To everyone's surprise, it appears that a certain antagonist from the first story has returned! Yikes! What will our heroes do? How will Jonathan respond? Will Ghost ever realize that he is...you know, a ghost? Why am I asking you? Read the next installment below!
Chapter 2
Revenge of the Scientist
I can’t believe he’s back, thought Jonathan, clutching the icy, stone-riddled wall
behind him. After all this time, and
after all we’ve been through...he’s back.
While everyone had been admiring the
garnishments near the front door, Jonathan had turned to their host to ask a
question. That was when he had seen the
white lab coat, goggles, and shiny bald head of Professor Aponowatsomidichloron—the man who had
been the brainchild of Mr. Cornelius and had leapt off the author’s pages to
bring pain and suffering to earth. The
man whose nefarious inventions had plagued him and his friends in the last
quarter of 2005. The man who was
responsible for the potion that corrupted the beloved Saint Nick. The man he had outmatched with an exquisite
toy pony, and whose ashes had rested at the base of an otherwise empty cauldron
upon his defeat. But he had returned in
full, somehow looking stronger and healthier than he had previously; his
shoulders were broader, his jaw less fat and more chiseled, and his eyes
glowing with greater confidence—or was it resolve? It was then that Jonathan
had looked toward the dining room—seeking a route of escape—and had noticed a
projector pointing toward the wall.
There were paper figurines in the shape of people a foot away from the
projector lens, and a fan was blowing upon these figures to give the appearance
of movement. The music was overlaid with
a chorus of recorded voices to imitate genuine conversation. Not a soul was in the room, dancing to the
music, and he had realized that the Halloween Friends were the only guests at
the Monster Mash.
Just as he had cried, “It’s Apo!” the man
had taken a device from his coat pocket and pressed a button. Beneath them the floor had opened, and the
companions had plunged into a subterranean dungeon (even Ghost had fallen with
the others, apparently failing to realize that he was a completely immaterial
spirit). Most of the them were now
wandering about the dusty cell, trying to discover a way out. Perhaps this had once looked like a normal
cellar, but no longer: the greater part of the room, 10’ x 10’, was enclosed by
bars that must have been made of a steel alloy; there seemed to be connections
in the walls for laundry machines and sinks, but all appliances had been
removed and the room was empty; a small window, ground-level and looking out
into the front yard, was surrounded with bars of the same type of material as
those of the cell; the only door was secured by far too many padded locks, and in
it was set a minute window of tempered glass; the ceiling had closed
immediately after they had been cast into the dungeon, and was made of such a
durable material that the punches of Frankenstein’s monster were useless. There was no visible means of escape.
They had only been here for a couple of
minutes, but in that brief time, Bat had scanned every corner of the room. Awana was busying herself with a series of
intense stretches in case there was a need for any physical exertion. Witch was rifling through her satchel of
potions, frowning and muttering ancient expletives; Cat was circling her legs
and purring. Pumpkin had struck the bars
of the cell with his sword to no avail, and both he and Frankenstein’s monster
had vainly tugged at the cell door.
Ghost sat in a corner, crying and bemoaning the fact that he would not
get the chance to sample any of the meats that Apo had on display in the
kitchen. Jonathan leaned against the
wall, thinking.
How had he been oblivious to the fact that
the mad scientist had been there for so long? He remembered that his
neighbors—who had lived next door for at least a decade—had left abruptly
without a word to the Legcheeses, and Watson moved in the following day. It was said that the new homeowner had
offered the former tenants an exorbitant amount of money. Some claimed that he came from a dignified
and wealthy family, but he wished to sever all ties from them and start his
life as an aging bachelor in a small town; others spoke of a lamentable series
of untoward circumstances that had befallen the man, which had coerced him into
seeking solitude no matter the cost. The
Legcheeses had not inquired into his background or motives, but had shown up at
his door with some scalloped potatoes, a piping bowl of split pea soup, a pet betta
fish, and an offer to help him unload some of his paraphernalia into the
house. He had accepted the food and fish
gladly but denied their offer, seeming a bit contrary but not exceptionally
unusual. Even then, he had possessed his
wide-brimmed hat and dark mustache—a far cry from his slick-pated, clean-shaven
appearance back in his lab.
