Beware the Ninja Weenies (2 page)

“Not yet.” Royce put his backpack down, unzipped it slowly enough that it didn't make much noise, and pulled out a mirror. It was about the size of a sheet of typing paper. “I borrowed this from the science room.”

“Are you crazy?” I couldn't believe he was going to try to turn the Gorgon into stone. I mean, cheese.

“I have to see what happens.” He held the mirror in front of his face, stood up, and shouted, “Hey! Look here!”

Not very subtle, but I guess it got her attention. I heard a pathetic squawk from inside.

Royce grinned at me. “I knew it would work.” He tilted his head downward and raised the mirror a little bit. So he could see beneath it. I looked away, just in case.

“Cheese feet,” Royce said. He raised the mirror higher. “Cheese legs.”

He raised the mirror all the way. Then he let out a pathetic squawk and froze.

“Royce!”

I touched his arm. My fingers sank into something soft and creamy. It was solid Gorgonzola. I guess the Gorgon was still too horrifying to look at, even after she was turned to cheese. Maybe she was even more horrifying now.

As sad as it was to lose a friend, there wasn't any point sticking around. It's not like I could do anything for Royce.

I thought about breaking off a hunk of him for my parents, but that just seemed wrong, somehow.

It took a lot of willpower not to sneak a peek at the Gorgon for myself, but I managed to keep from turning my head toward a cheesy fate as I hurried away from the building.

I didn't relax until I got back to the highway. Then, without thinking, I licked my fingers.

Hmmm. Not bad. Kind of tangy and buttery. It tasted a lot better than it smelled. Actually, it tasted really good. I'd bet it would be great on crackers. But I was pretty sure it would never become my favorite cheese. Not now that I knew where it came from.

 

BLOWOUT

The moon was full,
but despite its light, the stars were bright. Yes, it was poetic. But poetry wasn't on Arlen's mind. Power was on his mind. And his mind was full of power. From the time he'd first stared at the sky, he'd used his mind to tear apart clouds. He'd made leaves fall from trees, and icicles plunge from rooftop gutters. He'd once caused a bird to drop from the air, but that had seemed wrong, so he concentrated on things that didn't walk or crawl or swim or fly.

Now Arlen was ready for something grander than clouds or leaves. “Watch this,” he told his sister Riva. “You'll be amazed.” He aimed his finger at a star and blew out a sharp burst of air, as if he'd been struck full force in the stomach.

The star flickered faster than before, dimmed for a moment, then returned to normal.

“Cute,” Riva said. “But not amazing.”

“Wait,” Arlen said before Riva could walk away. “I've almost got it.”

He puffed again, changing the forces in subtle ways.

This time, the star vanished as if someone had splashed a blot of ink across it. The star itself, and all the light it cast, no longer existed.

“Gone,” Arlen said. “Snuffed for good.” He gave Riva a dark smile, then pointed toward another star, brighter than the first.

“Stop,” Riva said. “You're always ruining things.”

“There are countless stars,” he said. “Nobody will miss this one.”

He puffed it away.

“Or that one.” He pointed toward the eastern horizon.

As he puffed, Riva put her hand in front of his mouth.

“Doesn't matter,” Arlen said as the star vanished. “It's like an X-ray, or a powerful thought. Nothing can block it.”

He walked over to a large maple tree on their front lawn, put his face an inch from the trunk, and puffed right through it, erasing another star.

“Stop it,” Riva said. “Please.”

Arlen laughed and faced the west, turning his back on Riva. “No. It makes me feel strong. I feel like I'll outlast the universe. Oh, there's a pretty one, all red and twinkly.” He pointed toward the sky and drew in a breath.

“No!” Riva tackled him. He was older and taller, but Riva was motivated, and she understood leverage.

Arlen went down hard, with Riva's shoulder in his back.
“Oof!”
he puffed as his body struck the ground. The blast from his lips parted the grass.

Something changed.

Riva rolled off her brother, wondering why the stars were suddenly so much brighter and the world around her suddenly so much darker.

