Desmond Pucket and the Mountain Full of Monsters Page 4

  Mr. Humphries is the manager of Crab Shell Pier, and his little trailer office is filled with old amusement park pictures and old amusement park food smells. The boxy room has windows, but they look like they’ve never been opened. And Mr. Humphries looks like a guy who’s been sitting in a little room with unopened windows for years and years.

  “So let me get this straight,” he says between the laughs and coughs. “You kids want to buy the monsters from the Mountain Full of Monsters ride?!”

  I used to have $414.74, but I had to give Kyle the bus kid $20 for gas. And $20 went to Rachel for “boyfriend rental.” I kid you not.

  And then, more laughing and choking.

  “Are you for real, kid?! I wouldn’t blow those things up! Those old pieces of crud are worth thousands!”

  “. . . he’s coming to pick them up this weekend,” finishes Mr. Humphries.

  I just stand there in shock. The only sound in the room is Mr. Humphries’s straw as he sucks the last drops out of his Colossa-Cola. Finally, Kyle the bus kid breaks the silence.

  My heart sinks. We all start to slowly move out of the tiny trailer office. But I can’t let it go that easily.

  “No!” I shout. “No! They’re not just stupid monsters!”

  Now I’m right in Mr. Humphries’s face, but he just stares back at me with a blank look in his eyes. I sigh and head for the door, waving to the others.

  “Let’s get out of here, guys. He just doesn’t—”

  “Stop!” yells Mr. Humphries. “Wait . . .”

  “Come back on Saturday, before the junk man. I’ll let you and your friends in the Mountain Full of Monsters. You can take whatever monsters you can haul off. For $500 bucks. That’s the best I can do.”

  I shake hands with Mr. Humphries and my mind is already racing, trying to figure how to pull this off.

  “And you’re right, Desmond,” Mr. Humphries says as he turns and reaches for one of the old faded photos, pulling it off the wall. “Those monsters are a piece of history.”

  He looks at the picture for a moment and then hands it to me.

  “I love them as much as you do.”

  23 desmond the idiotic

  “I have no idea what’s going on in that avocado–size brain of yours,” Rachel says as soon as we get back in the van. “Where are you going to get the rest of that money?! And don’t even think for a second that Kyle is driving you back here on Saturday, because he’s not! Guh, you’re such an idiot!”

  “I hate to say it, dude, but she’s right . . .”

  “Well, we can’t give up now,” I say. “There must be something we haven’t thought of!”

  “No, Dumbo,” says Becky. “Tina’s having a huge all–night birthday party campout at Cloverfield Park this Friday! Every girl in the entire sixth grade is invited. I’m invited, too!”

  “Becky, that’s an incredibly awesome idea,” I start. “But, the only problem is . . .”

  “Oh, brother, here we go,” Becky says, her eyes rolling like crazy.

  “. . . nothing too crazy! We’ll keep it a ‘Fun Scare,’ OK?”

  “. . . meanwhile, the Wickerstool twins, Keith, and I will plan and put together The Great Summer Campout Scare of Cloverfield Park!”

  24 the plan

  “You must chill, Keith! You’re going to give the scare–biz a bad name!”

  “But . . . ” Keith says, “we’ll be in the woods . . . in the middle of the night . . . lots of girls sitting around a fire telling ghost stories . . . surrounded by total darkness . . .”

  “And here’s the best part, Keith . . . you’re in charge of the ghosts! We had to hire a bunch of extra kids, and you’re going to make sure they scare when they’re supposed to scare!”

  “. . . how does that sound?”

  “It sounds really lame,” says Keith.

  “OK, look, I know it’s not the greatest. But this scare is going to pay to save the monsters from Crab Shell Pier!”

  “Come on, Keith . . . we really need this to go off without a hitch. Right after the scare, we have to head straight to Crab Shell Pier before the junk man comes . . .”

  25 the great summer campout scare of cloverfield park

  Everything is in place and ready to go. The team is just waiting for my signal. From my tree position high above the campsite, I bend the communications microphone toward my mouth.

  Becky rigged the trees yesterday with a boatload of wireless mini-speakers . . .

  . . . and Ricky’s off in the bushes with the remote that will launch his prerecorded moans and groans and howls (and no doubt, the occasional atomic fart . . . it’s his trademark!).

  Becky is our “inside person” . . . actually down there mixed in with the sixth grade girls sitting around the roaring bonfire, though she’s not linked into our ear bud walkie-talkies.

  She just has a small flashlight to signal me when the ghost-storytelling hits the perfect point at which to start the campout scare.

  Any minute now.

