My Dog's a Scaredy-Cat Page 6

  “Hank, where did you put our living room?”

  “It doesn’t exist any longer, Mom. You have entered the chamber of horrors.”

  “That’s my bedspread,” she said, pointing to the wall we had made for the haunted house.

  “Your bedspread had the honor of being selected from all the bedspreads in the house to form the front wall of the scariest place on the planet,” I told her.

  “Hank, honey,” she said, “this is so creative.”

  You have to meet my mom someday. She is really a lot of fun. She almost never gets mad when I make a mess, because she says creativity and neatness don’t go together. It’s like she can see deep inside me.

  “Vlady,” she called out, running into the entry hall. “Bring the platters of prune taffy and come see what Hank and his friends have made!”

  Vladimir Olefski has worked for my mom at the Crunchy Pickle ever since he came to New York from his home in Russia. He is known for making the best sandwiches on all of the West Side because he stacks them really high with meat and then adds a special zingy red sauce that the customers love so much, they write my mom letters about it.

  Vlady came into the living room. He was carrying two big trays of the prune taffy. It looked like hunks of dark brown shoe leather topped with little pieces of yellow fuzz. You don’t even want to know what the yellow fuzz was, because it was probably something weird like dandelion pollen. From looking at that platter, I had a pretty strong feeling that we were going to have plenty of prune taffy left over.

  “Hello, little ones,” Vlady said in his thick Russian accent.

  You have to understand that everyone is a “little one” compared to Vlady. He’s so big, I didn’t think he was going to fit through the haunted house flap door. But he didn’t have to, because he looked right over the top of the sheets and stared down at what we had created.

  “This look like Babushka’s place back home in Poltava,” he said.

  “What’s a babushka?” Ashley asked him.

  “Not what. Who. Babushka is Russian word for ‘grandmother.’ ”

  “Your grandma lives in a haunted house?” Frankie said. “Wow. She must cool.”

  “That stuff,” Vlady said, pointing to the mushy brains in the baseball cap. “That look like Babushka’s breakfast porridge,” he said.

  I could see Ashley trying not to laugh.

  “And that guy,” he said, pointing to the skeleton, “remind me of Olga, our cow back in Poltava. There was no grass in our meadow so she was . . . how you say . . . skinny like a toothpick. Maybe two toothpicks.”

  That did it. We cracked up. Vlady didn’t laugh, though. I guess he was still thinking about Olga the Cow.

  “What you need is vampire,” Vlady said. “There are many vampires in my country. My grandfather Boris, for example.”

  “You’re kidding! Your grandfather was a real vampire?” I asked him.

  “We didn’t know for sure,” Vlady said. “But we never let him kiss us on neck, just in case.”

  Vlady’s bright blue eyes were twinkling. I wasn’t sure if he was kidding us or if he was just misty, thinking of his grandpa.

  “Well, much as we’d love to have a vampire, there’s no time for that now,” Ashley said. “We’re expecting the first visitors to the haunted house here any second.”

  Vlady dropped off the platters of prune taffy in the kitchen and said good-bye.

  Ashley, Frankie, and I waited by the door. Where was that Heather Payne? It was only a half hour until McKelty was supposed to arrive. And we still had to check out the haunted house to see if it was ready for that one incredible moment when Nick the Tick would wet his pants and never show his face in public again.

  The doorbell rang.

  “It’s showtime,” I said. “Ditch the lights.”

  Ashley and Frankie took their places inside the haunted house. As I crept to the door, I could hear my own heart pounding.

  I opened the door, and it was . . .

  CHAPTER 15

  DON’T GET EXCITED. It was just my dad.

  “Why is it so dark in here?” he asked.

  “Dad,” I tried to explain, “it has to be dark. We’re just about to open the haunted house. See, we decided to build it and . . .”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Emily told me all about it. Nevertheless, I need the lights on.”

  “But lights and ghosty things just don’t go together.”

  “Do you see this?” my dad said, holding up a white plastic bag. “It contains the brand-new edition of the New York Times Big Book of Crossword Puzzles. I have been waiting for this to come out for two months. Now tell me, Hank, how can I read the clues in the dark?”

