by R. L. Stine
“Don’t you ever knock?”
She ignored my question and stepped up to the lab table. “Eww, that stinks. What are you doing?”
I snickered. “I’m mixing up a special drink for McClatchy.”
Kayla didn’t laugh. “Stop it, Jay. That’s not funny. Stop thinking about pranks and mean tricks to play on people.”
I held out the fizzing beaker. “Take a sip. See if it’s ready.”
She stepped back. “You’re really being stupid. You know that?”
I didn’t answer. I poured a little more acid in the beaker and watched it bubble.
But Kayla wasn’t finished scolding me. “I can’t believe you’re mixing chemicals again. You promised Mom and Dad,” she said. “You promised them you’ve changed. You said you’d be responsible from now on.”
“So?” I shot back.
“So you got caught stuffing McClatchy’s mailbox with garbage, and you lost your bike.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I said.
“Go ahead. Do something responsible,” she said. “Do something to impress Mom and Dad.”
I set the test tube back in its holder. “Like what?”
Kayla thought for a moment. “Go take Mr. Phineas on his afternoon walk. Do it before they ask you to do it.”
“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll do it.” I started to close the lids on the chemical bottles. “Kayla, do you want to come with me?”
She shook her head. “Too boring.” She turned and ran from the room.
A few minutes later, I snapped the leash on Mr. Phineas, and we set off walking down the front lawn. “Mr. Phineas, stop pulling,” I cried. “Stop it. You’re pulling the leash from my hand.” The dog was pulling like crazy. Excited to be outside, I guess.
“Mr. Phineas — stop! Mr. Phineas — slow down, boy!”
To my surprise, the two lawn gnomes had been moved from the front porch. Now they were at the bottom of the driveway.
Across the street, McClatchy’s two lawn gnomes stood at the curb. The four bearded gnomes appeared to be having a staring match!
Who keeps moving them around? I wondered.
And more important, why?
What a mystery. So far, I couldn’t get anyone to answer my questions about them.
More gnomes stared at us from front yards as Mr. Phineas pulled me down the street. At one house, I saw five of them standing in a circle. The gnomes’ arms were outstretched. It looked like they were holding hands.
Totally weird.
“Hey — stop!” I let out a cry as Mr. Phineas took off. I saw a squirrel half a block away. “No — stop! Stop!”
The leash flew out of my hand. Barking his head off, the big dog went tearing down the middle of the street. The squirrel froze for a moment, then turned and scampered away.
“Mr. Phineas! Come back! Come back!”
In a panic, I stumbled after him, shouting, begging him to stop his hunt. But nothing can stop Mr. Phineas when he spots a squirrel.
“Mr. Phineas! Stop! Come back!”
The leash whipped along the pavement behind him as he ran. I didn’t see the squirrel anywhere. It had probably climbed a tree.
But the dog didn’t slow down.
“Mr. Phineas — please!”
And then I saw a dark green car turn onto the street. And I staggered to a stop, my body frozen in horror.
“No! Noooo! Mr. Phineas — LOOK OUT!”
I shut my eyes and listened to the squeal of tires.
A deafening crash made me jump. I heard a man scream.
It forced me to open my eyes. I saw the green car, its front fender crushed against a light pole.
Mr. Phineas?
I heard his bark. And saw him running down the middle of the street, into the next block.
The car had missed him. The big dog didn’t even stop running.
The passenger door swung open. A man in a dark suit staggered out, shaking his head. He gripped the top of the car, as if holding himself up.
“S-sorry,” I stammered as I ran past.
He called out. But I kept running. I had to catch Mr. Phineas before he caused another accident.
I took the dog out to prove how responsible I was. And now the dog caused an accident and ran away. I knew I was in major trouble.
And guess what? It got worse.
“Mr. Phineas! Mr. Phineas!” I screamed at the dog.
He finally slowed down. I guess he saw that the squirrel had escaped and he was chasing nothing.
