Monsterville

by Sarah S. Reida

  “You mean my house?”

  I shouldn’t have been so shocked. Monster had popped up in my woods, after all.

  “I didn’t see you there.” Monster wrinkled his forehead. “The bed I used was a lady’s. She had gray hair.”

  Adam grinned. “Well, it looks like Lucy believed in monsters. Told you your aunt was cool.”

  “That’s crazy. Don’t people grow out of believing in things like that?” I asked, my mind flitting to the Monsterville game. Aunt Lucy had probably played it a zillion times, never knowing that real monsters lived beneath her floorboards.

  “Not if you know they’re real. When I get older, I’m still going to believe we met this little guy.” Adam reached into his backpack and handed a pack of gum to Monster. “Don’t swallow it,” he warned, but Monster had already gulped it down.

  “So.” I cleared my throat. “Do you use the portals all the time? And are humans allowed Down Below?” Humans with film equipment?

  “Monsters don’t come Up There that often,” Monster said. “We don’t want to get spotted. The portals are always guarded by elder monsters to make sure younger ones don’t leave and expose them. I escaped when the guards were distracted.” He poked at Adam’s backpack, sniffing for more food.

  “And … humans?” I prodded.

  “Humans are only allowed Down Below one day a year.”

  “One day? What day?” I could film a movie in a day.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Monster announced. “Atticus would be mad. I’m done.”

  “But Monster—” I protested.

  “I’m done!” He folded his arms across his chest.

  “You don’t have to throw a tantrum.” But I was pretty happy with our conversation. Monster had given us a lot of information, and all we’d forked over in exchange was some junk food.

  My brain was churning with ideas. My movie could be about monsters taking over the world. Or about a darker, alternate version of the real world. Like Coraline, only less creepy. More Tim Burton-esque. Exaggerated.

  Or it could be a documentary disguised as fiction. But that would be cheating.

  I checked my phone. “Oh, it’s late! I have to get back for dinner.” And a Skype date with Casey. I was dying for details on the play, which was all we had to talk about recently since I couldn’t tell her about any of this. It felt weird not being able to share something with her.

  “Dinner?” Monster was practically drooling.

  “My dad’s frying fish tonight,” Adam said to him. “I’ll bring you a plate.”

  “With tartar sauce.”

  Adam and I exchanged a look. “You know what tartar sauce is?”

  “Yep.”

  “How?”

  “When monsters come Up There, sometimes they take things. Things they know humans won’t miss. Like old cans of food and extra bottles of ketchup. And sweaters that smell like they haven’t been worn in a long time.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said. “We humans are pretty wasteful.”

  “I’ll bring you some ketchup, too,” Adam told Monster. “We have a bunch of extra packets.”

  Monster smiled so big I could see every single pointy tooth. “Thanks.”

  Wow. A monster with an appetite for fried fish and ketchup. There are some things you can’t make up.

  SCENE TWO:

  HUMAN GAMES

  Adam and I spent the next four days catering to Monster’s every whim. Luckily, his needs were pretty simple—junk food and stories. I even brought him a plastic bag full of coloring books and paint-by-numbers, which made him happier than a rat with cheese.

  We fixed up his house, too. Adam’s parents had a bunch of old furniture in one of their sheds, and we stole things when no one was looking, including an air mattress, a musty-smelling rug with a burn mark, and a battered nightstand we nicked up even more when we carried it through the woods.

  On Friday, Adam and I took the night off. After we left Monster with a huge plate of fried chicken and a stack of picture books, Upchuck drove us to the town fair in Smithton. This was in keeping with my promise to give country life a chance.

  I kept my forehead pressed to the cool glass of the truck’s window. Along with Upchuck’s toxic cologne, the pickup smelled like Lucky, the Griggs’ overweight Labrador.

  If it were Friday night and I were back home in the city, I’d be sleeping over at Casey’s. Before that, maybe we would have gone to a movie or window-shopped with Taylor’s sister. There wasn’t a decent movie theater or mall anywhere near Freeburg.

