a grown-up human
man
.

Pretty stared slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the man she had summoned from beyond the grave. The moon shone down on his flaps of skin; the breeze blew the wisps of hair away from the shiny green and bone-white discolorations of his skull. Her two big eyes blinked and her five little ones spun as she noted the shredded striped trousers and the slime-encrusted vest, from which
dangled a watch chain covered with moss. She recognized this man! She had seen a statue of him in the park and a painting of him in the library.

“You so Horatio Snickering III,” she said, bouncing gently on her tentacles as she got up off the snowy ground. Her ponytail ears bobbed. She was very confused.

“I am, Miss Pretty,” he replied, bowing slightly from the waist. His head began to topple off his spine; bone clacked on bone as he caught it with his left hand. Then he straightened and reinserted his scabby head onto his neck bone like a squishy pumpkin onto a fence post.

“And I am very grateful to you for casting that summoning spell,” he added. “I used it to return to the Land of the Living, where I am sorely needed.”

“Cute boy monster,” Pretty protested, thrusting her hands on her hips. “Pretty wants!”

Horatio clucked his teeth—what few he had left. He was even more rotten than Freekin, which made sense, since he had been dead longer—a century, at least.

“Ah, sweet little lady, I have been watching current events from beyond the grave, and it has been driving me crazy. My fantastic original recipe Mystery Meat has been changed into something I don’t even recognize, much less approve of. Neapolitan Nacho. Toasty Twinkle. Huge blunders! I’ve been turning over in my grave, I can tell you that.”

“Bad Meat Men,” she said angrily. “Eat their eyeballs.”

“Yes.” He sighed and shook his head. “Bad Meat Men indeed. I knew I had to get back here and fix things. And here I am.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding at him. “You asking Afterlife Commission, ‘Please, one more chance, Ms. Totenbone, Monsieur DeMise, Lord Grym-Reaper’? They saying, ‘Okeydoke, Horatio Snickering III!
Hasta la vista!
’”

He pressed his hand to his vest in a gesture of mild protest. “No, my dear. Unlike your friend Franklin Ripp, the Afterlife Commission did not send me back.
You
brought me here all by yourself. You are such a brilliant, amazing, and, may I add, beautiful little monster.”

“Me so Pretty,” she said sweetly.

“Indeed you are, Miss Pretty. You are a marvel.” They smiled at each other, appreciating how fabulous and wonderful Pretty was. “Now I’ll stop all this madness. With a little help from my brand-new, very special friend.
You.
”

“Me so helping?” she asked, astonished.

“You will be my very special little helper. Won’t that be lovely?”

“Me so lovely,” she agreed, eagerly nodding. Freekin would be thrilled! It would be like old times—like earlier that evening, in fact—with Pretty, Freekin, and Scary riding to the
rescue! Only better, because it would fix things once and for all—because of her! Because
she
had summoned Horatio Snickering III back to the Land of the Living!

“But let’s think this through, Miss Pretty.” He tapped his chin with his finger bones. “I don’t believe the other good people of Snickering Willows are ready to see the founder of their town in my condition.”

As he ran his hand down the center of his body, the knucklebone of his little finger caught in his dusty rotten vest and sliced the rotted threads apart. Pretty saw his rib cage and, in it, his heart, withered and unbeating like a dried-up crab apple.

“You see, I am quite undead,” he finished.

“Freekin so undead,” she argued. “Steve like Freekin. Raven like Freekin. Tuberculosis like Freekin.” Her tone got edgy. “And Yucky Lilly lov—”

“I’m aware that Freekin is quite popular with his living friends. But you may also remember that he was tried for Curiosity, under a law I created. So I doubt that
I
would be popular with them. No, I think it would be better if I worked behind the scenes. That’s where
you
would come in, my dear.”

“Me comes in,” she repeated fiercely, not at all sure what that meant. “‘Knock knock, who’s there? Pretty! Pretty who? Me so Pretty!’”

He chuckled, amused. “Something like that.”

As he spoke, he reached into the shredded pocket of his vest and pulled out a shiny gold pocket watch. He held it up by the mossy golden chain, and he began to swing it left and right, back and forth, slowly, slowly…

“Shiny,” Pretty said. “Watches at the mall. Happy holidays!”

“Yes, there is much to purchase at the mall for the winter celebrations,” he said with a chuckle. “Like this pretty, shiny watch. Watch the watch, Miss Pretty. Keep all those lovely eyes on the watch.”

She did. Soon Pretty heard a droning sound in her ears. She felt very…calm.

“Good. Very good,” Horatio said. “Now you are under my spell. I have hypnotized you, and you must obey me without question. Say, ‘Yes, master.’”

“Yes, master,” Pretty murmured.

“Excellent.” He grinned at her as he moved his watch back and forth, to and fro. “Now listen, my girl. I was able to see what you did to those two Bad Meat Men in my factory when you and your friend Scary escaped the chomping machine. You put them in a Terror-Induced Coma. It was quite brilliant.”

Pretty’s head swayed as she watched the watch. Her ponytail ears bobbed. Her eyelids began to close.

“Terror-Induced…” she repeated.

“Yes. You almost put Freekin into a coma like that once before. I don’t think you realized it, and you stopped before you were done. But it comes quite naturally to you. And I want you to do it again.”

She frowned slightly. He took a step toward her and cupped her chin, making her watch his watch.

“Listen to the sound of my voice. It is your master’s voice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Horatio Snickering III,” Pretty said in a flat, monotone voice. “Me so understanding.”

“Excellent. Now go back to Freekin’s house and put him in a Terror-Induced Coma.”

Pretty frowned slightly. She stirred as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. Horatio Snickering dangled the watch between all her eyes, which crossed.

“I want you to do this for his own good,” Horatio Snickering said kindly. “You know how involved he gets in things. He’s risked his unlife for his friends time and time again. I would hate it if anything happened to him.”

“Freekin…” she murmured.

“I know that
you
would hate it if he were harmed, too, because you care for him so deeply. So if you put him in a coma, he’ll be safely out of the way while I make everything better for him and his friends.”

“You so good,”
she murmured. Her multiple rows of fangs glistened in the moonlight.

“Yes. I am very, very good. And so are you. You are good and obedient.”

He put away his watch and pointed toward the rusty iron gates of the cemetery. “Now, go home and put him in that coma. And when I call for you, come back to me for more instructions. I will summon you with a special secret code to let you know that I want you. Like spies.”