“Stop! Stop!” I was running hard, still half a block behind him.
I gasped as a dark shadow rolled over me. I heard flapping wings. Then another shadow swept past.
It happened so fast, I didn’t have a chance to scream or do anything.
Gasping for breath, I stood and watched as two enormous Buzzard Hawks shot down from the sky. They swooped onto Mr. Phineas, squawking loudly, their huge black wings beating the air.
The big dog swung his head around. Snarling, he bared his teeth and tried to snap at them.
But the birds were too big, too powerful.
Gripped with terror, I watched as they dug their talons into the fur on his back. They raised their heads and flapped their wings furiously.
And started to lift Mr. Phineas off the ground.
“Noooo!” A howl burst from deep inside me.
The Buzzard Hawks squawked and flapped. Mr. Phineas swung his head back and forth, struggling to free himself.
They lifted him a foot off the ground. I took a running leap. Dove forward. Stretched out my arms to grab him away from them.
Stretched … stretched …
And missed.
I landed hard on the pavement. Skidded several feet on my stomach.
It knocked my breath out. I wheezed and choked and struggled to force air into my lungs.
And watched as the screaming, squawking monster birds flew off with Mr. Phineas.
Sucking in deep breaths of air, I forced myself to my feet. The huge birds cast wide shadows on the street as they flew away with my dog. The poor guy let out a howl of fright.
My sneakers slapped the pavement as I ran after the birds. They were high above me, flapping their long black wings, and pulling themselves higher.
“Ohh.” I stumbled over something. A large glass soda bottle. It rolled away from me toward the curb.
Without stopping to think about it, I bent down and grabbed the bottle. I didn’t have time to take aim or plan my throw. With a loud groan, I heaved the bottle into the air. Heaved it at the squawking birds.
I heard a hard thump.
A Buzzard Hawk screamed.
The birds flew apart. And Mr. Phineas came sailing down.
My heart did a flip-flop in my chest. I reached out my arms. He was falling fast. The dog’s legs were thrashing the air. His tail tucked between his legs. Too terrified to make a sound.
I had to catch him. I had to —
“OWWW!” I cried out in pain as he crashed into my arms like a meteorite falling to the ground. I fell onto my back and he landed on my chest. In the sky, I saw the two Buzzard Hawks floating away.
“Mr. Phineas — stop it! Come on, boy — stop!” Still on top of me, the big jerk began licking my face. “Please — stop!”
I suddenly remembered the driver. The green car. The accident.
In my attempt to rescue Mr. Phineas, I’d forgotten all about him. I grabbed the dog’s leash and, wrapping the end around my hand, raced back.
“This is your fault, Mr. Phineas,” I scolded as we ran.
The dog wagged his tail a little harder. He didn’t understand.
I found the man in the dark suit still standing by the light pole. He had short brown hair parted in the middle, brown eyes, a small mustache, and a pointed chin. He was muttering to himself as he walked in a circle around the pole and his wrecked car.
He didn’t see me until I called out to him. “Are you okay?”
He stopped circling and stared at me. “M
alfunction,” he shouted in a high, shrill voice. “Malfunction.”
“I … don’t understand,” I said. I stepped closer. Mr. Phineas sniffed the light pole. “Are you okay?” I repeated.
“Malfunction,” the man said. “Malfunction.”
Oh, no. He must have hit his head.
He just kept repeating that word. His eyes were glassy. He had no expression on his face at all.
“Malfunction. Malfunction. Malfunction.”
I didn’t know what to do. He probably had a concussion or something. I glanced all around. No one else in sight.
“Malfunction. Malfunction.”
“I … I’ll get help,” I stammered. I motioned with both hands. “Stay here, okay? Do you want to sit down? I’m going to call for help.”
“Malfunction. Malfunction.” His fingers were all moving at once, tapping the sides of his suit pants. “Malfunction.”
I tugged Mr. Phineas away from the light pole. My plan was to hurry to the nearest house and ask them to call 911. Mr. Phineas tugged back. He wasn’t finished sniffing the pole.