  “Dad, I can’t believe you’re thinking about crossword puzzles tonight. This is H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N. As in an eight-letter word for scary fun holiday.”

  “Hank, Halloween has nine letters.”

  Is my dad a total spelling machine, or what?

  I tried to explain that we needed the living room totally dark for the haunted house, but my dad just wasn’t in a listening mood. Luckily, my mom must have overheard our conversation. She waltzed into the living room, hooked her arm in his, and flashed me this little wink she does with her left eye. Maybe it’s her right eye. You know I can’t tell the difference. It didn’t matter, because that wink meant she had a plan.

  “Come in the kitchen, Stanley,” she said. “I’ve got a nice cauliflower-and-beet stew for us—and your favorite mechanical pencil is just waiting for you in the kitchen.”

  “Sounds like my kind of evening,” my dad said. Without even a backward glance, my mom waltzed into the kitchen with my dad.

  Randi Zipzer, you are a rock star!

  I didn’t even have time to say thanks because there it was again. The doorbell. This time I knew it had to be Heather Payne. Or maybe Luke Whitman.

  Oh boy, the fun was about to start!

  CHAPTER 16

  “COMING!” I heard myself holler.

  Oh no. That voice wouldn’t do. It sounded exactly like me.

  “Coming!” I repeated in my deepest, creepiest voice. “The spirits are preparing to let you in!”

  Oh yes. That was much better.

  Ashley dashed back into the haunted house and stuck her head through the hole in the cardboard. I was on my way to the front door but stopped halfway. I turned, ran back to Ashley, and blasted a few last-minute squirts of ketchup on her cheeks. If I didn’t know better myself, I would’ve thought she was nothing more than a bloody head on a plate. I threw the napkin over her head.

  “Hank, the flashlight!” she whispered.

  I handed it to her. Frankie took his position at the spider fishing pole and flashed me the okay sign. I went to the front door, turning on the tape recorder just before I got there. The apartment echoed with the sounds of Frankie’s moans and groans.

  I opened the door just a crack.

  “Do you dare enter the chamber of fear?” I growled.

  There was silence on the other side of the door, so I went for it even more.

  “Come in at your own risk. Ghosts and goblins await you.” Then I let out a really crazed laugh.

  “Mommy!” a little voice cried. “I want to go home!”

  That didn’t sound like Heather Payne. And it sure didn’t sound like Luke Whitman. Besides, there was no bad smell coming through the crack in the door. Luke doesn’t like to take baths too often.

  “Tyler,” a woman’s voice said. “It’s your friend Hank. He’s just pretending to be scary.”

  “No, he isn’t,” said the little voice. “He’s really scary, and I’m scared of all scary things!”

  Oh no. It was Tyler King, the five-year-old who lives on our floor. He’s the last person on earth I’d want to scare. I flicked on the lights and opened the door all the way.

  “See, Tyler, it’s just me, Hank!” I said.

  “I’m not Tyler,” he whimpered, still clinging onto his mom’s skirt. “I
’m Spider-Man.”

  Of course he was. He wears his Spider-Man Halloween costume three hundred and sixtyfive days a year. I get that because when I was five, I wore my Aquaman costume all the time. Aquaman could swim through water faster than a submarine. I’d splash water all over myself so I’d look like I just swam out of the ocean, too. My mom spent a year with a towel hooked to her belt because every time she turned her back, I had soaked myself. When he was little, Frankie was obsessed with Luke Skywalker. You had to be very careful around him because he would constantly poke you in the butt with his light saber. It was a great day for my rear end when he finally outgrew that.

  “Listen, Spider-Man,” I said to Tyler. “How would you like a piece of prune taffy?”

  “Ick,” he said. “I want M&M’s. With peanuts.”

  “You’re out of luck, buddy,” I said. “This isn’t exactly the best trick-or-treat stop in the building.”

  “Try my apartment,” Frankie called out. “Apartment 4B. My mom’s got lots of those little bags of M&M’s.”