  We drove along winding, bumpy roads through two little towns and miles of fields. I started to feel carsick, but I didn’t say anything. Luckily, before I threw up in my lap, a Ferris wheel and a big yellow slide came into view. Upchuck eased behind a row of cars parked along the road and killed the engine.

  “Check it out.” Adam hopped down from the truck. “We went seven miles in ten minutes. How long would it take to go seven miles in the city?”

  As I climbed out from the backseat, I took a deep breath of fresh air, relieved that I felt better already. “It’s different. Everything’s more spread out here.”

  “And we parked for free. How much would it cost to park in the city?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know.” But I knew it cost three bucks an hour to park at most meters. And they’re harder to find than a unicorn.

  My phone vibrated, and I pulled it from my jacket pocket. Casey.

  Skype? More crazy to share.

  According to Casey during our Skype session the night before, Roland Reed was certifiably insane. When he wasn’t folding origami in the back of the theater, he was yelling stage directions that didn’t make any sense.

  At least the scenery was shaping up. Casey had texted me pictures of the flats the theater crew had constructed—a kitchen and a park scene. Very nice.

  “Look!” Adam strutted down the road. “I’m in the middle of the road. Think I’ll get hit by a car?”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I replied as I fumbled to text Casey.

  At the fair with Adam. Later? Love to hear re: crazy!

  That did make me feel better. Which was good, because the longer I was gone, the more I hated missing my play. Not just because I was missing the experience itself—but because the play reminded me of back home. Its plot was kind of an inside joke among me, Taylor, and Casey.

  “Traffic’s better here,” I admitted to Adam. “You can have that. But there aren’t symphonies, or city parks, or restaurants, or big libraries, or community centers, or malls, or—”

  “Crime. Or pollution, or crowds.” Adam lifted his arms. “Behold, the glory of living in the country.” He lowered them. “Oh, but wait. You can’t. You’re on your phone.”

  “I was looking at my phone.” Casey had texted again: When you & Adam have babies, can you name one Casey?

  I made a big show of sticking my phone back in my pocket and dusting off my hands. “There. Happy?”

  “Sure.”

  My pocket vibrated, and I forced myself to ignore it, though another part of me was glad to let it go. The text would be another crack about Adam, and I was getting tired of explaining that he was just a friend.

  Country music pulsed as we walked closer to the entrance. The fair was on a lot at the edge of town—basically a glorified square of asphalt. The Ferris wheel, painted white with orange lights strung on each car, was the tallest ride. Even from far away, it looked ready to collapse.

  “Are the rides safe?” I asked.

  Adam shook his head. “Would I take you here if they weren’t?”

  “Yes. Yes, you would.” I shoved him in the shoulder. He didn’t budge.

  We walked through the crowd. The sun was setting, its orange glow making everything look softer.

  Upchuck waved to someone. “Don’t get lost. I’ll meet you guys back here at ten, okay?”

  “All right, Charlie,” Adam said, and Upchuck disappeared into the crowd. A
dam turned to me. “Come on, let’s get ride tickets.”

  I followed him, my feet crunching on the gravel. Rows of bright lights decorated the metal stands, which opened to display fried food and carnival games. For a dollar, you could throw darts at balloons or grab a little yellow duck from a plastic blue pool.

  Adam stopped at a white booth that said TICKETS in red letters across the front. “We’ll try every ride, okay?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Nothing to be afraid of.” Adam puffed out his chest when he said it.

  I wasn’t afraid of heights or speed. I was afraid of appearing in a newspaper article with the headline “Out-of-Towner Crushed in Tragic Tilt-a-Whirl Collapse.”

  But I’d promised Adam I’d give Freeburg a chance. Besides, getting on a rusty, poorly constructed, never-inspected carnival ride was probably not the most dangerous thing I’d ever do.

  Adam handed me my string of red paper tickets, the kind you tear apart. We headed off to the closest ride—the swings.

  “Get one on the outside,” Adam told me as we ran for our seats.

