“Sorry,” Adam said. “This isn’t a cartoon. That won’t work. We need a snare.”
“You mean something that pulls the monster up in the air when it steps in it?” I put the dandelion to my nose. It smelled sweet.
“Exactly,” Adam said. “But you know, catching the monster’s not the hard part.”
“Oh, really? What’s the hard part?”
“Figuring out what we’re gonna do with it once we catch it.”
“I have an idea,” I said casually.
I’d been thinking a lot about this since last night, and it was more than an idea. I was sure it was the best idea in the history of ideas: we could make a movie!
It could be framed like a documentary that goes wrong. Adam and I could be bird-watchers who stumble upon a forest of monsters. We could shoot the whole thing with a handheld camera using shaky bad angles to make it look authentic.
The set would be free—it was right in my backyard. And we wouldn’t even have to pay our actors, because they would be us.
But where would we distribute it? Maybe YouTube? Or maybe Taylor could ask Roland Reed to take a look. He might know someone we could pitch to. Or—
“I think we should keep the monster,” Adam said, bringing me back to the present. “We can study it.”
“What good would studying it do?”
Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s probably a crossbreed. We can figure out what it’s a mix of. Or it might be an entirely new species, and we’d be the ones to discover it.” He jerked his head toward the woods. “Want to see where I think we should set the trap?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. Just the thought of going back into the woods freaked me out, but I couldn’t send Adam in there alone.
After Adam grabbed his backpack from his house, I followed him through the woods, keeping so close I practically stepped on his heels. My entire body was tense. A twig snapped a few feet away and I flinched. “What was that?”
“A rabbit,” Adam replied. “Trust me. We’ll be in and out in twenty minutes.” He didn’t sound even a little afraid, and that made me relax. Kind of.
We weaved off from the trail and fought our way through bushes and weeds. Green stickers clung to my T-shirt. “Almost there,” Adam said, whacking at a branch. “And … here we are!”
We were standing in a small clearing. In the middle was a half-crumbled red brick cabin backlit by sunlight. From a certain angle and with one eye closed and the other all squinted, it looked almost livable. But if I walked a step in any direction, I could see the roof was caved in and two of the four sides had fallen down. Weeds grew up in tufts from an old broken sidewalk and wildflowers covered the ground.
I pointed. “Hey, what kind of flowers are those?”
“The purplish blue ones are bluebells. And the white lacey ones are Queen Anne’s lace.”
“Pretty.”
“Glad you think so, because this is our headquarters. We can use what’s left of the cabin as a shelter, in case we come across our friend.” Adam disappeared around the corner of the building.
“Wait!” I scrambled after him, careful not to slip on the broken sidewalk leading to what used to be the front door. “We should stick together!” I followed him through a gaping hole in the right side of the cabin Inside, it was just one room—the bathroom walls had collapsed. I spotted the remnants of a metal toilet through the broken brick.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said, swiping at a spiderweb. “We set up camp here, clear out all those old bricks and the junk outside. And then we set up the bait.”
“What bait?” I asked, looking around. The place smelled musty, like someone’s old attic, and something dark was clustered in a corner. I wrinkled my nose. Animal poop.
Adam shrugged. “What do you think it eats?”
“If it’s really a Sasquatch, it’s a vegetarian.”
“According to who?”
“According to what, you mean. Monster movies. Sasquatches eat plants and berries.”
“Huh. Then why did you run screaming for home?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because vegetarians can still be serial killers?”
That made me think, though. The Sasquatch could have ripped us to pieces when we were exposed on the deer stand, but it just stood there.
“Interesting logic,” Adam said.
“You know, movies might help. They have rules. Especially horror movies.”
“Like what?”
“Like, don’t be a blonde and take a shower. Don’t split off from a group.” I ticked each rule off on my fingers. “When you shoot a monster, make sure it’s dead. And, oh, no matter what, never, ever say ‘I’ll be right back.’ Because you won’t be.”
Adam stroked his chin. “Huh. That’s very interesting. But I gotta go check something. I’ll be right back.”