All was black except for the stars.

“The moon,” Riva whispered. It was gone.

“How—?” Arlen said.

Riva pointed where the moon had been, all full and bright. “I don't know. You didn't aim that way.”

Another thought hit her, striking with more force than a tackle. “The moon doesn't make its own light.”

They looked down at the ground. Riva imagined the path of Arlen's power. It had shot through the earth, just as easily as it had passed through her hand or the tree. And it had struck a star on the other side. A star that warmed the earth and lit the moon.

Arlen had snuffed the sun.

The stars overhead twinkled in an endless night. On Earth, the air grew cold. Arlen outlasted the sun by several hours, but he didn't come close to outlasting the universe.

 

CHRISTMAS CAROL

Carol let out a
small sigh of happiness as she sank back against the couch cushions and admired the wrapping paper scattered across the living room floor. Her parents had headed to the kitchen to whip up a strawberry-pancake breakfast. Her big brother had gone out to visit his friends. Her little brother had passed out on the floor—which wasn't a huge surprise, since he'd been awake half the night, too excited to sleep. He'd stumbled into her bedroom at least seven times to ask, “Is it Kwitsmats yet?” That was about as close as he could get to saying
Christmas.

Ah, Christmas,
Carol thought. That was the most wonderful word ever spoken.

“I wish every day was Christmas,” she said aloud as she stroked the amazingly soft cashmere sweater her parents had given her. It had come with a matching scarf and gloves, just as gorgeous, and just as soft.

FWABOOMPH!

The glass doors in front of the fireplace flew open. Someone burst into the room. He was dressed like Santa Claus, but in reverse, with a white outfit bordered in red trim. He was very thin, fairly young, and thoroughly sooty.

Carol didn't scream or jump or gasp. She went to school with the McGurdle triplets, who were totally hyperactive and always hurling things at one another, and with Valerie Tadzmire, who screamed at the top of her lungs every time she spotted a bug, or even a drawing of a bug. So Carol wasn't easily startled or disturbed.

“Is everything okay?” her mother called from the kitchen.

“It's just fine,” Carol called back.

The stranger took a step toward her, then waited. Carol waited, too.

“Aren't you going to ask me who I am?” the stranger said.

“I'm pretty sure you're planning to tell me,” Carol said.

“I am the Spirit of Christmas Presents,” the stranger said, as if she had actually asked the question. “And I am here to grant you your wish.”

“Wait,” Carol said, holding up one hand. “A present and a wish aren't the same. You seem to be a bit mixed up. If you're the Spirit of Christmas Presents, why are you granting wishes? Shouldn't you be a genie or the Spirit of Christmas Wishes, or something like that, if you want to grant wishes?”

“Look, I don't make the rules,” he said. He sneezed, then rubbed his soot-streaked nose with one hand.

“Ick. Cover your face next time,” Carol said.

“Sorry.” He took off his hat, wiped his nose, then put it back on. The hat, that is. The nose was already on.

“As I was saying, I have come here to grant you your wish and teach you a lesson. It will now always be Christmas. Every day. Forever.” His voice deepened as he drew out the last word.

“Yay!” Carol said. “That's awesome. Every day?”

“Every single day,” he said, as if this could possibly be a bad thing.

“Cool. Thanks.” Carol slid off the couch and headed for the kitchen. It smelled like the pancakes were ready.

She spent a wonderful day enjoying her presents and exchanging messages with all her friends. None of them had gotten a cashmere sweater.

She was thrilled the next morning to discover that it was Christmas again. She got to unwrap a whole new pile of presents. Some were the same—her uncle Milton always sent her a calendar—but others were delightfully different. Instead of a sweater, she got two pairs of jeans and a belt.

And it was Christmas once again the morning after that. And the next morning. And the next.

Every day was Christmas.

After a month or two—Carol had stopped counting days—the fireplace doors
FWABOOMPH
ed again, and the Spirit of Christmas Presents staggered out.

“Well, Carol,” he said, “what have we learned?”

“Learned?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. What have we learned?”

