“Yes, Daddy, and children in Jamaica never have to sit and wait in any parking lots as scary as that one either.”
Russell's daddy was feeling a little stressed by the wandering kitchen appliances and the fact that he'd missed breakfast. He was in no mood to hear any nonsense about scary parking lots from his son.
“That's it, boy! In the car. Now! And this time you're showing me what's so terrible about this insane parking lot. If ya doe learn ta overcome ya fears, they'll sure overcome ya!”
Russell thought, “It's good I have Rod-Rode in my pocket—at least there'll be one dog there to protect me.”
Russell really did have some pretty good reasons not to want to go to Halo Burger without protection. One big reason was it was in that parking lot that he'd been attacked and robbed by a pack of hungry dogs not so very long ago.
An even bigger reason was the horrible, frightening Ver-nor's ginger ale mural that was painted on the wall there. Steven's father had told them it was put up in 1932, during a time in America's history known as the Great Depression.
After Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary told them that depression meant “low spirits, gloominess, dejection and sadness,” Russell had to agree, whoever had drawn this mural had to be the saddest, most gloomy person in the world!
The mural was painted on the whole side of a four-story-tall, one-block-long building and showed a world that made adults smile and say things like “What a great imagination that artist had!” or “Isn't that cute, I wonder how the artist thought that up?”
But kids? Kids knew!
They knew in their hearts, in their bones, that there was nothing to smile about in the painting. They understood that whoever had painted this mural had been to the strange world it so clearly showed and had had a very, very, very rough time there! Young people knew this world was real! Real and horrible.
Where old people saw a cute, cartoonish advertisement, young people saw a deadly serious warning.
The left-hand side of the mural showed a castle wall with a window about five feet up. Nothing so bad there, but what was in the window was responsible for Russell, Steven and a whole bunch of other young Flintstones having spent many a night with their eyes wide open and sleep the last thing on their minds.
It was a gnome.
And that's the perfect word to describe it. Through the years some people had said it was an elf or a sprite or a leprechaun or a goblin or even a troll, but kids knew that none of those words came anywhere close to painting a true picture of what it was.
It was a gnome. Pure and simple, a gnome.
To describe something as scary and weird and unreal looking as this thing, you needed a word that was just as scary and weird and unreal looking.
Gnome was it.
Gnome it was.
Great-great-grampa Carter's cranky old dictionary might define gnome as “one of a species of diminutive beings, usually described as shriveled, little old white men, that inhabit the interior of the earth and act as guardians of its treasures.” But Russell was closer to the truth when he defined gnome as “that thing in the parking lot of Halo Burger that would chew through your ribs, then gnaw your heart out of your chest if you gave it the chance!”
There were seven or eight other gnomes working away on moving barrels full of ginger ale, and some of them were even smiling pleasantly, but the one in the window was obviously the boss, and he obviously got to be boss because he was the meanest.
This gnome had an unusually large head and was wearing an old conquistador-type helmet. Nothing too horribly scary there. The scary thing was that the gnome was peeking out of the window with a pipe in his mouth and smiling the weirdest smile that had ever been seen on Earth. People may talk about how mysterious the Mona Lisa's smile is, but it's obvious that anyone who does has never seen this grotesque, gnarly, gruesome, gnomic grin!
To make matters worse, the gnome was winking!
At what, no one knew, but he had winked at generations of Flint's residents. Many, many winters, springs, summers and falls he had looked out on downtown Flint with this weird smile and this scary wink.
And if that isn't enough to make someone not want to go sit in a parking lot while his mom or dad runs in for a burger, I don't know what is.
As they drove toward the restaurant, Russell's daddy popped in a Bob Marley CD.
Russell started moving to the beat of the reggae music. He probably would've started grooving anyway, but he knew if he didn't, his father would threaten to put him out of the car. According to Daddy, “If ya can't get in the groove, there's no point in ya riding wit' me!”
Russell felt his heart beating faster with each block as they drew closer to the restaurant. Even though he was in Russell's shirt pocket, Rodney Rodent seemed to be getting more and more anxious and excited too.
“Man,” Russell thought, “my heart's beating so loud and fast that it's messing with Rodney Rodent's sleep! This can't be good.”
But it wasn't Russell's heart that was getting Rodney Rodent worked up, and it wasn't the thought of cheeseburg deluxes with olives either, it was something else. The tiny animal was sensing something that he hadn't sensed in the longest, and it was what he'd been looking for ever since he came to Flint and started living with the Woods family. He could tell that he was very close to the doorway to his other home!
When Daddy turned left off of Saginaw Street into the parking lot next to Halo Burger, Rodney Rodent jumped right out of Russell's pocket onto the dashboard and began bobbing his head up and down.
Daddy thought he was either imitating one of those little fake bobble-head dogs that some people had in their cars, or that his son's dog had decided to keep time with the thumping reggae bass!
Mr. Woods was shocked. “My word! I doe t'ink I've evah seen that little t'ing move so much, what on eart' is wrong wit' it?”
Russell said, “See! I told you there was something spooky about this parking lot! Can't we park somewhere else?”
And then, almost as if to make Russell's point, Rodney Rodent stopped bobbing and stared at the mural Daddy had parked in front of. For the first time since he'd moved in with the Woods family five months ago, he threw his head back and howled! And it was like he'd been saving five months of howls in his itsy-bitsy body. It was so loud that it seemed like he must've been saving five years of howls!
The howl was so strong that the window next to Russell's father shattered and blew out into the parking lot! Three car alarms went off. The man who was waiting on people at the drive-through window threw his headphones down and, just like Russell and his father, slapped his hands over his ears to try to block this terrible screech.
Then, as suddenly as he'd started, Rodney Rodent stopped.
The car wobbled a little from side to side. Russell saw his father's lips moving, but the only thing he could hear was an echo from the incredible shriek.
“Mercy me!” Daddy's words finally got through to Russell. “I t'ought that was the par-fact animal! That t'ing is bad as that terrible hippopotamus dog we give to ya daft little friend, that Carter boy! I 'ope I'm not going ta be spending as much money on windows with this one as I spent on food for that otha monsta!”
Russell's father opened the car door, got out and peeked back in through where his window used to be. “Ya stay here. If anyone come a-asking what the noise was, tell 'em ya doe know! I gotta get ya mutha the olive burgers. What a city!”
Rodney Rodent hadn't moved from the dashboard; he was acting as if the mural had hypnotized him.
“Rod-Rode! Don't look at that thing! I have a bad feeling about those gnomes!”
But Rodney Rodent wasn't about to pull his eyes off of the mural. And if Russell had looked carefully, he would've seen there was one spot in particular that the tiny animal's eyes were locked on. He was staring at the pipe-smoking gnome who was peeking out of the window and winking, the one Russell and every other young Flintstone hated looking at the most!
Russell reached
toward the dog to put him back in his pocket, but before his hand could wrap around him, Rodney Rodent jumped out of the window and flew right at the mural!
“Rod-Rode!”
The tiny dog shot directly at the mural going about 120 miles an hour! Russ knew if Rodney hit the wall going with that much speed, he'd break his neck and be flattened like a slow squirrel on Dort Highway. It didn't seem as if there was anything that could stop him!
Russell hoped he was still asleep and this was some weird slow-motion dream.
“Wow!” Russell thought. “I haven't seen anything this strange since the night after I set the record for cheese and onion enchiladas at Los Aztecos!”
He noticed how Rodney's ears were pressed against the sides of his head as he sped at the wall. He noticed how the dog's tail was spinning like a propeller, making him go incredibly fast. He noticed how, when his friend was just a few inches away from certain death, Rodney Rodent closed his eyes and opened his mouth again and said the first thing he'd said since they'd picked him up at the dog pound. Instead of the little whining sounds he'd always made before, the dog said in English, as clear as anything, “Bow-wow-wow-yippee-yo-yippee-yay!”
All of this was very strange, even for downtown Flint, but what happened next made Russell think he'd gone from being in a dream to being in a nightmare! The winking gnome, the one that looked the meanest, came to life! He stopped winking and both of his eyes and his mouth flew open in surprise!
Just as Rodney was about to smash into the wall where the gnome was painted, the creature ducked and Rodney sailed over his head and right into the painted-on-the-wall window! When the tip of the dog's tail disappeared into the blackness behind the gnome, a sound like something very large and heavy crashing into water came from the wall.
The gnome popped back up, looked behind himself, turned around and stared hard into Russell's eyes. After what seemed like two hours the gnome showed a row of tiny, filthy pointed teeth, winked again and went right back to being a painting!
When Daddy came back with a bag full of cheeseburg deluxes heavy on the olives, he found his son outside the car standing next to the Vernor's mural. Russell was on his tiptoes, reaching up and sticking his finger out toward one of the gnomes, then quickly jerking it back, sort of like he expected the painting to take a nip out of him.
Daddy thought his son was mumbling something like “Rot wrote, rot wrote, rot wrote, rot wrote …” over and over.
“Oh, no!” Russell's father shouted. “The wee dog's scream has scrambled the boy's brains! I doe t'ink his mutha's gonna take this one too good!”
Daddy opened the back door of the car, and just like he used to do for the six months that Russell had been small enough to fit in a car kiddie seat, he put his son in, buckled the seat belt and patted Russ on the head.
“Doe ya worry, boy, everyt'ing's gonn be irie, just ya wait and see.”
Daddy pulled the car onto Saginaw Street and turned his reggae back up. Russell started bouncing with the groove in the backseat.
Daddy looked in the rearview mirror and said, “Oh-ho! What I tell ya? There ain't not'ing that a little bit of Bob Marley and the Wailers and the smell of cheeseburg deluxes heavy on the olives can't cure real good and quick! How ya feeling, boy?”
Russell knew he had to ease his father's mind or there'd be a ton of questions. And maybe even counselors.
He said, “I'm fine, Daddy, all I was doing out there was overcoming my fears before they overcomed me.”
“Now, that's muh boy! Spoken like a true Jamaican, mon! Everyt'ing irie?”
“Everything's irie, Daddy.”
“And the little elf t'ing ya was poking in the nose ain't giving ya no messages or not'ing, is he?”
“No, Daddy.”
“Good, good. How 'bout the rest of 'em? None of the otha elf t'ings is telling ya ta set no fires nor bite no one, are they?”
“No, Daddy.”
“And ya got that little dog quieted down in ya pocket? We won't be having no more busted-out windows, will we?”
Russell patted his empty shirt pocket and said, “Rodney Rodent's going to be so quiet it will seem like he's not even here.”
“Wonderful, boy. And we agree ya mutha doe have no need ta know 'bout what happened wit' the little dog and the car window? She gets winda this, she might want ta get that giant Zoopy back from those crazy Carters.”
“We agree, Daddy.”
“Sweet and dandy, son, sweet and dandy!”
Russell knew better than to say anything to his mother or his father about what had happened. Some things are so odd that telling an adult about them doesn't do anything but get you a bunch of worried looks, whispered conversations and visits with school counselors. That was a lesson he'd learned when he tried to explain to his teacher about Zoopy and the pesky purple squirrels. Russell figured there were some things that you really shouldn't tell anyone who was responsible.
“But who can I tell about this?” Russell thought. “Who won't blab and get me in trouble?”
Nothing came to him.
He stroked his chin a couple of times, the way you do when you're trying to make people think you're doing some real serious thinking.
Almost magically a name and a face came to him!
“Man!” Russell thought. “That chin-rubbing stuff really works! I'll tell the most irresponsible person I know, I'll tell Bucko!”
And Russell was right, anyone who'd ride a huge dog over a 250-foot dam must be extremely irresponsible. Why, they must be the king of the Irresponsibles!
Dad Saves the Day! (By Sheer Luck!)
RICHELLE CYRUS-HERNDON was very excited. Saturday, the day after Rodney Rodent disappeared, was the first meeting of the Flint Future Detectives that she'd be in charge of. And she couldn't wait to show these knuckleheads the proper way to run a meeting.
She pounded the sawed-in-half leg of a table on Steven's desk and thought, “Hmmm, one of the first things I'm going to do is to get a real gavel.”
She said, “I hereby call this meeting of the Flint Future Detectives to order. Mr. Secretary, would you please take attendance?”
Russell cleared his throat and said, “Is the new president, the smartest kid at Clark Elementary School, the one who understands big words and the first new human joiner of the Flint Future Detectives here?”
Richelle said, “I'm present, Russell, and I think from now on, to help speed things up, you can just call me by my name.”
“Uh-oh,” Russell thought, “another president who wants to run things her way. I'm gonna have to break this one in too.”
He cleared his throat. “Is the new vice president, second-smartest kid at Clark Elementary School, chief looker-upper and founder of the Flint Future Detectives here?”
Steven weakly raised his hand.
Russell called all five of his jobs and all four of Zoopy's.
Richelle started twisting her mouth from side to side and tapping her foot.
Then Russ said, “Is the official sneak, map reader and bug chaser here?”
He knew the answer to that one, but he was hoping that Rodney Rodent might show up for the meeting anyway.
No answer.
Russell said, “Four club members present, one missing, Madam President.”
Richelle said, “Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Is there any old business?”
Steven said, “Yes, the old business is to find out why the chief bug chaser isn't here today.”
Richelle said, “Yeah, where is Rodney Rodent?”
Russell looked up from his present-coloring and said, “The last time I saw him he was splashing into the window with that mean gnome on the Vernor's mural.”
Steven said, “Ooh, I know the one you mean. That thing looks like it's haunted, I hate that painting.”
“Not as much as me, and now it's ate up Rod-Rode and I don't know how to get him back.”
Richelle said, “Russell, you've got to explain better than that. How did a painting e
at up Rodney Rodent?”
Russell told what had happened at Halo Burger the day before.
Richelle said, “And the gnome showed you his teeth, then winked at you and froze again?”
“Yup.”
Steven said, “Russell, the last time you said something that weird was right after you set the record for eating the most falafel in half an hour at the Shawarma Shack. You haven't been back there, have you?”
“No, Bucko, this really happened.”
Richelle squinched her left eye halfway shut and left her right eye halfway open. She twisted her lips to the left and then to the right. She tapped her foot around a million times before she said, “You know what, Russell? I believe you. I think this is something we need to investigate.”
Richelle went online with Steven's new computer. She searched for “Vernor's mural Flint” and soon had a picture of the mural on the screen. She read the sign that was painted in the bottom right-hand side of the painting.
ORIGINALLY PAINTED IN 1932
Steven said, “If that sign was telling the truth, it would say, ‘Terrifying Flint's young people since 1932.’ ”
Richelle said, “Whatever. So Russell, you said Rodney Rodent actually talked and said something before he disappeared into the wall?”
“He sure did, it sounded like cowboy talk.”
Steven stroked his chin and said, “Hmmm, cowboy talk. Did he say ‘Yee-haw’?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Did he say ‘Keep them dogies movin'’?”
“Nope.”
“Did he say ‘Whoopee-tie-yi-yo’?”
Richelle said, “Would you please stop asking him these idiotic questions? You're out of order. What exactly did he say, Russell?”
“Well, Richie-Rich, I'm not sure if I got it exactly right, but now that I think about it a little more, it was something like cowboy talk and doggy talk all mixed together.”
Steven said, “Did he say ‘Woof, woof, reach for the sky, Tex’?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Did he say ‘Arf, arf, howdy, ma'am’?”
Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission Page 4