The man was never seen outside of his
house, other than during his brief excursions in an unassuming car every few
weeks; whenever he returned home, he would pull silently into his garage and,
after a wave and neighborly smile to any fortunate passerby, shut the garage
door. Some sort of landscaping company
kept his lawn and shrubbery pristine, and a pest control company showed up
bi-weekly to ensure the eaves were clear of spiderwebs. Invoices were always slipped into a mail slot
near the front door. Jonathan sometimes
caught a glimpse of the man walking past the window, or as he pulled into his
driveway after several days or weeks abroad.
Not once had he noticed the faintest similarity to Apo—but perhaps the
shade of the hat, the thickness of the mustache, and the lack of goggles were
enough to make him look like another man entirely.
Another minute or so passed before the
professor unbolted the door, opened it, and stepped into the room. He placed a stool on the ground a couple feet
away from the cell door and sat, looking at the group with a sickening smirk.
“Oh, what’s wrong, dear ones?” he asked
them, feigning sympathy. “Why the pale
faces? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not funny, you bald lunatic!” cried
Ghost, remaining in his corner.
“Eh…it was a little funny, dearie,” Witch
admitted reluctantly.
Apo looked at each member of the group in
turn. The faces that stared back at him
were furious, except for those of Pumpkin (because he was a jolly jack-o’-lantern)
and Jonathan. When the professor’s eyes came
to the boy, he seemed surprised. “The
once-immature, sniveling freak seems to have grown up a bit. I see you have more hair on your upper lip
than you did last time, but you never grew into those big ears of yours, did
you?”
“We don’t talk about his ears!” said Bat. “Mr. Cornelius’s orders.”
Apo
did not seem amused or concerned with what Cornelius might have to say. He continued taunting the boy with his
eyes. “The most observable change, I
must point out, is that you don’t seem as angry as your friends. Why is that?”
Jonathan looked intently at the man. I’m
glad it appears that way, even if it’s the opposite of what I’m feeling. “I killed you. There was not a doubt in my mind that I
killed you. You were nothing more than
ashes, but now you’re back. How are you
here right now?”
The immediate response was a whiny
cackle. “Oh, dear me! The boy is
addlepated as ever. I suppose some
things never change.” He scooted his
stool a bit closer to the cell. “Are you
disturbed, child? Why? Did you really think you were safe? Did you truly
believe this story was over?”
“Save the theatrics,” said the boy,
struggling to maintain his composure.
His hand trembled against the wall.
“It’s obvious that we’re surprised.
If we had known you were still alive, you would be in prison right
now...or worse. So how the heck are you
here? Just answer the question.”
“Fine.” Apo reached into his lab coat and procured
a vial containing a red liquid. He
swished it around, creating a scarlet whirlpool surrounded by glass. “Do you know what this is, young Jonathan?”
The boy remembered how M.D. had placed a
red vial on the window frame during her confrontation with him and Awana. He had used Ms. Unicorn like a boomerang,
knocking the potion off the side of the cliff in order to distract the
woman. And he recalled her final words
before he had kicked her to her death. “That’s
a potion of resurrection,” he breathed, trying to conceal his fear.
“Correct!” the man replied, almost
giddy. “It’s a potion that can bring to
life anything that has died. Well, more
accurately, that was what comprised the potion that awakened the cadavers you
fought in my lab. Remember that
fun little episode? Of course you do.
But the potion that awakened me was mingled with ‘goodness turned
to blight,’ meaning that any morsel of good I once possessed—any hint of mercy,
any sympathy, any weak and tender sentiments—have been reversed.”
 |
| Professor Apo standing in his original lab! |
“But you were dead, and M.D. was in a
different world,” Jonathan pointed out.
“Who used the potion to bring you back?”
A hint of indignation touched the
professor’s face at the mention of his mother.
“Our beloved creator is, in my opinion, quite predictable. He has this annoying notion that good must be victorious, so I knew one of his protagonists would try to stop me. It’s like he wrote heroism into their DNA…but
I was prepared for that. Below my lab
was my bedroom, where I created a contraption that would diffuse the potion
into the air every two weeks until its substance was exhausted. I am very pleased to say that it worked. Getting out of that rubble was a damned nuisance,
but—”
“OK, so you were brought back to life,” said
Jonathan. “Then what? You decided to
move in next door to us and spend a year smoking meats and renovating your
kitchen before revealing your identity? Why?”
Apo projected a threatening finger toward him. “Don’t you ever underestimate the
comforts of a quality smoked brisket, do you hear me?”
“Yeah, Jonathan!” screeched Bat, landing on the
shoulder of Frankenstein’s monster.
“Remember that one your mom made on New Year’s Eve? It changed me.”
“Meow,” said Cat.
“Cat has a point, my sweets,” Witch told
Jonathan. “Even the wicked need a good
cut of meat from time to time. Indeed,
just last Saturday, I slaved over a slab of grass-fed beef for approximately
seven hours. What I would have given for
a nice brisket!”
“Witch, I need you to put your game face on
right now,” Awana whispered. “I’m
starting to see the vein that shows up in Johnny boy’s left temple every time he
gets mad.”
“The trick is to coat it evenly with salt,
pepper, and garlic powder,” Apo informed the old hag. “Garlic powder, not salt, see? When you smoke
it, you need some cherry wood from—”
“That’s enough!” Jonathan shouted, swinging
his hand in the air. “Apo, you enticed
us over here and dropped us into this cell.
Now what do you want? Vengeance? Why wait nearly a year to do this?”
“Every good plan takes time,” the man explained,
“even for one as intelligent as I. Dear
child, I have been quite the busy bee since last you saw me. It’s not merely enough for me to ruin the
holiday spirit for those of this town.
No, that would be much too easy with my current abilities. I hate the holidays. I hate people. It’s time to do away with both, all across
this vast world—and you will not be able to stop me, for you will be dead. In fact, I’ve recently discovered that there’s
no one on earth who can stop me! What a joyous day for
Aponowatsomidichloron!”
Jonathan averted his eyes from the man,
and his heart dropped within him. He
could only imagine the sorts of evil schemes and malignant potions his enemy
had created, locked up in his home and gathering chemicals and materials every
few weeks over the past year. Out of
habit his hand went to one of his pockets, but he remembered that Ms. Unicorn
was gone—broken!—as a result of the professor’s odious creations. What I wouldn’t do to feel her majestic
form right now. Oh! Ms. Unicorn! He
did not know what to say, or how to react.
The younger Jonathan would have exchanged immature banter with his foe
and charged forth haphazardly, expecting adrenaline to help him topple the bars
of the cell and lead him to victory. But
he could see that this would only result in a bruised shoulder, a few fractured
hip and leg bones, and his own wounded pride.
Then he would start sobbing, just as he had done a year ago in the
professor’s lab, and Pumpkin would again doubt him as a leader, and Awana would
embarrass him by calling him roughly three pet names in front of everyone. He realized that the only way to overcome the
current predicament was to wait.
“What, no saucy comeback?” teased the man
with a snicker. “No empty threats?
Nothing? My, my...this isn’t the way I thought it would go. I’m almost
disappointed.”
“Now you leave him alone, Mr.
Aponowatso-whatever-your-name-is!” demanded Awana, stomping one of her
feet. “Johnny boy learned last Christmas
that killing and violence are not the answer.
Right, Johnny boyfriend?”
“I never learned that lesson,”
Pumpkin remarked, his stout body having dropped into a battle stance. His right hand fingered the twine handle of
his sword. “Open the door, Apo. I’m going to cut off your limbs and remove
your tongue.”
Ghost rose from his fetal position. “This is why we’re friends. I love you, Pumpkin.”
“Uh...cutting off limbs seems a bit
excessive, don’t you think?” asked Jonathan, giving the squash a sidelong
glance. “But you were just joking,
right?”
Pumpkin ignored that and continued staring
down the man. “Open the door, you bald
demon from the pit of hell. Let’s see
what you’ve got.”
The professor actually appeared
intimidated. “Hmm....No, I don’t think
I’ll do that.” He rose from the stool and took a few steps closer to the
bars. “In fact, I don’t see any reason
to delay your judgment any longer. I
have far too much going on to engage in pointless discussion. It's time for my plan to come to fruition.”
He reached again into his coat and took out a silver device with a single lever. “I must depart now, fools. Goodbye.”
His hand grasped the lever and pushed it
up, and the Halloween Friends heard a cacophony beneath them. The floor began to move. A small opening appeared in the center, and
it widened steadily. At that moment, Bat
burst forward and slipped quickly between two bars. He aimed to collide with Apo claws-first, but
the man sidestepped him with reflexes that astonished everyone in the room. He cackled wildly and declared that it was futile,
all the while dodging a second attack with utmost ease. Bat flapped his wings and backed several feet
away from the professor, his eyes following his foe’s movements. Behind him the floor continued to open, its
gap now about a foot wide. He surged
forward with a single brisk motion but then snapped back, and Apo began to spin
out of the way. But he spun too early,
and when Bat came soaring at him from the opposite direction, he turned aside with
a movement lacking finesse. That was a
mistake. A victim to his poor assessment
of his distance from nearby objects, the device in his hand hit the wall with a
loud crunch! and broke into three pieces that skipped across the
floor. One of the pieces plunged into
the abyss waiting below the cell.
“Give me a B!” cheered Awana, pretending
that she had pom-poms. “Give me an A!”
“You worthless creature!” shrieked the
professor, seizing Bat and whipping him back and forth in the air. He smashed the poor, tiny animal against the
nearby wall one time and knocked him unconscious. Then, with the most vicious snarl any of them
had ever hear, he discarded his small opponent toward the crack inside the cell
(it had stopped widening upon the destruction of his controller). Cat lunged forth with a distressed mew and
caught her best friend in her mouth. She
landed on the other side of the cell and gave Apo a stare that promised retribution.
“It’s always something with you
pestilent children!” the professor roared, snatching the two pieces of his
device. “This is what I get for allowing
you a few minutes to speak before your demise.
Fine! Lucky for me, I made another one of these remotes. I know I put it somewhere….I’ll just
control the floor from the other side of that door. Less intimate for me, but there will be no
more delays. I have a world to destroy.” He whirled around and took several steps
toward the door; then the doorbell rang.
“Really? Trick-or-treaters, at this hour? Son of a—”
After he had left the room, Cat dropped her
friend softly to the floor. The others
crowded around, some of them looking hopeful for a sign that Bat was still
alive, some mournful, and others irate. Jonathan
knelt down and petted the injured creature with a pronounced frown on his
face. He sighed. The man is merciless, he concluded, now
more than ever. He is faster and
stronger, and there’s no telling what sort of arsenal he has at his disposal. I’m afraid that this is never going to end. At Witch’s touch, he moved aside and let her
into the circle. She reached into her
satchel and produced a small vial containing an ambiguously-colored solution. Without a word, she scooped Bat into her
hands and released a few drops into his mouth.
No one stirred for several seconds—no one but Cat, that is, who paced
anxiously with his tail afluff. Above
the cell, the muffled voices of their captor and his new guests sounded in turn;
it appeared that Shameka had notified some neighbors that there was a party at
the residence, and they were hoping they could join. There was the faint sound of a door shutting
as Apo must have stepped outside.
Bat coughed and sputtered and began to
flail his wings frantically. Cat bounded
over to him in an instant and proceeded to purr so loudly, some of the friends
thought they felt the floor shaking again.
Witch stroked the fur of the agitated creature in her hands until he
realized that he was surrounded by those who loved him. He looked around, blinking in ostensible pain
and confusion.
“Where in Ghost’s name am I?” he wondered
aloud.
“In the cell of our greatest enemy,” said
Jonathan with a sad smile. He scratched
Bat behind the ears and then, relieved to know the condition of his ally,
started searching the cell.
“What—what happened?” asked the winged
mammal.
Awana stooped down next to him. “You saved our lives, Bat! You made Apo break
his device—the one that was opening up the floor beneath our feet. You’re a hero!”
“I’m a hero? You mean—like Jonathan and
Pumpkin?”
“You’re every bit as brave as we are, if
not braver,” Pumpkin encouraged him. “Now
we cannot let your valiant act be in vain.
We have to get out of here and kill this maniac, all of us, together.”
“How do we get out of here?” asked
Awana, voicing everyone’s thoughts.
Frankenstein’s monster released a long,
low groan. “The answer eludes me, mine
companions, but it is abundantly clear that we have precious time to discover
what it is.”
“The lumbering nerd is right,” said Bat,
wincing as he hopped out of Witch’s palm.
“Let’s not waste any time. I
don’t want one more person, animal, or vegetable to suffer at that man’s
hands.”
Jonathan went to the crevice in the center
of the room and peered inside. The
lighting was dim, but even if the place had been well-illuminated, he would not
have been able to better comprehend what his eyes were seeing. The subterranean chamber was taller than it
was wide or long; they would plunge between twenty and thirty feet—not far enough
to succumb to instant death, but a sufficient distance to sustain crippling
injuries—before reaching an uneven dirt floor.
He could see the figures of two dozen zombie-like beings, although none were
the undead humanoids that he and his friends had encountered a year ago. Moseying about were gobbling turkeys and what
appeared to be decaying Christmas trees (some had broken ornaments hanging from
their limbs). There did not appear to be
any sign of a door or opening that could lead out of the room; it was fully
enclosed to prevent escape, and the walls were so slick that climbing would be
impossible. He wondered why Apo had
rigged the entryway of his home with a trapdoor, but had fitted the cell with a
floor that opened slowly. Perhaps the
man had wanted to savor every second of his enemies’ fear before they plummeted
to the presumably carnivorous beasts below.
Awana came to him and crouched at his
side. “Oh, great. Now we have Christmas trees to deal with? What
did he do, go to a dump at the end of last year and haul a bunch of dead trees
over here? Is nothing sacred?”
“Yeah, and it looks like he deprived
people of their turkey dinners, too,” Jonathan told her sourly. “That’s one too many encounters with undead
turkeys for me. I’m going vegan.”
Awana’s hand went to her forehead. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Johnny
boyfriend! That sounds like a miserable
existence!”
He bit his lip. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. What kind of life is that? We should buy a honeyed ham after we escape.”
“Let’s buy three.”
Pumpkin moved within sight of everyone and
put his hands where his hips might have been.
“OK, guys, we have quite the predicament. We’re in a cell with bars apparently made of
some otherworldly metal that we can’t budge or dent. Bat can fit between the bars, but the door is
padlocked from the other side. The walls
seem to absorb every blow that we might throw at them. There is a single window at the back of our
cell, but it is blocked off. We have
some very hungry-looking turkeys and Christmas trees waiting below, and Apo
could be back in a matter of minutes. Let’s
put our heads together! What do we do?”
There was silence while everyone looked at
each other. After thirty seconds Ghost
muttered, “It’s hopeless” and went back to his corner, accidentally phasing
through the wall for a moment. Cat
curled up next to Bat and purred.
Frankenstein’s monster walked here and there, rubbing his chin in
contemplation. Jonathan and Awana continued
crouching, physically putting their heads together but failing to realize that
such an action, while certainly adorable to the hopeless romantic, does not
actually make two people smarter.
“The answer is obvious, my sweets,” said
Witch, beginning to hover in place on her flying broom. “We must do precisely this, no more or no
less, so listen carefully! We fly to Africa and procure a mongoose. Their tails offer the exact sort of poofiness
that we need at this desperate hour. We
take a handful of this fine fur and distribute it evenly among our satchels. Then we crush twelve flies with a mortar and
pestle, collect a quarter-pound of cow scat, extract oil from a eucalyptus tree
(I’m afraid we can’t use that junk they carry in stores, because it’s bonkers),
remove the shells from fifty-four acorns, boil a pot of lake-water, and measure
out five gallons of cashew milk. Now
this part is critical! We throw the dry ingredients into a sack and wave it
around at the highest possible velocity, shrieking the Discerning Hag’s Mantra
of 1217 at the top of our lungs. This
will go on for about 3.5 minutes. Then we
put the dry ingredients into a heated cauldron, followed by the boiled
lake-water and eucalyptus oil. Mix
everything together, let it cool down, fill up our vials with the concoction, and
smash the vials against the bars of the cell.
The solution will burn through even the strongest metals. We drink the five gallons of cashew milk,
because alchemy is thirsty business.”
“Yeah!” Awana agreed, running confidently
to Witch’s side.
“Woman!” groaned Pumpkin. “Are you kidding me right now? We have none
of those things! Or do you happen to have one of those potions on you at the
moment?”
“I’m afraid not, dearie,” said the
hag. “After using that last one to help Bat,
I’m carrying only four brews on my person: one to determine whether or not your
lover is cheating on you, one to turn a person’s clothes invisible, one to make
your muscles as limber as a hag half your age, and one to create a glowing,
ethereal pathway that will lead you to your misplaced flying broom.”
“Not one of those sounds helpful right
now,” Jonathan lamented.
“The second one sounds kind of helpful,”
Awana admitted, blushing.
“What if I wait above the door where Apo
can’t see me?” Bat offered excitedly.
“When he opens the door, I can fly out quickly and get help.”
The squash sighed. “He won’t be coming back in. When you were unconscious, he told us he’s going
use his remote from the other side of that door and watch us from the window.”
“The window,” Jonathan whispered to
himself. But he did not turn his
attention to the window that was set in the door; he looked to the one at the
back of the cell. It appeared large
enough for all but Frankenstein’s monster and Witch to fit through. “Awana, look around. What do you think is the weakest thing in
this room?”
“I know I need to exercise, hunny
bunny,” said the girl, apparently cut to the quick. “But calling me weak? That’s not my Johnny
boy....”
Jonathan stared at her blankly. “Awana, my furry dumpling, what is structurally
the weakest part of this cell?”
“Oh! Those bars around the window,
obviously. They’re just being held in
place by screws.”
The boy grinned at her and nodded. He sprinted over to the back of the cell,
leapt, ran several steps up the wall, and grabbed onto the bars. Gravity wanted to bring his body back down
forcefully, but the bars received that force instead—and they moved slightly. He dangled there for a few seconds and tugged
at the steel several more times, recognizing that with just a bit more
strength, he could remove it from the wall completely.
“Everyone!” he shouted. “Please help me! I think we have enough
strength to take these down.”
He did not need to say another word. In half a moment, Awana, Pumpkin, Witch, and
Frankenstein’s monster were latching onto the bars and pulling them. They tugged, and tugged, and the screws that
bonded steel to steel began to separate from the wall. Jonathan and Awana kicked themselves away
from the wall with increasing force, refusing to let go until they had
completed their mission. Frankenstein’s
monster roared and the veins in his arms bulged. Witch decided to turn toward the other side
of the chamber and sit on her broom, but she reached behind her, grabbed the
bars, and tried used the flying power of the broom to assist. Pumpkin put more focus on the spots where the
screws were wedged, figuring that the added force to those areas would remove
the bars faster. Then there was a crack!
and down tumbled the small cage from the wall.
It clanged loudly on the floor of the cell.
“What in the world was that?”
Professor Apo yelled above, walking back inside his house. “Termites?”
Jonathan and Pumpkin had been ready for
the removal of the bars, and they were holding onto the windowsill. Jonathan slid open the window and punched out
the screen; then he pulled himself up and rolled onto the grass of the front
yard. Thankfully, he was hidden from
view of the patio by a row of privacy hedges; he had feared rolling out onto
the lawn in full sight of his captor. We
have to get out of here, he thought, but Apo heard us. We don’t have time! His first thought was
that he should scream for help, but he doubted if that would be the best
move. What if Apo hears me asking for
help, and he kills my friends out of spite? Oh, what do I do? Can I stop him
myself?
He felt something tapping his foot, and he
realized that Pumpkin was grunting and attempting to lift himself up onto the
lawn. Jonathan reached down to retrieve
him.
“He’ll kill us,” the squash told him, as
if reading his mind. “I know that look
in your eyes, Jonathan. I saw it in the
lab a year ago, and I saw it across the hilltop when you faced M.D. I have never witnessed anyone move as fast as
Apo just did back there. I hate to admit
it, but the two of us together are not strong enough.”
The boy set him on the grass and was about
to reply when the door inside the cell swung open. Immediately after the professor stepped into
the room, the rage on his face was evident.
