by R. L. Stine
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE …
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE …
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EPILOGUE FROM SLAPPY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
Welcome to My World.
Yes, it’s SlappyWorld—you’re only screaming in it! Hahaha!
Want to know how old I am? What difference does it make when I’m this good-looking?! Hahaha.
I just celebrated my birthday—by throwing a cake into someone’s face! Hahaha.
Sorry I forgot to blow out the candles first!
Guess that was a mistake. Someone asked me what my biggest mistake was. I think my biggest mistake is being too nice. Haha. Or is it being too generous?
Listen, we all make mistakes. I do, too. After all, I’m only inhuman! Hahaha.
I’m having a nice day. I’m sitting at home reading a book. Know what kind of book I like? A horror story where the dummy wins! Now, here’s a story for you. It’s about a boy named Mason who is going to face one of the nastiest and weirdest supervillains ever. Think Mason will win? I don’t! Hahaha.
The story is called They Call Me the Night Howler. And I think it’s a howl!
It’s just one more terrifying tale from SlappyWorld.
How I Became a Superhero
By Mason Brady
I’m Mason Brady, and that’s the title of the paper I’d like to write for Mrs. Stuckhouse, my sixthgrade teacher.
It’s an exciting story, with lots of adventure and surprises. And, trust me, all kinds of danger. And I’m sure I would get an A-plus or at least an A on it.
But, of course, I can’t write it. Because it’s the truth.
It has to remain a big, fat superhero secret.
If I tell anyone, I will lose all my powers. And then where would I be? Doomed. And my enemies would celebrate.
My secret identity has to remain hush-hush. Actually, I’m not even sure about it myself. I mean, it’s very confusing. How many twelve-year-olds have to worry about a secret identity?
Okay. Let’s put it this way—I’m trying to figure out how to tell you about who I was and who I am now and what happened in between.
Well, start at the beginning, Mason.
That’s how I talk to myself sometimes. It helps me untangle my thoughts.
So here goes …
The story starts at my favorite place on earth. The Comic Book Characters Hall of Fame Museum.
The museum is actually an old mansion located at the edge of Fargo Hills, about an hour’s drive from my house. It’s high on a hill, surrounded by tall, bending trees that cast the entire building in dark shadow.
It has a round stone tower on one end and several chimneys sticking up on its slanting roof. I think it looks more like a castle than a house.
As Dad pulled the car into the parking lot, my heart was pounding. It was like a drumbeat. I could hear it bumping in my ears. That’s how excited I was.
My ten-year-old sister, Stella, sat next to me in the back seat. She was pretending to be excited, too. She likes to make me nuts by copying me all the time. Stella isn’t into comic books or superheroes one bit. She doesn’t even know who the Avengers are. I asked her to name them and she just giggled.
Even her looks copy me. We’re both tall. We both have short black hair and dark eyes and serious faces.
Why does she have to look like me? It’s so annoying.
For the whole drive, she kept poking me and asking dumb questions.
“Mason, would you rather have the power to fly or be invisible?”
I pushed her away. “I don’t want to play that game, Stella.”
She grinned at me. “If you were a superhero, what color costume would you wear?”
I knew she was only asking the questions to drive me crazy. She didn’t even wait to hear my answers. “What would your superhero name be, Mason? Would you rather be good or evil? What special power would you have?”
“The power to make you shut up?” I replied.
“Stop that, Mason!” Mom snapped. She twisted around in the passenger seat. “Stella is trying to have a conversation with you.”
“No, she isn’t,” I said. “She’s just being a pest. She isn’t into comics at all.”
“Well, you can teach her,” Dad said.
He always takes Stella’s side. She’s his little princess.
“You can be her tour guide,” Mom said.
I groaned.
What can you say after a horrible idea like that?
I’m very serious about superheroes and comic book art. I draw my own comic strips, and I think I’m getting better and better.
My superhero is called Double-Header. That’s because he has two heads. One head is good. The other head is evil. I think Double-Header is the first two-headed superhero in history.
I show my comic drawings to my friends at school. They all say I’m a genius. I can’t tell if they’re being sarcastic or not.
Sarcastic was one of our vocabulary words, and it’s a good one. I use it a lot.
I showed one of my comics to Mrs. Stuckhouse, and she said, “Wonderful, wonderful.” But she was in a hurry and hardly looked at it.
I gazed out the window as we pulled into the museum parking lot. “Wow!” I couldn’t help but let out a cry when I spotted the tall bronze statue at the entrance. The statue of the Silver Centipede.
The Silver Centipede was the first superhero inducted into the Hall of Fame. And the Man of 100 Legs, as he is known, became the symbol of the museum.
One of my most awesome T-shirts has the big silvery Centipede on the front. I don’t wear it very often. It’s too valuable. I’ve tried drawing the Silver Centipede. But it’s very hard. I always mess up the legs.
I leaped out of the car before Dad even shut off the engine. “YAAAY! We’re HERE!” I jumped up and down. I felt like I could explode, with my whole body flying off in different directions. That’s how excited I was.
I trotted ahead of the others as we crossed the gravel parking lot toward the entrance. Dad hurried after me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Now, I know you’re excited, Mason,” he said. “And I want you to have the time of your life here. But I just want to ask one thing.”
“Okay,” I said. “What’s that?”
“It’s a very big museum. Don’t wander off. Let’s all stick together, okay?”
“Sure, Dad,” I said.
I was being sarcastic.
My plan was to get away from them as fast as I could.
And, of course, that’s how all the trouble started.
My head began to spin when we stepped into the very first room of the museum. The walls were covered with huge paintings of the greatest comic heroes of all time.
My eyes darted from painting to painting. I didn’t know where to begin.
The White Raven stood
next to Harvey the Horrible. Guppy Girl, with her fins of steel, was riding a tsunami across a raging ocean.
The picture of The Flattener was painted by one of my favorite comic artists, Min Li. The hero’s name is really Henry Punch. But he got that nickname because he leaves his enemies as flat as pancakes.
Will I ever be able to draw this well?
That’s the question I asked myself as I moved slowly across the room, studying each painting.
I wondered if Min Li or any of the other artists ever gave drawing lessons.
Stella bumped me from the side. “Where is Captain Teddy Bear?” she asked. “I love Captain Teddy Bear.”
“Go away,” I said. “This is the best art ever done. Captain Teddy Bear is for little kids.”
Stella made her pouty face. “I don’t care. I think Captain Teddy Bear is cute.” She bumped me again.
“Why don’t you go to the baby room?” I said. “You can find all your favorites there. They have Goo Goo Girl and Captain Diaper Rash. That sounds like something you’d like.”
“Be nice to your sister,” Dad said. “She just wants to learn.”
I gritted my teeth and growled.
Princess Stella can do no wrong.
I trotted away from Stella and led the way into the next room. It was filled with long glass display cases. The cases had superhero costumes inside.
I hurried to the first case and lowered my face to the glass. I couldn’t believe I was gazing at Lava Lad’s actual costume. It looked just like a blazing red volcano was erupting on it.
“Hey, this one is funny!” Stella exclaimed. She had her face pressed against a display case, rubbing her hands all over the glass. “It’s a joke, right, Mason?”
I walked up to her. “That’s not a joke,” I told her. “That’s The Masked Orangutan.”
She squinted at me. “How can a stupid orangutan be a superhero?”
“He’s not stupid,” I said. “He has the wisdom of seven humans.” I pushed her back. “Get your hands off the glass.”
“Well, why does he wear that stupid mask?” she asked.
“It’s not a stupid mask. He wears it so no one can guess his identity,” I said. I let out a long sigh. I mean, how could she not know that?
I turned to my parents. “Stella is smearing the glass.”
“Her hands are clean,” Dad said. “She won’t hurt anything.”
Sheesh.
I had to get away from my sister. And my parents. The museum wasn’t crowded. In fact, we were the only family I saw. So there was no way they’d lose me.
I waited till Stella and my parents had their backs turned, studying the blue-and-green costume of Sir Seaweed. Then I darted out of the room, through a narrow entrance at the far wall.
I found myself in a long, dimly lit hall. The walls were covered with superhero weapons. Ancient-style battle axes hung next to laser beam weapons. I hurried past silvery swords and golden bows and arrows. Flashes of lightning crackled on the ceiling over my head.
A lot of doors were closed along this hall. I didn’t see anyone else back here. A wide door at the end of the hall stood partly open, pale blue light glowing behind it.
I lowered my head and took off running toward the open door. I was nearly there when I heard footsteps behind me.
I spun around.
“Oh no.”
Stella came rushing at me. “Wait up! Mason, wait up!”
She ran up to me and slapped my shoulder. “Nice try, dude. But you lose. You’re stuck with me.” She giggled.
At least she realized she was a pain.
I just shook my head and uttered a growl. I didn’t say anything.
I turned and led the way through the door. It took a little while for my eyes to adjust to the dim blue light.
When I could finally focus, I saw a tall statue in the center of the room. The hero’s back faced the door. I could only see his long cape.
I took two steps toward the statue. Then I stopped when I heard a loud slaaaam.
I spun around. The door had banged shut behind us. I blinked to make sure I was seeing right.
And then I heard a clicccck as the door locked.
I turned to Stella. “Hey—what’s up with that?” I murmured.
I ran to the door. Grabbed the knob. Pulled. It wouldn’t budge.
We were locked in.
Stella and I stared at each other in silence.
We both turned to look at the statue. Two spotlights on the ceiling bathed it in an eerie blue light.
I made my way around to the front—and instantly recognized the character. I gasped. The statue captured him perfectly.
The leopard-skin cape and the white boots covered in yellow feathers gave him away. So did the crooked smile on his face and the wild, bug-eyed look in his eyes.
“This is Dr. Maniac,” I told Stella.