“Well, there's no school on Christmas. So, while I can't speak for you, I know I've learned absolutely nothing.” She held up a box of chocolates her aunt Gertrude had sent her. “Want one?” she asked.

“No, thank you. But listen—I'm not talking about things you learned, or didn't learn, in school. What has getting your wish taught you?”

Carol looked at the scattered presents, then sniffed the wonderful aroma of waffles, which her parents made on Christmas mornings when they didn't make pancakes, French toast, or coffee cake.

“Getting my wish has taught me that if you keep making impossible wishes, one of them might actually come true someday, and then things will be perfect and wonderful forever and ever.”

“No, no, no,” he said. “Aren't you tired of getting presents?”

“Are you kidding?” Carol reached down and picked up a doll from the pile of toys at her feet. “This one talks and takes videos. I got two new books, a microscope, and a bead-craft kit. If I wished for anything at all, it would be for a longer day.”

“What about TV?” he asked. “Aren't you getting tired of the Christmas specials?”

Carol shook her head. “I could watch
A Christmas Story
all day, every day.”

“No school?” he said.

“What's your point?” she asked.

The Spirit of Christmas Presents sighed, got up, and headed toward the fireplace. As he walked, he turned his coat inside out. Now it was orange and black.

“Where are you going?” Carol asked.

“There's a boy down the street who keeps wishing it would always be Halloween,” he said.

“And now it's going to be?” Carol asked.

“For him, it will. Until he learns his lesson.”

Carol thought about the kids in her neighborhood. “Is it Seth Porter?”

“That's the one.” The Spirit of Christmas Presents took off his hat and turned it inside out, revealing more orange and black.

“He'll totally love it,” she said. “He'll never want it to end.”

“Great. Just great.” The Spirit of Christmas Presents, who had now slipped into his Spirit of Halloween Treats outfit, climbed into the chimney.

Carol went back to examining the chocolates, trying to guess what was inside each one. It was wonderful knowing she didn't have to make them last. She'd get another box from one of her relatives next Christmas. And next Christmas was only a day away. A fabulous, present-filled, joy-strewn day.

She nibbled the corner of one of the chocolates. “Mmmmm, lemon creme.”

A moment later, from halfway up the chimney, she heard a faint voice call, “Just give a shout if you ever realize how dreadful and meaningless your life has become.”

“I'll do that,” Carol said. But she knew she never would.

 

THRESHOLDS OF PAIN

It was our last
night at the beach. We'd been there a week, and had gotten wonderfully burned by the sun, beaten by the surf, and abraded by the sand. We'd already explored all of Wavecrest Cove, the town where we were staying, so after dinner, Dad drove us down to Regence Beach, which had a short boardwalk and an amusement pier.

There was only one roller coaster, but it was a good one. Dad and I rode it twice, once up front, and once in the back car, while Mom took my little brother and sister on the kiddie rides.

We played some games after that, even though Dad told us there wasn't much chance of winning. He was right, but it was still fun to try.

Then I saw it. Right between the BB gun shooting gallery and what must have been the eighty-seventh pizza place. B
UCK
No
RDSTRUM'S
A
UTHENTIC
A
MAZING
S
IDESHOW
. That's what the sign said.

“Dad, look!” I grabbed his arm and pointed at the posters over the entrance. They promised wonders beyond anything the human mind could imagine.

I saw Dad's expression. He was interested, even though the interest was quickly replaced by a good-parent face. “That's not really appropriate entertainment for young people,” he said.

“Oh, come on. There's a guy who eats glass! And a lady who turns into a gorilla! We have to go. There's no way we can miss this.”

I watched Mom to see whether she'd have a problem with it. If she didn't kill the idea, I knew I could get Dad to go.

She barely frowned. “I'll never understand why you're so fascinated by that sort of thing.”

That was good enough to make me forge ahead. “Please, Dad? There's nothing like this anywhere near us. It's our only chance. Remember when we went to the Ripley's Museum in San Francisco? That was awesome. This will be great, too. Can we?”