I gave a hard yank on the leash and started to jog toward the small, square redbrick house on the corner.
“Malfunction. Malfunction.”
I glanced back and saw the poor man circling his car again. Muttering that word over and over.
I’m in major trouble. I’ve never been in trouble this bad.
Oh, well. Actually, I have. But this is pretty bad.
I didn’t see the car coming from behind until it pulled to a stop across the street from me. “Is there a problem here?”
The voice startled me. I looked over and saw two blue-uniformed police officers inside a black-and-white patrol car.
I let out a sigh. “Oh, thank goodness,” I said. “Th-there’s been an accident.” I pointed.
The two officers climbed quickly out of their car. They left the doors open and started toward me.
I hurried back to the man circling the light pole.
“Malfunction. Malfunction.”
I turned to the two cops. “It … it wasn’t my fault. Really,” I stammered.
But their eyes narrowed as they came at me. Their shoulders tensed. They lowered their hands over their holsters. And they stared coldly at me as they moved in.
“Hey —” I gasped. “What are you going to do?”
I staggered back until I bumped into the green car.
Eyes narrowed coldly, the two cops kept coming.
“Wait. Please —” I pleaded.
To my surprise, they walked right past me. They strode up to the man circling the light pole.
“Malfunction,” he said. “Malfunction.”
“Yeah, we know,” one of the cops said.
They both grabbed the man. Each cop took a shoulder.
Looking confused, the man swung his head from side to side. “Malfunction. Malfunction.”
The cops pushed him quickly to the patrol car. The man made no attempt to resist. He just kept moving his head back and forth and repeating the one word.
They pushed him into the backseat of the car and slammed the door. A few seconds later, the car started up and they roared away.
I stood there, stunned. Mr. Phineas tugged at his leash. He sniffed the grass beside the damaged car. I could still hear the roar of the patrol car as it sped down the street.
“I’m in so much trouble,” I told the dog. “I was just trying to be responsible. And now look.” I shook my head sadly.
Mr. Phineas gazed up at me for a moment. Then he went back to his sniffing.
That poor man, I thought. He’s totally messed up.
I promised I wouldn’t get in trouble when we moved here. And now I was probably in the worst trouble of my life.
I started to walk Mr. Phineas home. The sun was nearly down. We walked through long shadows.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the accident. Mr. Phineas loped along slowly, tired from his adventure.
We passed a group of lawn gnomes standing at the bottom of a wide lawn. They all had sick smiles on their faces. As if they knew what had happened to me and were grinning merrily about it.
Don’t let your imagination run away with you, Jay, I scolded myself. They are ugly little men molded out of plaster. Don’t get crazy just because they have smiles painted on their faces.
Mr. Phineas led the way onto our block. He started to pull on the leash. I guess he was eager to get home and have his dinner.
A feeling of heavy dread fell over me. My stomach started to churn. I knew I had to tell my parents about the accident as soon as I got home.
We passed another group of grinning lawn gnomes. I had my head down. My brain was spinning.
Suddenly, I felt Mr. Phineas tug hard at his leash. I looked up and saw a fat gray cat slither across the street.
Mr. Phineas let out a fierce bark — and took off after the cat. The leash flew out of my hand. Barking ferociously, the big dog galloped down the street.
“Oh, noooo!” I wailed. “Not again!”
The street was empty. No cars coming toward us. But Mr. Phineas turned suddenly and, barking his head off, roared past a tall hedge and into a front yard.
It took me a few seconds to recognize the house. And then I screamed my lungs out: “No! Mr. Phineas — NO! Not McClatchy’s yard! No! Not McClatchy!”
I chased after the big dog, but no way could I catch him. Four legs are always faster than two — especially when they’re on a golden Lab.
He galloped right between two lawn gnomes standing beside the front walk. And finally stopped on McClatchy’s front porch.
“No! Get away!” I shouted, running up the middle of the yard. “Mr. Phineas — move! Get off the porch!”
I was just a few feet away when I realized the dog wasn’t standing right. He had hunched his whole body. His head was down.
A deep groan escaped Mr. Phineas’s throat. He tightened his body even more. His tail was tucked tightly between his legs.
I recognized that pose. The dog was going to be sick.
I couldn’t get there in time. I stood and watched as Mr. Phineas started to vomit. Groaning and moaning, he choked up big hunks of puke.
His whole body heaved and shook as he vomited up a messy pile.
Guess where? Yes. Right in front of McClatchy’s front door.
“Mr. Phineas, come,” I ordered. “Come here. Mr. Phineas — come.”
The dog stood up straight and licked the vomit off his lips.
“Mr. Phineas — get away from there.”
I moved forward to grab the leash — and the front door swung open. The porch light flashed on.
McClatchy squinted out at me. His expression quickly turned angry. “Hey — what’s your dog doing on my front porch?” he snarled.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McClatchy,” I started. “Please don’t walk —”
He pulled the front door in farther and stepped out. His foot landed in the mountain of puke. It made a sick squisssh.
McClatchy’s mouth dropped open as he slipped on the vomit. His foot slid out behind him — and he fell facedown on the porch. Vomit splashed up in a high wave.
Muttering to himself, he slipped and slid in it. Finally, he managed to pull himself to his feet.
He shook his fists in the air and screamed his lungs out for a long moment. Then he pulled back his leg — and kicked Mr. Phineas in the belly.
The dog uttered a yelp. It was a hard kick. Mr. Phineas landed on his feet in front of me, whimpering softly.
McClatchy stood glaring at me, hands on his hips.
“Hey!” I shouted angrily. “You can’t kick my dog!”
McClatchy stuck his jaw out. “I just did. What are you going to do about it, kid?”
I stared back at him. I was too angry to speak. My hands were balled into tight fists. My chest felt about to explode.
“Well? What are you going to do about it?” McClatchy repeated.
I’ll think of something, I t
old myself. Don’t worry, McClatchy. I’ll think of something.
That night, I was up in my room, moving my chemical bottles around on the lab table. I was too angry and upset to work with my chemistry set. But it felt good to move the bottles around.
I didn’t tell my parents about the car accident. I was trying to think of a good way to give them the news.
Kayla sat on the edge of my bed, resting her head in her hands. “You have to calm down,” she said. “You’re totally losing it.”
“I’m not losing it,” I said. “Mr. Phineas has to be avenged.”
“You have to be careful,” Kayla warned.
“I can’t be careful,” I told her. “I have to teach McClatchy a lesson. He can’t just kick someone’s dog because they puke on his porch.”
Kayla locked her eyes on me. “You’re looking for trouble.”
I banged a bottle on the table. “McClatchy is the one looking for trouble.”
She sighed and stood up. She brushed her red hair back. “So what do you plan to do?”
“I … don’t know,” I replied. “I’m going to sneak out. I’m going over to McClatchy’s house. But I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there.”
She shook her head. “Jay, you know you’re not allowed to go out after dinner.”
“Tell someone who cares,” I said.
She stomped her foot and strode out of the room.
“Are you going to tell on me?” I shouted.
She didn’t answer.
I went to the window and stared down at the street. It was a clear, still night. The trees didn’t move. The sky was a deep purple. Streetlights sent a pale yellow glow over McClatchy’s tall hedge at the curb.
Suddenly, I knew what I would do to get my revenge. I chuckled to myself. Sure, it was mean. It was very mean.
But McClatchy deserved it. He had to be taught a lesson. I had to stand up for Mr. Phineas and all dogs everywhere.
My head buzzed with excitement. My hands felt clammy. I could feel my heartbeats fluttering in my chest.
Yes. Yes. This was mean … but perfect.
I crossed the room to my bookshelf and bent down to the bottom shelf. I found the old book under a pile of magazines. It was a book I’d found in the library back home.