  “Are there ghosts there, too?” Tyler asked.

  “No, man. Just my brother Otis. The only thing scary about him is his breath.”

  Tyler turned and ran toward the elevator. As he and his mom got in, I heard footsteps coming out. I slammed the door fast, ditched the lights, and got back to my position just in time.

  Ding-dong.

  “Do you dare enter the chamber of fear?” I growled, opening the door a crack.

  “Of course I do. Why do you think I came over on a homework night?”

  Oh yes, that could only be the voice of Heather Payne. Leave it to her to bring up homework on the most fun night of the year.

  I opened the door and Heather came in. She was dressed as an old woman in a gray skirt with gray shoes and gray glasses and gray hair.

  Don’t tell me! Was Heather Payne trick-or-treating as Ms. Adolf?

  That might have been one of the scariest things I’d ever seen in my life. Who goes dressed up as their teacher, especially if their teacher is Ms. Adolf? It’s just not normal, I tell you.

  “So where is this haunted house?” Heather said, tapping her gray shoe impatiently. “I don’t have all night, you know. We have a social studies report due next week, and I want to get an early start on it.”

  “Follow me . . . if your nerves can handle it,” I said.

  You have to give me credit for continuing to be scary. It wasn’t easy when you had a funpooper like Heather Payne on your hands.

  I led Heather down the hall and into the living room. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have taken her hand, but the thought of holding hands with Heather Payne . . . was . . . well, let’s not even go there.

  When we reached the haunted house, I held up the door flap.

  “You may enter,” I said. “I hope you come out alive.”

  Heather went in. I followed her. Frankie was at the spider fishing pole. I could barely see him because he was dressed all in black so his clothes would blend into the darkness. I took my place behind the table with all the gooey things.

  “Wander as you wish,” I whispered. “But beware of ghosts. The spirits are restless tonight.”

  First, Heather went to the skeleton with the black light inside his chest. She reached out to touch him. Plop! His arm fell off. We hadn’t planned that, but I thought it was a nice touch. Heather didn’t flinch, though. She just reached down and picked up the arm.

  “Your skeleton’s broken,” she said. “Try super glue. It’s very adhesive.”

  Mental note to self: Glue on skeleton arms BEFORE McKelty arrives.

  Next, Heather went to where Ashley’s head was sticking through the table.

  “Pull the napkin off,” I whispered. “And be afraid. Very afraid.”

  Heather pulled the napkin off, and Ashley let out a high-pitched scream as she switched on the flashlight under her chin.

  “Hi, Ashley,” Heather said. “You got some ketchup on your face. You smell like a hamburger.”

  Mental note to self: Add more ketchup. Work on Ashley’s screaming technique.

  Then Heather went to the table with the icky gooey stuff. She stuck her hand into the bowl with the peeled grapes floating in egg whites.

  “These are the eyeballs of Frankenstein,” I whispered.

  Heather swished the grapes around with her fingers. I was hoping for her to vomit or at least spit up a little. Instead, all she did was wipe her hand on her Ms. Adolf-y skirt.

  “Egg whites,” she said. “My mother says we shouldn’t waste food. If I hadn’t already touched them, you could use them in a nice nutritious omelet.”

  This girl sure knew how to have fun. I picked up my Mets cap that held the spaghetti and Marshmallow Fluff brain mixture.

  “These are Dracula’s brains,” I whispered. “They have been preserved for two hundred years. He asks that you touch them.”

  Heather stuck her hand in my baseball cap.

  “You should really have some moist towelettes for people to wipe their hands on,” she commented. “I’m sure this concoction will stain the furniture.”

  Moist towelettes? Give me a break!

  Mental note to self: Heather Payne has the perfect name because she IS a pain with zero sense of fun. Correction. Make that minus zero.

  For what I was hoping would be the big finish, I guided Heather over to the dangling spiders. As she stood there, Frankie lowered the spiders down onto her head. Well, he was aiming for her head, that is. He missed, and the spiders shot right by her and dropped all the way to the ground until they just sat there on her gray Ms. Adolf-y shoe.