  “Whatever you say, Yoda.” It was a compliment. Star Wars is my fourth-favorite movie franchise.

  I hopped onto a swing and fastened the chain around my waist. It was just a metal clip. Come on now—is the carnival company trying to get sued?

  The swings jerked into the air, circling around a metal cylinder. I twined my hands around the chain and pumped my legs.

  “Let go and lean forward!” Adam yelled from the swing next to me.

  “No, thank you!” The ride was picking up speed. Bright carnival lights passed by in a blur.

  “Just try it!”

  “Okay, fine!” Ignoring all common sense and desire for self-preservation, I leaned forward and let go of the chains.

  It was like flying. I stared at the ground, memorizing it. There was a big crack in one part of the asphalt. Each time I whipped by it, I knew I had come full circle.

  The carnival lights blurred together and I wondered what this scene would look like from a crane shot capturing the rotating middle cylinder and the flying swings. I bet the effect would be really cool, especially with the lights and the sound mix of the crowd and country music.

  The swings slowed. “Aww, man!” I kicked my feet. “More!”

  I came to a stop right on top of the big crack and fiddled to unhook the metal safety clip. When my feet touched the ground, the world tilted. “Whoa.” I laughed, trying to stay upright as I stumbled out of the metal gate exit.

  “Which one now?” Adam asked.

  “The slide? Or maybe the Tilt-a-Whirl. But food first.”

  The picnic area was at the side of the lot. A country band played under a metal pavilion. I recognized “Hotel California” by the Eagles. As far as songs go, that one’s pretty much a masterpiece.

  I spotted Upchuck sitting on one of the picnic tables talking to a pretty, dark-haired girl wearing a Freeburg Bulldogs sweatshirt and jean shorts. They sat so close together their shoulders touched. Way to go, Upchuck.

  Adam saw them, too. “Ha! Check it. That’s why Charlie drowned himself in cologne. Lately he’s been all about girls.” Adam barreled toward the funnel cake line.

  “Hey! Lissa and Adam!”

  I recognized Candice’s voice and turned to see her with Todd.

  “Todd spotted you guys from the top of the slide,” she said, pointing to the yellow contraption at the edge of the lot.

  Todd bit off a piece of funnel cake, powdered sugar raining onto his sweatshirt. “It wasn’t hard. Lurch is easy to see from a distance.”

  Lurch is a tall, gangly monster from The Addams Family, one of the only movies to do justice to the TV show it was based on. I was impressed Todd knew the franchise.

  “How long you guys been here, Melissa?” he added, and I forgot about being impressed.

  “Not long. And my name is Lissa. Get it right.”

  “Todd’s dad is in charge of the raffle,” Candice said. “We’ve been giving out cakes all night. It’s fun.”

  “How does the raffle work?” I asked, but Todd shook his head. “There are better games. Wanna play?”

  “Depends. What do you have in mind?” I asked suspiciously. I bet there was a dunking booth around here somewhere.

  “I’ll show you.” Todd polished off his funnel cake and tossed the plastic plate into the trash. Then he led us through the crowd, stopping at one of the metal trailers.

  Todd had picked a game where you aim a toy gun and shoot water at a target, which moves a jockey on a horse across the booth’s back wall. Adam looked at me and raised an eyebrow, and I knew what he was thinking. He’d kill Todd at this.

  After we sat on stools and paid the game attendant, Adam turned to Todd. “Let’s make this interesting. How about a bet?”

  “I’m game. What’re we betting?”

  “Here’s what I want. If I win, you have to wear your Halloween costume from two years ago to school on Monday. Remember? The ninja?”

  I clapped my hands together. “Yes! And if I win, you have to wear your ninja Halloween costume from two years ago to school on Monday.”

  Candice laughed and raised her hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”

  Todd looked from me to Adam, his mouth curving into a smile. “Okay, I see how it is. Well, tell you what. I win, and you both wear Halloween costumes on Monday. You as Peter Pan”—he pointed to me —“and you as Tinker Bell.” He pointed at Adam.

  “You’re on,” I said.