He threw open his lab coat and revealed a belt lined with a dozen
potions. Those inside the cell turned to
the window and attempted to run, but their foe cast two vials at the wall with
inhuman celerity. The glass
shattered. A yellow solution exploded
across the cell. Jonathan and Pumpkin
dove toward the bushes and just barely managed to avoid a few drops of the
potion. The boy winced as he felt
several jagged leaves of a bush tear into his skin, but this was the least of
his concerns. Please be OK! his
mind shouted. Please tell me they’re
all still alive. Please let her
be OK.
When he peered back into the window, he
found that his friends—even Ghost (though it was anyone’s guess as to whether he
was faking it)—were paralyzed, stuck in the positions that they had assumed at
the moment of their attempted escape.
Not even their eyes or mouths could move. They appeared to be nothing more than breathing
statues. Jonathan’s heart sank when he noticed
how close Awana had been to reaching the exit; but she stood there helplessly, and
he felt even more helpless just a few feet away from her. He was loath to risk his friends further by
reaching back into the cell and prying her out, as there was no telling how the
man across the room would respond.
“Something tells me these are the mildest
of his tonics,” Pumpkin remarked, coming to his side.
“Quite the astute observation, Pumpkin!”
said Apo with a laugh. “Yes, it was a
fun little design of mine that I came up with when I had some spare time.”
Jonathan groaned. “Friggin’ antagonists with their
super-hearing.”
Apo slapped his knees exuberantly. “If you thought that was a good one,
just wait until you see this.” He reached into a pocket and obtained a
tiny remote; then he pressed a button that was too small for them to see.
At first there was silence, and Jonathan
felt a sense of relief at the thought that another plan of the professor had
failed. He was about to turn around and
pridefully notify his foe of this when suddenly he heard the sound of hissing
in the air. Looking left and right, he
saw nothing, but the sound seemed to grow louder and nearer. Pumpkin dashed several feet away from him to
gaze out at the road. Jonathan heard him
mutter a curse.
“What is it, Pumpkin?” he asked, refusing
to take his eyes off Apo.
“It looks like red...glitter is coming
from the storm drains all over the street,” said his ally. “But I don’t think it’s glitter.”
Apo shook his head. “That it isn’t, my little orange friend. What you’re seeing is the same potion that
awakened me, and it’s being dispersed all over the town. I hope you’re both up for a fight!”
Jonathan looked at him dubiously. “You dispersed the potion all over town? Why?
It’s not like there are corpses just lying around.”
Pumpkin sprinted back to his friend. “No, kid....Baldy is right. This place is going to be swarming with all
sorts of unpleasant things. We need to leave,
and fast.”
“Leave? What do you mean?”
Nearby, one of Jonathan’s neighbors
shrieked and sprinted across her front yard, pursued hotly by a massive jack-o’-lantern
and several that were smaller. It was a
matter of seconds before people all over the street were running for their
lives, most of them chased by carved pumpkins, plants they had failed to water,
insects, or squirrels that had been mercilessly flattened by careless drivers. To add to the chaos, turkeys and Christmas
trees began to issue from the professor’s back yard and flood the suburb.
“Oh, would you look at that,” the boy
remarked dryly, feigning astonishment.
“Come on, Jonathan!” Pumpkin shouted. “We need to see the Man With the Green Toe!
He’ll know what to do. You have to drive us, now!”
“You want me to take POW to the hills? He’s
not ready for that kind of adventure!”
“You have a license!” cried Pumpkin. “Use it!”
The boy shook with fear but figured that
the squash was right; he usually was.
They hurried down to the orange station wagon at the foot of the
Legcheese household and hopped in.
Jonathan turned his key in the ignition and looked off into the
distance, where he could see Mr. Cornelius’s mansion looming beneath thick,
pregnant clouds and jangling lightning.
That was where it had all started a year ago, and now he had to go back. I can’t believe it’s happening all over
again, he thought. But now it’s
so much worse.
“What are you waiting for, kid?” Pumpkin
yelled. “Let’s go!”
They peeled off down the road—dodging pumpkins,
turkeys, Christmas trees, and all manner of resurrected creatures—and made
toward the hills on the eastern horizon.
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