  “I saw those spiders in the market,” Heather said. “They were three for eighty-nine cents, which would be twenty-nine point six cents each. Twenty-seven if you round up.”

  She was doing math problems in our haunted house! I couldn’t believe it!

  Mental note to self: Never invite Heather Payne again. To anything. Anywhere. Anytime.

  Ever again.

  CHAPTER 17

  WHEN SHE WAS FINISHED with the haunted house, we gave Heather Payne some prune-taffy treats. Actually, we gave her a whole lot of prune-taffy treats. And you’re not going to believe this, but she was really happy to get them. That’s how weird she is.

  “This looks delicious and healthy,” she said when we stuffed a fistful of the wrapped shoe leather chunks into her hand. “Not like all those sugary candies other people give out.”

  Sugary candies! It was like Ms. Adolf was inhabiting Heather’s body!

  Wait! Could Heather Payne possibly be a clone of Ms. Adolf?

  I shuddered to think that there might be more than one Ms. Adolf in the world. One Ms. Adolf was quite enough. Way more than enough.

  As quickly as we could, we sent Heather on her way. After all, the girl wanted to get a head start on her social studies report. Plus, she was a total flop in the fun department. We did thank her for coming out on a school night. Politeness is important, especially when you’re running a haunted house.

  We had to hurry to set up for Luke Whitman. The first outing of the haunted house had been pretty disappointing. We only had one more chance to get it right before McKelty arrived.

  Frankie picked up the arm that had fallen off the skeleton.

  “Okay, captain, what do we do about this skinny dude’s arm?” he asked, waving it under my nose. “Or should I say lack of one?”

  I propped the arm bone up so it looked like it was attached to the skeleton again.

  “At first I thought we should glue it back. But now I say we just leave it there,” I said. “I think it’s cool when it falls off like it’s rotten. Scarier even than when it was attached.”

  “It didn’t seem to scare Heather Payne,” Frankie pointed out.

  “Heather Payne wouldn’t know a scary thing if it landed right on her. And speaking of things landing on her—Frankie, you have to work on your aim. The spiders have got to land bull’s-eye on top of the vic
tim’s head.”

  “Cut me a break, Zip. I’m new to this fishing thing.”

  “And, Ash,” I called in to her. “You’ve got to scream like you mean it. Really let it rip.”

  “Like this?” Ashley asked, and let out a bloodcurdling scream that was so loud, I thought her tonsils were going to blow out of her throat and land on the fireplace mantel. She let out so much air, it fogged up her glasses.

  “Shhhh,” I whispered. “I hear footsteps. “Places, everyone. I want everything to work perfectly this time.”

  Ding-dong.

  I opened the door a crack and saw Luke Whitman. Actually, I smelled him first, then saw him. He was all wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, except instead of using ancient cloth, he had used toilet paper. His arms and legs and body were completely wrapped up. Wow, he had probably used ten rolls of toilet paper. I hoped no one in his house had to go to the bathroom real bad that night.

  “Enter our chamber of fear, if you dare,” I said, clicking the tape recorder on as Luke entered. I expected the living room to fill with Frankie’s horrible moans. Mistake Number One. After Heather had left, I must have forgotten to rewind the tape back to the beginning, so instead of moans, the living room echoed with an even more hideous sound. It was Emily, singing one of her made-up lullabies to Katherine. It must have been on the tape before we recorded over it.

  I won’t make you sick by repeating the whole song. Let me just tell you that it started like this, and got even worse as it went along.

  Good night, little Kathy.

  It’s after your bathy.

  Oh, lizard, rest your head

  In your comfy lizard bed . . .

  And if the words weren’t bad enough, Emily’s voice sounded like an amped-up police siren with a bad cold.

  “Those are scary sounds, dude,” Luke Whitman said. “Sends chills down my spine big-time.”

  Then he started to wail in a voice that sounded even worse than Emily’s. I could hear Katherine hissing from the bedroom, which only added to the hair-raising sound track that was going on in our living room.