“Well, duh,” she said. She pointed to a sign on the wall. It read:
DR. MANIAC
I’M NOT CRAZY—I’M A MANIAC!
“He’s weird,” Stella said, squinting at the feathery boots.
“Definitely,” I replied. “He’s one of the weirdest characters ever.”
“Is he good or bad?”
“Bad,” I said. “I mean seriously bad. Dr. Maniac is one of the worst supervillains of all time. And no one can ever catch him because he’s so totally twisted and unpredictable.”
“I’M NOT THAT BAD!” a deep voice boomed.
I uttered a startled cry and nearly jumped out of my shoes. “Wh-who said that?” I stammered. My voice came out in a tiny squeak.
Stella grabbed my arm.
A tall man stepped from the shadows. He swept his leopard-skin cape around him. He wore steel body armor over his blue-and-green jumpsuit.
Dr. Maniac!
He glared angrily at Stella and me. “I don’t like to be bad-mouthed,” he said. “I don’t like people saying nasty things about me. It hurts my feelings. It makes me angrier than a tadpole in a barrel of cheese curd!”
I swallowed. “I—I—I—”
I wanted to say I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get the words out.
He was really real! Dr. Maniac was real. Superheroes were real!
Stella took a step forward. “My brother was just explaining to me who you are,” she said.
“Who I are?” Maniac boomed angrily. “Who I are?! I’ll tell you who I are! I’m the bratwurst in a bowl of baked beans! Does that give you an idea of who I are?”
“Not really,” Stella muttered.
“I-I’ve read your graphic novels,” I said. I was struggling to say something nice to calm him down. “You … uh … have a lot of personality.”
“I eat personality for breakfast,” he said. “Stick out your tongue, fella.”
I gasped. “Huh? My tongue? Why?”
He took two steps toward me. His body armor rattled as he walked. “I’m a doctor, aren’t I? Stick out your tongue.”
I hesitated.
What would he do if I didn’t stick my tongue out?
“Okay.” I stuck out my tongue.
“Haha! Made you do it!” He pumped his gloved fists in the air as he laughed.
“Can we go now?” Stella asked in a tiny voice.
Maniac turned to her, his eyes nearly bulging from his head. One blue eye and one brown eye. “Go?” he boomed. “Go? Before we’ve even had our tea?”
“Uh … Stella and I don’t like tea,” I said.
“Neither do I!” Maniac cried.
“So can we go?” Stella asked. Her chin was trembling. I could see she was as afraid as I was.
“Go?” Maniac repeated. “Don’t make me larf! Don’t make me LARF!”
“Our parents are waiting—” I started.
“How can you leave?” the supervillain demanded. “The door is locked.”
“Can you unlock it?” I asked.
“Don’t make me LARF! Don’t make me LARF!” he shouted again, tossing his cape behind him.<
br />
“No. Really,” I said. My throat suddenly felt tight. My heart was pounding. “It … it was nice meeting you. I’ve always dreamed about meeting a comic book character in person. Sometimes I even daydream that I am a superhero. But … well … Stella and I have to go.”
Dr. Maniac rubbed his chin with one gloved hand. “Hmmmm,” he murmured. “Actually, there’s only one way for you to leave.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“If you want to leave this room,” Maniac said, “you have to eat my boot!”
I gasped. “Huh?”
Maniac reached down and tugged off one of his boots. He shoved it toward me. “Eat my boot and you’re free to go.”
I stared at the boot covered in long yellow feathers. “You’re joking, right?” I said.
“Joking? I’m as serious as a robin redbreast eating a Tootsie Roll!” he exclaimed.
“You’re crazy!” Stella cried.
“I’m not crazy! I’m a MANIAC!”
Stella took a few steps back from him. I gazed around the room, searching for a way to escape. Another door … a window … anything.
But except for the one locked door … just solid walls.
Dr. Maniac leaned against the big statue of himself. He pushed the boot against my chest. “Go ahead. Eat it. Eat my boot.”
My stomach did a flip-flop. I suddenly felt sick. “I … I can’t,” I stammered.
“Go ahead,” he insisted, still pushing the boot against my chest. “Eat it. It’s soft. It’s very soft leather. It’ll go down easy. You’ll see, Herman.” He squinted at me. “Is your name Herman?”
“No, it’s Mason.”
He paused. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s Mason.”
He nodded. “Okay. I thought maybe you were a Herman. I just took a guess. Sometimes I get it right.”
He pushed the boot harder against me. “Listen, Herman, do you know how I know your name? Because I’m brilliant. Ask anyone. I’m as smart as a cow in a pizza parlor.”
My stomach churned again. I had to force my breakfast back down.
I took the boot into my hands. It was heavier than I thought. The feathers were long and scratchy.
“Do I … do I really have to eat this boot?” I stammered.
Maniac shook his head. He took the boot from me. “No. You don’t. I was just messing with you.”
“Huh?” I uttered another surprised gasp.