“You’re not funny. I’m telling you, there are rules. And those rules will help us capture the monster.”
“Looks like we might have a secret weapon: your big, juicy brain, full of useful rules. Unless zombies come. Then they’ll eat it.”
I paced in the small room, glancing up through the gaping hole in the ceiling. “There’s a problem, though.”
“What’s that?”
“The monsters I’ve seen here so far don’t match their behaviors in the movies.” I picked up a piece of rotten wood and hurled it outside. “What swamp creature wants brains? And I’ve never heard of a Sasquatch that moos. Maybe the rules are useless.”
“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Adam stepped through the gap in the wall to the outside. He slid his backpack off, unzipped it, and removed a bundle of rope.
“What’s that for?”
“That’s part of our snare.” Adam reached into his backpack again and pulled out a big wire spring and a Swiss Army knife. “And this is the rest of it.”
I watched Adam tie the rope into a loop. He hid the loop under a pile of leaves and threw the other end of the rope over a tree branch. “If the monster steps into the center of the loop, the spring snaps to launch it into the air.”
I wrinkled my nose doubtfully. “Won’t a Sasquatch be too big?”
“Maybe too big to dangle. But not too big to get caught.”
“I just hope the knots don’t come undone.”
Adam looked at me like I’d insulted him. “Of course they won’t. I used a clove hitch.” To demonstrate, he untied the knot, then retied it. Slowly, like it was important that I remember how to do it. Since I use complicated knots to catch monsters so often.
“Oh. Right. A clove hitch.” I cleared my throat. “So how do we get the monster to step into the trap?”
Adam nudged more leaves and dirt over the loop with his foot. “With bait,” he said, reaching into his waist pack and pulling out a shiny apple and a handful of trail mix. He placed them carefully on top of the leaves.
“There.” He stepped back to admire his handiwork. “The hard part is over.”
Adam wasn’t the expert on monster movies, so I let it slide, but when someone says something like that, it means the trouble’s just beginning.
SCENE FIVE:
MONSTER GAMES
My imagination kept running away with me over the next few days. Not about catching the monster or even my Oscar-worthy project, but about how my parents would react to seeing it. That was what really mattered, because there was no way my parents would make us stay in a town crawling with monsters.
I even wrote a scene of how it would play out:
FADE IN:
INTERIOR OUR HOUSE, LIVING ROOM
FAMILY WATCHING DVD. MOM’S AND DAD’S EXPRESSIONS GROWING MORE AND MORE WORRIED.
MOM:
(Gasping, clutching chest, looking generally horrified and guilty)
Oh, my! You filmed that in our woods?
(Turns to where Dad sits on couch, looking dumbstruck.)
Ben! Honey! Go online right now and buy us tickets to fly home!
HOUSE INTERIOR, CONTINUOUS
DAD BUYING TICKETS, US PACKING, RUNNING THROUGH HOUSE.
DAD:
Leave it! We’ll buy new things! It’s not safe here!
HOUSE EXTERIOR, CONTINUOUS
DAD BOARDING UP HOUSE, DAD STICKING “FREE” SIGN IN FRONT YARD.
LONG SHOT
CAR PEELING AWAY FROM DRIVEWAY, BLACK EXHAUST CLOUDS.
It was a nice scene. Maybe I could translate it to reality.
Problem was, it had been days and the monster still hadn’t shown up. Adam and I checked the snare every morning and evening. Zilch. Seriously, where’s a bloodthirsty, camera-ready creature when you need one?
On Sunday evening, I slouched on our couch, watching a rerun of America’s Next Top Model. It was the forty-second season, or something, and Tyra Banks was reaching for ideas. (I’m sorry, but posing upside down in a wind tunnel is not a realistic modeling test.)
As I watched Tyra yell at one girl for “not wanting it enough,” I tried to not think about how tomorrow I would begin a new school, and how tomorrow Taylor and Casey would start seventh grade without me.
Buddy movies never include a friend who’s only available via Skype. What if they phased me out? Or, what if they walked into class tomorrow and found a fun, interesting girl who had just moved to Manhattan from Minneapolis, fidgeting at her desk, desperately in need of friends to help her adjust to the big, bad city?
I picked at a thread on the loveseat’s cushion, shooting a glare at Mom, who was researching furniture on her laptop. “I don’t think Crate & Barrel delivers this far,” I offered, but she ignored me.
Dad was sitting next to Mom on the couch, and he kept snapping his newspaper and sighing, which was his way of passive-aggressively objecting to America’s Next Top Model. Every time he did it, Haylie looked up from where she was playing with her Barbies on the floor.
Finally, he put his newspaper down. “Lissa, honey? Why don’t you go down to the basement? See if you can find a game for us to play.”
I shrugged, not tearing my eyes from the screen. “Nah, I’m good.”
“It’s not a request.” Dad cleared his throat. “I bet Aunt Lucy has some good stuff down there.”
“Fine.” I hoisted myself off the recliner. “I’ll be right back.”
I smiled to myself. I’ll be right back. Cue the spooky music.
I yanked on the metal chain attached to the basement light. The light flickered before turning on, casting long shadows down the wooden stairs. To my right, wobbly shelves were filled with rusty cans. They probably had killer spiders inside.
Carefully, I made my way down the stairs. Every step creaked, and I wondered exactly how many termites were gnawing on the wood.
I exhaled in relief when I got to the concrete floor, rubbing my bare arms. It was much colder down here. Plastic-covered furniture and piles of stuff were scattered all over the place. Something dripped in the far corner.
To my right was a box of old scrapbooks. I flipped one open to brittle, yellowed photos mounted on pages of construction paper. “Lucy, first day of high school,” was scrawled beneath one. I peered at it closer and realized Dad was right. I did look a lot like Aunt Lucy. We had the same high forehead, dark eyes, and square jaw.
“Hey!” My voice echoed up the stairs. “Where should I look?”
“Check the table by the water heater.” Dad sounded far away.
“Okay!” I replaced the photo album in the box and shuffled along the uneven floor until I saw a scratched-up coffee table. Faded, mouse-chewed games were stacked on top—Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble, Connect Four, Battleship. Boring.
But what was that at the bottom of the pile? It was a light-purple box, square and with black letters stenciled on the top. It was so dirty and dusty I couldn’t make out the words.
With my right hand, I rubbed away the filth. Monsterville. Then, beneath it: A Monster Around Every Corner. The lower left-hand corner contained black initials: L.B. Probably for “Lucy Black.”
I flipped the box, looking for a Parker Brothers or Milton Bradley logo, but there wasn’t one.
I heard water dripping in the corner again. I looked up and glanced around. Long shadows stretched across the floor, and I couldn’t see the far wall in the darkness.
Tucking Monsterville under my arm, I dashed across the concrete floor and pounded up the stairs.
“Find anything good?” Dad smiled innocently. He’d switched to a rerun of The Office.
“Just this.” I shook the box before dropping it onto the coffee table, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Haylie scooted over with her Barbies. “I want to play.” She pried off the lid. “Neat!” She flattened the game board on the table and pulled out the little figurines.
Mom shut her laptop and put it on the coffee table. She rummaged for the game’s instructions and handed them to Dad. “You do the honors.”
“Put each monster in the proper habitat,” he read from a yellowed piece of paper. “For example, the spiders in the hills, the troll near the bridge, the sandman in the desert, the mummy by the pyramids, the werewolf in the woods, the zombies in the town, the Loch Ness monster in the ocean, the blob guarding the cliffs.”
Mom pursed her lips as Haylie placed each figurine in the right spot. “I don’t know about this…. Are you sure this game’s appropriate for Haylie?”
I leaned closer to inspect it. We had nothing to worry about. The monster figurines were too cartoonish to be scary. The blob looked like a ball of bright orange Jell-O with little nubs for arms. How was it supposed to grab you? “Looks fine to me,” I said.
“Okay. But if Haylie has nightmares tonight, we’re never playing this game again.”
“I’m never scared,” Haylie proclaimed, twirling one long blonde strand around her finger and reaching for the gingerbread man-shaped player pieces. “Can I be the blue boy?”
“Um, sure.” I was surprised that Haylie wanted to use the boy piece, since she loves anything glittery or pink or unicorny.
“Up to four players can play,” Dad continued from the instructions. “Take your place at the beginning of the board, under the bed. Each player chooses a separate trail and battles his own monsters to rescue the kidnapped princess.”
I examined the board. Whoever designed this thing hadn’t made it fair. There were four trails, and they all had different numbers of spaces and levels of difficulty.
The left trail had forty-five spaces. You had to weave around glowing yellow dots in a foggy marsh and navigate a long bridge over the Loch Ness monster and the hydra—that’s this seven-headed serpent-looking thing. Then, when you arrived on the other side, a blob and gigantic spiders waited among snow-covered cliffs.
The right trail had thirty-nine spaces. You had to escape a werewolf, the Abominable Snowman, and run from cave-dwelling zombies.
The middle left one looked easier. It had thirty-three spaces. You battled the sandman, the mummy, and stumbled across a zombie-infested town, but a bridge shortcut put you closer to the end.
The middle right one was the easiest, with twenty-five spaces. Other than two spots where you ran into nests of giant spiders, you only ran into the troll, which you’d encounter anyway on the other trails. All the paths merged into one before the troll appeared.
“Huh.” Mom frowned at the board. “Haylie, sweetie, why don’t you take this path?” She guided Haylie’s hand to the easiest one.
“No, thank you,” Haylie said politely. “I want the path with the doggy.” She meant the werewolf.
“Okay, kiddo.” Mom held out the game’s wooden die. “You go first.”
Haylie rolled the die and got a six. “One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted aloud, pushing her game piece across the board.
I went next, and I got a six, too. Only I landed on the space that made me face off with the sandman.
“Draw a card,” Dad said, tapping the instructions.
Oh no, a zombi
e comes for you
With it in tow, a hungry crew
The way to escape the undead?
With all your might, swing for the head!
“But you’re caught by the sandman,” Dad said unnecessarily, “so you have to wait until your next turn, and draw another card.”
“Perfect,” I grumbled, putting the card facedown. A wooden club was drawn on the back of it. I waited for everyone else to roll once, and then it was my turn again. I drew a card with a picture of an apple core on the back.
The troll won’t sway, insists you pay
Three silver coins to make your way
But bargain yes, and you shall find
He’s happy with a mere fruit rind.
“Well, at least you’ll be prepared for later.” Mom rolled the die. She landed on the space with the blob and let Haylie draw a card for her. Of course it was the card I needed.
The sandman’s grabbed onto your shoe
Down, down you sink, it feels like glue—
But sprinkle moisture on the ground
And life will grant another round.
“Trade you,” I offered, but Mom shook her head and placed the card facedown on the table.
“We have to play by the rules,” she said, giving me a meaningful glance. We were supposed to be setting an example for Haylie.
The game was short. Dad won, since he had the easiest path. He even miscounted a few times so Haylie could catch up to him.
Haylie wasn’t upset. She clapped when Dad landed on the purple tent at the end of the board. “Yay, you saved the princess!”
“Yup. And I got killed by the sandman,” I said. I never got off that space. I made a big show of yawning. “Can I go to bed now?”
“Sure,” Mom replied. “After you help us clean up.”
I put the Monsterville pieces back in the box and brought the popcorn bowl to the kitchen. Mom took it from me and ran it under the faucet.
“Such an odd game,” she said. “I wonder if they still make it.”
“Hmm, that’s an idea. It might be worth something. You know, if it’s rare.”
I headed to my room and changed into pajamas. After brushing my teeth, I fired up my laptop and did a search for Monsterville but nothing about a board game came up. Then I logged into my eBay account and searched for Monsterville under TOYS AND HOBBIES. Nothing. It was like the game didn’t exist.
Monsterville Page 4