  “And … go!” yelled the game attendant.

  I bit my lower lip and aimed the water at the target. It was hopeless. I was hopeless. My poor horse stayed frozen at the starting line. Candice’s horse didn’t do much better. I guess growing up in the country doesn’t always guarantee you’ll be a crack shot.

  Adam and Todd were neck and neck. “Go, Adam!” I murmured. My horse jerked an inch to the right.

  At the last second, Adam pulled ahead. His horse hit the end of the board and a bell rang.

  I cheered. “In ya face!” I jumped off my swivel chair and raised my arms in victory.

  “Freak accident,” Todd sulked.

  “Number five, number five, pick a prize,” called the attendant. He pushed a button to return the horses to their starting positions.

  Adam nudged me. “Go ahead, pick one.”

  “Um.” I scanned the booth’s rows of cheap stuffed animals and pointed to a pink pony. “I guess that one.” Todd snorted, and I rolled my eyes. “It’s for my little sister.” I snatched it. “She loves pink. And horses.”

  Adam swiveled in his stool and grinned at Todd. “Well, well, well. I look forward to Monday.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “And I never look forward to Mondays.”

  “Whatever.” Todd snorted, hopping off his stool. “Candice, wanna ride the Hammerhead?”

  “Of course not. You know how I feel about being upside down. I’m going back to the raffle.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

  I waved as they walked away, then turned to Adam. “Thanks, ringer. Way to carry the team.”

  We celebrated by buying a ton of junk food. I dug into a funnel cake. “Holy cow, this is amazing!”

  “I know.” Adam took a long sip from his lemon shake-up. “Do you think Todd will actually dress like a ninja on Monday?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But you know what? Even if he doesn’t, we still know you beat him. And so does he.”

  “True.” Adam looked up at the sky, and I followed his gaze. It was a clear night and the stars were out. “You know,” Adam said after a while, “girls are always into Todd.”

  “Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

  “Really? Why not?” He was still looking at the starlit sky.

  “I don’t know. Because he looks like he belongs in a boy band? Something called, like, Men ’N Progrezz?”

  Adam snorted. “How about Boyz ’N Harmony?”

 
“Anything with an ’N instead of an in.”

  Adam took another sip, slurping when he got to the ice at the bottom. “What does that mean, though?”

  “What does what mean?”

  “That it looks like Todd belongs in a boy band.”

  “Oh.” I felt my face turning red. “Well, Todd is objectively attractive.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’m just saying he’s nice to look at. So long as he’s not talking. That ruins the effect.” I gathered my trash and stood up. “Come on. Let’s go on another ride.”

  “Sure.” Adam smiled and crumpled his napkin. “See? I knew you’d love the fair. What’s up next?”

  “I’m thinking the Tilt-a-Whirl,” I said, following him through the crowd. “Hope I don’t hack up a funnel cake.”

  “You better not. Here in these parts, we don’t waste our food,” he said in a country twang.

  “One of the many ways the country’s superior, right?”

  “You got it.”

  When I got home, Mom and Dad were watching a movie in the living room. Something with Bill Murray, who everyone knows is amazing. And I hear he gets all his offers for roles through a voice mailbox. No agent, no manager, just “Hey guys, hope you know my phone number!”

  “Hey, hon!” Mom turned to peer over the back of the couch. “Have a good time?”

  “Yeah, it was fun.” I hung up my jacket in the hall closet. “I’ve never seen so much fried food in one place.”

  “Well, I hope you took advantage,” Mom said. “You won’t always be able to eat everything you want and never gain a pound.”

  “Uh-huh.” I slid my shoes off and got a glass of water from the kitchen. As I padded down the hallway to my room, I spotted a strip of light shining underneath Haylie’s door. I wondered if Mom and Dad knew she was up so late.

  I knocked softly. “Haylie?”

  “Yeah?”

  I pushed open the door and glanced around her room. It was purple and pink everywhere, with a Barbie dollhouse and armies of stuffed animals. Haylie sat cross-legged in bed, leaning over a piece of white poster board. