by R. L. Stine
Ox squinted at the flash. “Is that—my phone?”
Timmy giggled. “Mine now, dork brain!”
A few kids snorted. A few gasped. Timmy and I were now both going to die.
“Where did you get that?” I asked him. Then I remembered the glow under his blankets last night. He’d had the phone all along.
Ox was finally done being confused. “You stole it!”
He thrust his big paw at Timmy’s face. I tried to lunge forward to block him, but I wasn’t going to make it. One of the lunkheads behind Ox shut his eyes, as if even he couldn’t watch what was about to happen.
But what happened was weirder than anyone expected. Weirder and more amazing.
Timmy screamed. Not a scared scream, not a “Help me!” scream, but a kind of savage screech. Ox stopped short. Then he looked down, as if to make sure that Timmy was still a tiny first-grader and not some rampaging ape.
That’s when Timmy jumped.
I’ve never seen a kid jump like that. I’ve never seen a pro basketball player jump like that.
Timmy jumped higher than Ox. He hung in the air, shot out his foot, and twirled like an Olympic skater. He must have spun six times in the air, gaining speed every time. His foot cracked Ox right in the nose. Ox yelped and flopped down to the sidewalk.
Timmy hit the ground and jumped again. This time, when he spun, his foot thumped one of Ox’s pals in the gut and then another one in the side of the knee. They both toppled over.
Timmy landed on his toes.
“Hiya!” he yelled, waving his hands around like a maniac. “Hiya! Hiya! Who wants a piece of Monkey Man!”
By now, most of the lunkheads had dashed away, even the ones who got kicked, but Ox was still sitting on the sidewalk. He was holding his nose. Blood oozed between his fingers.
“That little kid kicked me.” It was hard to understand him with his hand over his nose.
The crossing guard finally came running. “Who did this?”
“Those two!” Ox pointed at us with his blood-wet hand. “And they stole my phone!”
“I don’t have a phone,” Timmy said. “Just my frog. See?” He stuck his hand into his pocket and showed us a live frog. Its little green head was poking out between Timmy’s fingers.
We had to wait outside Timmy’s principal’s office while she called first my principal and then Aunt Mina.
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“I told you about my mom’s stories,” Timmy said. “Remember the one she told two days ago about the phone that turns into a frog?”
“Sure. But it was just a story.”
“No! In the story the meanest kid at school has a phone, but because he’s so mean, the phone turns into a frog and hops into my backpack. Remember? That’s how she told it. And that’s what happened!”
He took out his frog again. He pointed at it with his other hand and snapped his fingers—and it was a yellow cell phone. Ox’s phone.
I made him change it from a phone to frog and back again three times before I believed it.
“Have her stories always come true?” I asked.
“Last couple of weeks. What should we ask for tonight? How about a story where we fly on a magic subway train to Florida! And the alligators let us ride on their tails. But only the nice alligators. I don’t want a scary story.”
It was about two weeks ago when she bought the necklace, the one that was supposed to convert her anger into creative energy. Apparently, it was working better than anyone could have imagined. Or maybe Aunt Mina has a lot of anger.
“Timmy, last night you said your mom told a story about how Uncle Dave got rich. Was that after she bought the necklace?”
“Yeah. But I guess it didn’t come true.”
“It did. Remember when they found that pile of cash in his car? It all came from a bank in our neighborhood. That’s why he’s in jail now.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. It was the story’s! You can tell the police.”
“They won’t listen.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s okay, Timmy. Here’s what we do. The next story we ask for—”
“Yeah?”
“Is about how Uncle Dave gets out of jail.”
“Yeah!” Timmy liked my dad.
I wasn’t sure how the necklace worked, but I had just seen its magic in action. Aunt Mina could make any story she told come true. She had made a phone turn into a frog. She had made Timmy turn into Karate Figure Skater Monkey Man. She could save my dad. And she didn’t even know it.
And good thing she didn’t. She might be too scared to tell another story. So far, they hadn’t worked out too well. We’d have to trick her into telling a story for my dad. Or maybe I could borrow the necklace from her and try telling a story myself. I’d do whatever it took.
When Aunt Mina showed up, she looked like she wanted to hurl us through the principal’s window. Especially when she heard that we were not only fighting, but fighting over a stolen cell phone. She barely moved her lips as she apologized to the principal. Her fingers had tightened into claws. The crystal on her necklace was glowing bright pink.
I knew Timmy was scared, but he still stood up for me. “I got in the fight,” he said. “Not Peter.”
“And what about that boy’s phone?” asked the principal.
“I didn’t steal it! It just hopped into my backpack.”
That didn’t help.
I tried to look serious and guilty and sorry, even though I hadn’t actually done anything. I knew no adult would believe that Timmy had beaten up all those seventh-graders. I promised Aunt Mina and the principal I’d never fight again.
And I knew I could keep my promise—as long as my dad came back. If he was safe, I could handle anything.
Back home Aunt Mina stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door. She refused to come out. I had to make pizza bagels for dinner. While they were in the toaster oven, I tiptoed to her door.
“Aunt Mina? Do you want a pizza bagel?”
She didn’t answer. I tried again.
“Aunt Mina? Do you think I could borrow your necklace for a minute?”
“Forget it!”
I left her alone. I could wait. I kept thinking about my dad. Aunt Mina tells better stories, but he tells better jokes. When he’s in the middle of a joke, his head starts bobbing and his cheeks start jiggling, as if he can barely hold in his laughter. He gets everybody laughing with him before he’s even done. He has thick arms and shoulders from playing basketball when he was a kid. When I was little he used to hug me every night before I went to bed. I could hear his heart thumping against my face. I felt like nothing could ever touch me. I’m too old for that now. But at least I had a plan to get him home.
When we were done with dinner, I had Timmy get into his pj’s and brush his teeth. I said I’d tell him his bedtime story tonight.
“But then it won’t be real.”
“We’ll have the real one tomorrow, when your mom’s feeling better.” I could handle one more day without my dad.
“What if she won’t tell it right? What if she doesn’t believe us?”
“If we have to, we’ll sneak into her room at night and grab her necklace. That’s what gives her—”
Aunt Mina stuck her head in the doorway. “Steal my necklace?” Her voice was sharp and cold. “Is that your next little scheme? After all I’ve done for you. And for your father.”
How could I explain? “Aunt Mina—”
Timmy stood up on his bed. “Mommy, we have a great idea for a story!”
“Not now, Timmy,” I whispered.
“But I want to tell her! We need a story to help Uncle Dave.”
Aunt Mina stepped inside Timmy’s bedroom. Her hair had come undone and was now falling all over her face, like someone had dumped a pile of anger on her. “You want a story?”
“Yeah!” said Timmy. “You know why? Because your stories come true!”
“Timmy, not now!�
�� I said.
But Aunt Mina wasn’t listening. She was shaking with anger. “How about this story? Once upon a time two ungrateful boys were living in a small apartment with one rule. One rule! No fighting. But they broke the rule anyway!”
“Is this a scary story?” asked Timmy.
“It’s a true story!” she said. “But I can make it scary. So what happened next? I’ve got it! The mother got so angry that they broke her one single rule that she locked them in their room and turned into a fire-breathing monster and ate them alive. Because that’s what they deserved! The end. How about that? You like that story?”
She stared at us. I thought I saw little jets of steam coming from her nostrils. The crystal on her necklace was as bright as a flame.
“I don’t think I like that story,” said Timmy.
“Aunt Mina, wait!” I said.
But she stomped out and slammed the door behind her.
I jumped up and grabbed for the doorknob. It was locked.
Timmy’s door doesn’t have a lock.
I didn’t know what to think. Something that crazy couldn’t come true, could it? But I had already seen Timmy jumping and twirling like some kind of turbo-powered ballerina-kickboxer. And I knew my father had been arrested because of a gigantic mound of stolen money that had appeared in the back seat of his car.
“That doesn’t count,” said Timmy. “That’s not coming true. Right?”
Did it count? Aunt Mina had said “Once upon a time” and “The end.” Did that make it a story? And the necklace had been glowing. “I don’t know.”
“What if I don’t want Mommy to eat me?” Timmy asked.
“She won’t.” No, she’d never hurt us. She loved me. She loved Timmy even more. Sure, she had a temper, but there was no way her own story could transform her into a monster.
I heard a ribbit. The frog had jumped out from under Timmy’s blanket. Timmy snapped his fingers, and it turned into a cell phone again. The magic was still working.
My heart started to pound.
“She’s so funny,” Timmy said. “She cracks me up. Right?”
I’d heard about moms who went insane and attacked their kids with a frying pan or something, but Aunt Mina never would. She laughed at every goofy thing Timmy did. She hugged him every time he was scared and kissed him every single night. Her freak-outs always blew over after a few minutes. Maybe she’d scream a little louder, or a little longer, or with a little more spit than usual.
I hoped.
“What’s that sound?” Timmy asked.
At first it was low and rumbling, like a dog growling. But then it got louder, like a whole pack of dogs. Wild dogs. Wolves. Howling.
“Does your frog phone make calls?” I had to yell to be heard. Maybe we could call the fire department. Or animal control.
“No. But it can take pictures. And it has Subway Surfers!”
Great.
The howling got louder.
“I hate this story!” Timmy ran back to the bed and dove under the covers.
I tried the doorknob again. Still locked. I jumped up and kicked as hard as I could at the door. It rattled in its frame, but stayed shut.
The roaring suddenly stopped. As if the wolves had all run away, maybe because they were afraid of something even bigger and more ferocious.
I kicked again at the doorknob. Then I backed up and took a run at it with my shoulder. It flew open, and I tumbled outside.
I stood up. I was alone in the living room.
Timmy tiptoed up behind me. “Where’s Mommy?”
“RIGHT HERE!” The door from Aunt Mina’s bedroom swung open, and there she was.
But she wasn’t Aunt Mina anymore. She had the same gray eyes and thin eyebrows, but besides that, she didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen, even in the zoo. She had grown so tall she had to hunch under the doorframe. Her brown hair, now long and stiff, stood up on her head like a big dead bush. More hair, shorter and bristly, like a porcupine’s, covered her shoulders and arms. Her fingers had stretched out and hardened into claws. Her eyes were red. Thick yellow goo, like grease, leaked from their corners and made streaks over her face. Her necklace hadn’t grown, but now it was glowing a deep red, not pink. She grinned at us. You could see her long, needly teeth.
“You smell funny, Mommy,” said Timmy. “Maybe you should take a bath. And also stop being a monster.”
The monster roared. The noise slammed into us like a tractor trailer on the highway. “You broke my rule!”
Timmy snapped his fingers. He must have been hoping he could zap the monster back to normal like he had zapped the frog back into a phone. Nothing happened.
The monster stepped forward. The claws of her feet dug so deep into the floor that little wood chunks flew up and skipped across it.
There was only one place to run. I darted for the bathroom, pulling Timmy behind me. I pushed the doorknob button to lock the door behind us.
There was a window next to the toilet, and outside the window, a metal fire escape. If we could get out there, maybe we could get away. But Aunt Mina was always careful to keep the window latched so Timmy couldn’t accidentally open it. The latch was on the top of the window frame. I jumped up onto the toilet seat to reach it.
“Open up!” The monster was outside the door, but she was so loud it sounded like she was screaming in our faces.
The latch was old and rusty. I couldn’t move it. I jumped to the floor.
The door whipped open and slammed against the other side of the wall. The monster had to duck her enormous bush of hair under the doorframe just to fit through. Flames flickered from her nostrils. Spit sizzled around her mouth. A drop of it fell onto the sink. I could smell the monster’s thick, swampy breath.
We were trapped.
The monster saw my footprints on the toilet seat. “You disgusting kids!”
A few of the old tiles in the bathroom cracked from the force of her voice.
“Aunt Mina, look at Timmy. He’s your son. Remember?”
“You.” Her voice was now a raspy whisper. “You want to steal my necklace.”
She made her claws into two huge spiky fists and spread them wide to crush us between them. I jumped on Timmy and tackled him to the floor. She missed us, but one of her fists smashed into the mirror over the sink and deep into the wall behind it. She bellowed in fury. I pushed Timmy forward between her legs, and we scampered out into the living room.
We heard a tremendous crash. The monster came stomping through the ruined wall.
I looked at the front door. To get to it we’d have to sprint right under her claws. There was no place to run and no place to hide in this little apartment.
Then I had an idea. We had to take control of the story.
“Bedroom, Timmy.”
We raced back into his room.
Through the open doorway we saw the monster lift her head and let out a noise that sounded a little like a chuckle, a little like a growl, and a little like a chicken being crunched up by an alligator.
“Get in the bed,” I told Timmy. “You’re going to ask your mom for a new story. A nicer story. It’s the only way to change her back.”
I hoped he understood.
The monster folded her arms and squeezed through the doorway after us. She stopped and made a disgusting burbling sound deep in her throat. “I’m getting hungry!”
“How about a new story, Mommy?” Timmy suggested.
The monster stopped burbling. “A new story?”
“Yeah! One where Mommy loses her weird hair and sharp teeth and smells better and starts being nice again. How about that one?”
The monster stretched out her arms. Her nail were like iron spikes.
“Keep going, Timmy!” I said.
“And she says sorry and everything is okay and nobody gets eaten,” Timmy finished. “The end.”
“The end,” the monster growled. “The end for you.”
“No!” said Timmy. “That’s the ol
d story. We want a new one.”
“Start with ‘Once upon a time,’” I said.
The monster stuck out her long yellow tongue and ran it over her fat lips. “Once upon a time . . .”
Was that enough to start the story? Now I just had to get her to tell the rest.
“Good!” I said. “Now say ‘The monster disappeared!’”
The monster roared again. “NO! The monster punished the children. Because they broke her rule!” Now fire was pouring out between her needly teeth as well as her nostrils. I could feel the heat on my forehead, like a sunburn. Timmy screamed.
“Aunt Mina,” I said. “This is your son! You love him. You don’t have to be a monster. Tell a new story. Say ‘Once upon a time.’”
She snarled. A fleck of spit flew from her lips and landed on my skin. It burned.
“Once upon a time,” the monster said.
“Yes! ‘The monster remembered that she loved her son.’ Say it, Aunt Mina!”
Timmy was curled up on the bed, his knees held tight to his head. But he opened one eye.
“The monster remembered,” she growled.
“Good!” I said. “Remembered what?”
“That . . .”
“Yes?”
“That . . .”
“Say it!”
“That the children deserve to die!”
She jumped up and down on her clawed feet. I could feel the floor shake. Her fat, scaly stomach jiggled. Timmy moaned.
What could I do? My dad yelled at me sometimes. His face got just as red as Aunt Mina’s. He lost control, but then he calmed down. This monster would never calm down. Sometimes adults go crazy. This one had gone worse than crazy.
But I remembered that the story wasn’t over. “What’s wrong with breaking a rule?” I asked.
The monster swung her head toward me.
“What’s wrong with stealing a cell phone?” I asked. “Or a necklace?”
The monster tossed her head back. Flames spurted from her throat again. She suddenly stopped. Maybe she was afraid the ceiling would catch fire and collapse all over us.
What else could I do but keep going?
“What’s wrong with leaving a few toys on the floor?” I said.
“What’s wrong?” she roared.
“Yeah! What wrong? Kids do that. We’re kids.”