Boogers from Beyond #3 (3 page)

Early the next morning, Ben, Nabila, Shane, Gordon, and I arrived back at Gallow Manor to help set up the banquet hall for the PTA meeting.

“I'm so excited to spend the day with the monsters,” said Nabila as she pulled a handkerchief from her fluorescent pink fanny pack. She handed it to Ben, who couldn't stop sneezing. “I really like the idea of working
with
them, rather than
for
them.”

“It depends on the monster,” said Gordon. “Murray is always so cranky, Griselda is bossy, and Grigore is plain batty. Not to mention the zombies are . . . well . . .
zombies
.”

“I'm just happy that the monsters are finally doing something other than drooling,” Shane said. “You saw how helpful they were during the move. All the monsters are getting stronger.”

“Yeah, but they're still old,” said Ben. “They just went from insanely ancient to just plain old.”

“But if we do have another attack,” Shane said, “they should be strong enough to fight. I've been teaching them some moves.”

“I don't even want to think about another attack,” I said. “I just want to survive this PTA meeting without my mother attacking.”

“I don't know about surviving your mother,” said Director Z, who had walked up to the entrance of the banquet hall to meet us, “but it would be hard for someone to attack the manor. We have extra protection in the main facility with a deep dungeon to fall back into if we need it. But we won't need it with the charms and seals that have been put on the facility. And Shane and Gordon's emergency action plans have all been memorized by the residents, who, I assure you, are ready for a fight if it happens.”

Someone on the other side of the hall huffed. We turned to see Murray standing at a podium. He waved his wrapped hand dismissively at Director Z.

“It doesn't matter what you do, Zachary,” said Murray. “We're all done for. The great lebensplasm drinker in the sky will take every last one of us before all is said and done.”

“What's got into Hotep?” Shane said while pointing his thumb toward the podium.

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you,” grumbled Murray. “My name is Murray. Not Hotep.”

“You've got to be kidding. Murray's not a mummy name,” said Shane. “It just doesn't feel right. You're totally Hotep.”

Gordon snickered. “Told you Murrayhotep was a grump! He barely helped the other monsters move into this place—half the time he had disappeared to who-knows-where.”

“Well, I'll have you know—” Murray started to say.

“Let it be, Murray,” Director Z said. “We have a lot to accomplish before the parents and teachers arrive.”

“You always side with the humans, Zachary,” Murray said as he stormed out of the hall. “This is why you will always fail.”

My first job was to clear out the massive sections of giant spiderwebs that covered most of the hall. I stood with a broom and a pair of hedge clippers as I stared down at least a half dozen fist-size spiders.

“I told you guys that the East Wing is off limits today!” I said to the agitated spiders.

In unison they shook their hairy spider legs at me and then reared up, exposing insanely long and pointy fangs.

“I have to take down your webs,” I continued. “There's no way around this.”

Griselda, the head witch, approached with a small black bag.

“All right,” she cackled, “I need a refill of leg-of-spider. Any volunteers?”

The spiders quickly formed a line and scurried out of the door.

“Ve need three more chairs over here,” called Grigore, who was helping set up the seating.

Shane rushed over to him with three more chairs.

“It's great to see us all working as a team,” sniffled Ben as he helped set up the catering table. Nabila smiled at him as she came over to help with the chairs.

A few zombies ambled aimlessly past her, shuffling chairs from place to place. Nabila huffed and said, “That's good, Jane and John. Just open up the rest of the chairs—I'll straighten things up.”

I dodged the zombies and made my way over to Director Z, who was adjusting the podium. Across the hall Gordon waved his arms, trying to get my attention. He was fiddling with the speakers.

I grabbed the microphone. “Testing, testing, one, two, three . . .”

Gordon gave me a thumbs-up from the back row.

“Awesome,” he said as he jogged over. “Now that we're finished setting up, I can play fetch with the werewolves in the North Wing. That hallway is HUGE!”

“Not so quick,” said Director Z. “We have a few errands to run.”

“What!?” the five of us said at the same time.

“Speaking of werewolves,” continued Director Z, “we need to go to the pet store in town to pick up chew toys, and Medusa's snakes are almost down to their last mouse. We should probably head to the butcher's and the blood bank as well. That's a lot to carry, and I'll need all of you to help.”

“How are we getting there?” asked Nabila.

“We'll take the company car,” Director Z replied.

We all looked at the Director in shock.

“You have a car?” asked Nabila. “Why didn't you tell us? This whole time, you could have picked us up and saved our parents the trouble.”

“Did you think I just walked around to get from place to place?” Director Z asked. “Of course we have a car. I just don't like to take it out that often, and I don't think your parents would appreciate it if I started picking you up in it.”