  Any second—

  Right on cue, Ricky’s creepy soundtrack of monsters and ghosts and farts fills the dark woods surrounding the crowd of girls. The constant chatter and laughing below me comes to a quick stop as the eerie sounds grow louder, weirder, and fartier.

  And then . . .

  Nothing.

  I bang my microphone and try again. Still nothing.

  And then . . .

  Suddenly, crashing through the bushes and trees toward the mass of screaming, scrambling girls . . .

  . . . an army of giant crazy killer clowns with chainsaws! Keith Schimsky executed an unauthorized “Dr. Shock”!

  I have to admit, these freaky clown monsters are amazing! I’ll have to find out how Keith pulled it off! But right now, I have to stop this before it gets any more out of control . . .

  With a sharp tug on the harness that he and Jasper had rigged, Jessup blasts me up and over the wild scene.

  I hit the ground and start looking for one person . . .

  I run up and grab his shoulder, spinning him around to face me.

  Keith Schimsky’s laugh cuts through all the noise of crazy chainsaw clowns and screaming sixth grade girls.

  “You’re finished, Pucket! Washed up! Done!”

  Before I can say anything, whistles and shouts add to the mess of noise. Searchlights sweep through the trees.

  “Park rangers!” growls Keith, and dives into the shadows.

  I turn to run, and in the chaos I crash right into the last person I want to see right now.

  “No, no, wait! You don’t understand! It wasn’t me! I tried—”

  Suddenly whistles, flashlights, and footsteps are all around us. The park rangers are closing in! I make a move for the shadows but—

  26 explosion in my face

  Did you ever wonder where teachers go during the summer? Do they have other jobs? Are they put into suspended animation? Are they released into the wild?

  It makes total sense that Mr. Needles, the school disciplinarian, would be a park ranger: he can be much more annoying with a flashlight and a whistle.

  Seated in the little park ranger guard house, Mr. Needles wastes no time jumping all over me.

  “Not only did you violate numerous Cloverfield Park rules, but you personally ruined Miss Schimsky’s birthday campout! What a shame! I know you’ve been sweet on her for months!”

  For once, Mr. Needles is right. And when my Dad hears all this, I’ll be grounded for a million years and I won’t be able to make it to Crab Shell Pier in time and the monsters will get sold to that junk dealer. Not that I had a way to get back there anyway, because Rachel won’t let her boyfriend drive me . . .

  All I wanted to do was save some old monsters from getting blown up . . . and the whole thing ended up exploding in my face.
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br />   To quote a favorite cartoon character, “That’s all I can stands, I can stands no more!” Now if I only had some spinach, and that spinach could turn me into a super-human sailor with giant forearms, I’d go all Popeye on Mr. Needles! Instead, I jump onto the table and—

  “I thought school officials are supposed to try to help the students,” I scream. “All you ever do is try to get me in trouble! What do you have against me?!”

  Suddenly the room grows quiet and Mr. Needles stands with his back to me.

  27 yes!

  “Search your feelings, Desmond!” Mr. Needles says in a low voice. “You know it to be true!”

  Whoa! I’m totally having a weird Darth Vader/ Luke Skywalker moment here.

  “Hang on a second, Mr. Needles . . . are we talking about the same father . . . who’s my dad?”

  “Well, he’s not like you now, Desmond, but he used to be,” says Mr. Needles.

  “So you see, Desmond, you Puckets are all alike! And I will not rest until you and your shenanigans are expunged from all parks and recreation areas!”

  Wow, that’s a lot of big important words. And even “shenanigans” and “expunged” stuck in one sentence too!

  Suddenly a bright beam of car headlights flashes across the wooden walls of the small park cabin and Mr. Needles smiles devilishly.

  “And that should be your parents now . . .”

  . . . as crazy as this night has been, and now as it ends with me getting grounded and losing the Crab Shell Pier monsters forever . . . I still can’t get used to the idea of Mom and Mr. Needles holding hands, or Dad working in a carnival haunted house! Even if it was a hundred years ago!

  We hear the car getting closer.

  And closer. And closer . . .

  28 the brave little rescue

  “Desmond, come on!”

  It’s Ricky! Without even thinking, I jump up and head to the doorway that no longer has its door.

  “Is that even a thing?” I ask, as I yank my foot away from Mr. Needles’s tight grip.

  I follow Ricky outside and . . . what do I hear? Christmas music?!

  “But how—,” I ask in amazement.

  “Becky did it, Desmond,” Ricky says as he hurries me to the vehicle. “When things fell apart at the scare, we all scattered and then met up at my house!”

  “But who’s driving?” I ask as Ricky pulls me through the door.

  “Woo hoo! You think I’d ever turn down a chance to drive a ’53 Volvo 638 bus?!” screams Kyle the bus kid, happy as a clam behind the wheel.

  I look around the bus and everybody’s here: Ricky, Becky, the Wickerstool twins, and even Ricky’s grandparents (who greet me with the usual “Merry Christmas, Desmond!”). But judging from the look on my sister’s face . . .

  . . . the last place she wants to be this very early Saturday morning is in a ’53 Volvo 638 Santa Express bus.

  Suddenly we hear a bunch of loud blasts from a whistle. I quickly look out the window.

  “Then it’s time to blow this popsicle stand,” says Kyle as he pulls the bus door closed and revs the jittery engine.

  Kyle throws the bus into gear and it lurches onto the road with great fits and jerks, belching smoke as it slowly ramps up to speed.

  Becky smiles and sits back. And then I start to see her in a way I never have before. Suddenly Becky’s not just the kid who’s good with a wrench and a left hook, but somebody who always comes through when I need her most. Somebody who—

  Then I hear noise from the very last seat of the bus . . .

  “Who’s back there?” I ask Becky.

  “Oh, yeah, little Miss Perfect,” Becky replies with a roll of her eyes. “She decided to tag along.”

  I stand and walk to the back of the rocking bus. I don’t believe it. Tina Schimsky.

  “Well, I’m really sorry, Desmond . . . I feel like I dumped him on you in the first place.”

  “Actually, I like Keith, Tina! He’s really smart and knows his monster stuff! He just has to remember to scare for fun . . . not for meanness.”

  “Behind us! It’s Mr. Needles! And a gang of his park rangers on scooters! Right on our tail!”

  “I’ll try to go faster, Desmond,” shouts Kyle. “But this old bus is giving us everything she’s got!”

  “They’re closing in,” I gasp.

  “If they force us off the road, we’ll never get to Crab Shell Pier!”

  Meanwhile, I see Ricky’s grandparents struggling with something under one of the back seats.

  “Relax, Desmond, dear,” says Mrs. DiMarco, patting my hand. “With all this worrying, you’re going to give yourself the diarrhea!”

  Suddenly, Mr. DiMarco throws open the back window of the bus.

  “Mr. DiMarco, be careful!” I shout.

  “Relax, kid! I’ve done this a million times!”

  Then it dawns on me: I’ve seen that big white tube before . . . and the black machine they pulled out from under the seat. Ricky hits the “on” switch and a blizzard of white starts pumping out the back window of the bus.

  29 return to crab shell pier

  The sun is just starting to rise as we pull up to Crab Shell Pier. Mr. Humphries is out front waiting.

  “I figured I was going to have to let the junk dealer clean out everything from the Mountain Full of Monsters!”

  “We almost didn’t make it,” I say, as I hand Mr. Humphries the $500. “And you can read all about it in my memoirs. But for now, let’s see those monsters!”

  Everyone piles out of the bus and follows Mr. Humphries as he leads us down the boardwalk, filing past the rows of quiet rides. There’s always something sad about walking around a closed amusement park. Like seeing a bunch of giant toys waiting patiently for the kids to come back and play with them.

  “I know, Mr. Humphries, but don’t worry . . .”

  “Say! How’d all you guys like to take one last spin on her, for old times’ sake?” Mr. Humphries says suddenly.

  “Just give me a minute to throw the main power switch and get her juiced up . . .” and Mr. Humphries scurries off, still talking to himself.

  “Holy crud, dude!” Ricky says to me quietly, grabbing the arms of my shirt. “You’re here! Tina’s here! The ride’s still running! You’re getting a second chance!”

  “. . . you’re right, Ricky. It is my second chance to get it right.”

  Well, I still don’t know all that much about girls.But I do know one thing now.

  Dreams can change.

  30 a new beginning

  It’s over. We’ve crammed as many monsters as we can fit into the Santa Express bus, and we still have some room left for us. They’re all ready to start their new life!

  Mr. Humphries really is pretty awesome! Not only did he come into the Mountain Full of Monsters with us and point out where to find the best creatures, but he even helped take them out and load them up. Nobody can loosen a rusty screw like Mr. Humphries!

  Kyle the bus kid cranks open the squeaky bus door and I jump on board, when I feel a tug at my sleeve.

  about the author

  Mark Tatulli is an internationally syndicated cartoonist best known for his popular comic strips Heart of the City, which chronicles a fun-loving tenacious little girl's adventures in the big city of Philadelphia, and Lio, which tells the adventures of a young boy and his pet squid. In addition to cartooning, Tatulli is an accomplished filmmaker and animator, and the recipient of three Emmy Awards. He lives in New Jersey with his wife, Donna, three children, and three nefarious cats, all of whom supply endless ideas for his books.