Boogers from Beyond #3 (7 page)

The room shook violently. A chandelier fell on top of the chessboard, flinging Howie the werewolf and Jimmy the Moth Man back onto the dusty carpet.

The fire blew out in the fireplace.

A great roar thundered down the hallway.

“What is it?” asked Gordon, covering his ears.

“It's got to be—” I said.

“GHOOOOOOOOSTS!” Grigore finished.

The half dozen old monsters in the game room got up as fast as they could, knocking into one another as they shuffled around the shaking room.

“Why are you guys scared?” asked Gordon. “Didn't Director Z tell you what was going on with our ghost friends?”

The puppy flopped into the room, frightened out of its mind, and right into Nabila's arms.

“Yip, yip, yip, yip,” it barked.

“GET THAT THING OUT OF MY SIGHT!” A voice rattled our teeth, and Quincy's father floated into the room.

“Very angry ghost friends,” said Gordon.

“Father! Father, stop!” Quincy yelled as he floated in after his father.

But Quincy's father didn't stop. He headed right toward Grigore.

“Noooooo!” Grigore cowered in the corner, holding the kitten tightly. “I don't even have any teeth. You vouldn't harm a helpless old vampire vith no teeth, vould you?”

“Helpless old vampire?” huffed Quincy's father. “You were the one that brought them into the house. These evil little things.”

The kitten hissed from Grigore's arms as Quincy's father leaned in closer.

The puppy growled in Nabila's tight grip.

“Whoa,” she said. “Settle down.” She tried to calm the dog, but it bit her. “OUCH!”

She dropped the yipping puppy, and it scurried out of the room.

“Father,” Quincy tried again. “Leave them alone. You're worse than Great-Grandfather.”

“Yeah,” I said, moving next to Quincy. “What's the big deal! It's just a puppy and a kitten!”

“Don't tell me how to act, boys!” he shouted. “I'm defending our house! Our honor. How dare they bring these creatures into our home . . .”

His ghostly face turned demonic; fangs poked out over his lips, his eyes glowed red, and he roared into Grigore's face.

“Please, sir,” whimpered Grigore. “Please don't drain me of my juice. Please.”

“He can't hurt you,” I yelled at Grigore. “He's just upset that you're in his house and you let the dog and cat in.”

“I can most certainly hurt him,” hissed the demon ghost. “I will scare him until he's demented.”

“Too late,” Gordon said, giggling.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Shane said.

He moved between the quaking vampire and the upset ghost. The kitten saw the perfect moment for escape and bolted into the hallway.

“We can work this out,” Shane said in his calmest Zen master voice. He turned to Quincy's father with his hands up in surrender.

“I know that you're upset . . . um . . . ,” he said, “what's your name?”

“RICHARD,” roared the ghost.

“And you have every right to let your feelings be known, Richard,” Shane said calmly. “But I'd ask that you calm down just a little, otherwise Grigore will only hear that you're screaming, not that you're saying something.”

Richard roared again, this time blowing Shane's hair back.

“Okay, thank you for listening,” Shane said calmly, and then turned to me.

“Richard, we didn't have time to tell the monsters about you,” I said. “I'm sorry. But we were pretty tired yesterday, thanks to your big show at the PTA meeting.”

“That was fun,” squealed Quincy.

“Har, har, har,” said Ben.

“Grigore,” I said, “go find Claudine and Sir Kibblebreath. I'll have to bring them back to my mother—if it really was the PTA that brought them into the house. They can't stay here—not if you want to live in this place without being haunted every day.”

Grigore slowly limped out of the room, and Richard didn't stop him. The other old monsters followed, Grace the zombie taking a swipe at Richard's face with an upset groan. His face returned to normal. Well, normal for a ghost, anyway.

“Now wait a minute,” Lt. Commander Stratford said as he floated into the room. “I don't think we should be too hasty, Grandson.”

“Do you really want those beasts strutting around this house?” asked Richard. “You said yourself these old monsters would rain ruin upon our house—letting those terrible creatures into it is certainly a step toward that.”

“I think, Grandson,” Lt. Commander Stratford said, waving his short sword around the room, “that those beasts will end up doing more harm to the old monsters then they will to us, or our house.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Oh, I don't know,” said the old ghost. “I just think they've got something in them.”

“Yes, they've certainly got a lot in them,” said Lady Stratford as she entered the room, Leila in tow. “And quite a lot of it has come out onto our carpets. Disgusting.”

The puppy and kitten scampered into the room again, and Quincy backed away.

“I think they're scary,” said Quincy. “And they make my nose feel funny.”

Just thinking about it, Quincy sneezed, and snorted up a huge, glowing booger. He went to pick it, when—

“Quincy!” his mother screeched. “WHAT IN HEAVENS ARE YOU DOING?”

“Ma,” said Quincy. “Why are you always ruining my fun?”

“Fiddlesticks,” said his mother. “You should really use a handkerchief! It's completely uncouth.”

“This is what's going to happen,” I said, scooping up the dog. “We're going to get these guys out of your hair. Then, we'll introduce you to the Director, and you guys can set some ground rules about the old monsters in the house. Everyone's gonna be happy, I swear it. Shane, grab the cat.”

“It was a terrible idea, anyway,” added Ben. “Quincy, let me get a look at that booger . . .”

“I'll search the house for stained carpets, and do what I can to scrub up the mess,” Gordon said.

“Great,” I said. “Nabila, could you help Gordon?”

Nabila sat in a chair staring off into space. A long string of drool hung from her mouth.

“NABILA!” screeched Ben. “What's going on?”

“It bit me,” she mumbled. “So badly.”

“What?” I asked.

We all rushed over. Her hand was red and swollen.