“Why?” asked Nabila.

“You'll see,” he replied, and motioned us out the door.

We walked to a beautiful carriage house off the east side of the manor. It had three huge wooden doors. The one in the center was open, and inside was a brand-new, sparkly and clean . . .

“Hearse?” Shane chuckled. “Okay, I can see why you don't take this out too often.”

Ben gulped. “I don't think I can ride in this.”

Director Z opened the back door to reveal an old coffin.

“Like I said,” Ben mumbled as he choked something back down, “I don't think I can ride in this.”

“You can ride in the front with me,” said Director Z.

“Is anybody . . . ,” Nabila said and pointed at the coffin.

“No,” Director Z replied, but then a funny look came over his face. “Well, maybe. You might want to knock.”

We all piled into the hearse, and Director Z reversed it out of the carriage house. Before he was able to turn down the road, a Nurse jumped in front of the car.

Director Z slammed on the brakes. All of us, and the coffin, slid up toward the front seats.

“Boss,” the Nurse said, knocking on the window, “we've lost Murray and Grigore. Again. They should be helping us with the food, but we can't find them anywhere!”

“I'm sure they'll wander back,” said Director Z. “Until the residents get used to this place, they're going to keep getting lost. Have three Nurses check each wing.”

A creaking sound came from the back of the hearse. A gnarled hand made its way out from below the cover of the coffin.

“Wha!? Guys!!” Nabila squealed, backing away from the coffin.

Whatever Ben had choked down earlier erupted down the front of his shirt.

“I'm here,” croaked Grigore. “I'm just a little down. It's just I . . . I vas thinking about somevone I'd lost . . . and vas trying to hide avay.”

“See,” said Director Z as he slowly pulled the car away from the Nurse, “we've found one already. Go back to bed, Grigore. Everything is fine.”

Two hours later the hearse pulled back into the carriage house. Gordon was slumped in his seat. He had been terrified that someone from the team would see him riding around in the big, black death boat. Once Director Z turned off the ignition, Gordon practically jumped out of the car, yelling, “Pietro! Howie! Calling all mangy mutts for a game in the North Wing hallway.”

“Gordon,” I yelled. “Aren't you going to help carry anything?”

“No time,” he called back.

“Just be careful in the manor,” Director Z added. “If you break anything, you'll pay for it.”

That's strange
, I thought
, we've broken plenty of things in the past and he never made us pay for anything. Now he's mentioned it twice.

Shane struggled to get out of the hearse, holding on to a huge bag that squirmed and squeaked.

“Hey,” he said, and I gave him a little push through the door. “Do you remember when we had to hand-feed the mice to poor Medusa's snakes? Now they're chomping at us before we can even get the package open.”

“Things have certainly changed,” I said. “I think—”

Spray from a wet sneeze blew across my face. Nabila whipped out her handkerchief and offered it to me.

“Sorry,” Ben snorted. “We should probably go soon. I've run out of allergy medication.”

“I'll call my mother after we catch up with Gordon. I might want to toss a few balls myself,” I said.

The werewolves were going crazy in the North Wing.

“FETCH!” yelled Gordon. He tossed a large red rubber ball, and the three werewolves went tearing down the huge hallway, which was as wide as a small soccer field.

They nipped at each other, and then one of them ran back to Gordon with the ball.

“Can I try?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Gordon.

“I'm next,” said Shane.

“Make sure to throw it really far, or they'll just stand there and wait for you to try again,” said Gordon.

“Oooof,” I yelped as I tossed the ball as far as I could.

The three werewolves went scurrying off with a howl.

One grabbed the ball and came running back at me . . . FAST!

“Wait,” I said. “Slow down!”

Faster and faster he ran, until he knocked my feet out from under me. I fell into Ben, sending him headfirst into a pedestal that held a large vase.

“Are you okay?” asked Shane as he picked me up.

Ben was holding on to the pedestal for dear life. But the vase jiggled as Ben swayed, trying to steady himself—it had edged right to the side.

“Don't move!” said Shane as he headed for Ben.

Ben's eyes widened, and I noticed his nose begin to twitch. “Ahh . . . ,” he said. “AAAAAAH . . .”

“Whatever you do,” I said, moving in behind Shane, “don't finish that sneeze.”

“CHOOOOOOO!”

He shook the pedestal violently, knocking the vase over in a shower of snot. Shane dove to catch it, but the snot-covered vase slipped through his fingers and smashed into a million pieces.

“Sorry,” coughed Ben. “I told you we should have gone home.”

Shane sat up and wiped his boogery fingers on Ben's shirt. “Do you have any superglue in that fanny pack of yours?” he asked Nabila.

“Something tells me this is beyond superglue,” I said.