“She's having an allergic reaction to the dog bite,” said Ben, and he unzipped Nabila's fanny pack. “I just need to get my rash cream, Nabila. And an allergy pill.”

The Lt. Commander floated over. “See, I told you that there was something special about these mangy little furballs,” he said.

I looked down at Sir Kibblebreath, and wondered if there was something special about him. He shook his little head in my arms, and some hair floated up into my nose.

“Ah, ahhhh, ahhhhhhh . . . CHOOOOO!” I sneezed so hard that the glass on the fallen chandelier shook a bit.

“Yes,” said Richard. “There is something ‘special' about these animals. Which is exactly why we need to get them out of our home immediately. They're making me itchy just looking at them.”

“We'll leave you to help out your friend,” said the Lt. Commander. “We'll be back for an update. Unless we see your friend first.”

“See our friend first?” Gordon asked.

“Oh, you mean if she dies?” Shane asked.

“Exactly,” wheezed the old ghost.

“Great-Grandfather!” squeaked Quincy. “You're so mean!!!”

“I'm. Not. Goingtodie.” Nabila gasped. “Feeling better . . . already.”

“Come on, Grandfather,” said Richard. “They've had enough.” Richard sneezed himself out of the room with a huge ACHOOO.

“And so have I,” came Richard's voice from the hallway.

“Where do they go, anyway?” I asked as the rest of the family floated into the hall, some through the open door, and some through the walls.

Shane sneezed.

“What the heck is going on?” Ben said. “I'm feeling better than I have in weeks, and everyone else is sneezing or having allergy attacks—even the ghosts!”

“Okay, everyvone,” Grigore said as he entered the room with a basket. “I've found vone of our furry little friends.”

“Wait, what?” I asked. “We've already got Claudine
and
Sir Kibblebreath.”

“Huh . . . ,” Grigore said as he put down the basket. “But . . .”

We all peered into the basket to see . . .

Another kitten!

“What the . . .” Gordon was astonished.

Grigore sneezed, his dentureless lips flapping like a whoopee cushion.

“Were there two kittens when they arrived?” I asked Grigore.

“No,” he said. “Just vone. Of each. Two in total.”

Grigore scratched his bald head, trying to figure it all out.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Gentlemen,” said Director Z as he stormed into the room. “Are you responsible for the puppy which is currently in my office?”

“Nope,” said Shane. “We're just responsible for this one.”

“That one looks exactly like him,” said Director Z, pointing at the puppy in my arms. “Yes, that's the one. How did you get him out of my office? I just locked him in there so he wouldn't be eaten by the residents.”

“So there must be two of each,” I replied.

“What?” asked Director Z, annoyed. “Please tell me what's going on here. I don't think it wise to have animals at this facility.”

“We're not sure what's going on,” said Shane, “except that Grigore found a puppy and kitten at the door, with a thank-you note from the PTA. And he brought them in.”

“Just two, though, I svear!” Grigore said.

“But then how are there four animals now, Grigore?” demanded Director Z.

“I don't know,” whined Grigore.

“De. Mented,” chirped Gordon.

“Stop it,” Ben said, and kicked Gordon in the shin.

“Yeah, you show him,” said Nabila.

“Feeling better?” I asked Nabila.

“What happened to Nabila?” asked Director Z.

“That little beast bit me,” said Nabila, pointing at the puppy. “And I had a very bizarre allergic reaction.”

“We'll have the witches take a look at that,” said Director Z. “Or would you like Leech Lady to take a little blood from the wound?”

“I'll go see the witches,” said Nabila, and she made her way out of the room.

“Chris, I need you to get these animals out of the house at once,” Director Z said.

“Okay,” I said. “I'll tell my mother she needs to pick me up early. Maybe we can take them back where she got them. Shane, can you help?”

“Sure thing,” said Shane. “The sooner the better. I'm starting to get hives.”

“Gordon and Ben,” said Director Z, “can you please help the chefs prepare dinner? It's taco night, so things might get messy, between the olives, onions, eye-of-newt, and other toppings crawling all over the place.”

Director Z, Shane, and I were left alone.

“You swear you didn't have anything to do with this?” he asked.

“Why would I?” I replied. “Feeding baby animals to old monsters is just not a hobby of mine.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with the ghosts?” asked Director Z.

“Yeah, and we were able to chill them out, until the puppy and kitten showed up,” Shane said.

“That old ghost loves the animals for some reason,” I said. “Do you think he brought them?”

“I'm not sure,” said Director Z, “but I don't like them. They—”

Director Z stopped and quickly pulled out a handkerchief.

“Don't like who?” asked Shane.

Director Z paused with the handkerchief in front of his nose.

“I think he means the puppies and kittens,” I said.

“AAAAAAACHOOOOO!” Director Z sneezed. “Get them out of here, boys.”

When she picked me up, my mother confirmed that she hadn't sent any pets to the retirement home.

“Although that does sound like a good idea,” she said. “I wish I had thought of it. I hear animals really help old people stuck in retirement homes feel happy.”

I wondered for a moment if Grigore was lying about where the puppy and kitten came from, but didn't think about it long. They'd have a new home soon.

Luckily, my mom's friend Barbara runs a rescue shelter. As we drove there, Shane and I tried to contain the animals as they raced around the inside of the car.

“WHHHHAAAAAACHOOOO!” I sneezed.

A huge wad of green snot broke into booger chunks on the windshield. It looked like a bird had eaten split pea soup and relieved itself on our car.

My mother turned on the windshield wipers with an EWWWWW.

“No, Mom,” I said with a snort. “That's on the inside.”

“WELL, COVER YOUR NOSE NEXT TIME,” she screeched as my boogers dripped onto the dashboard.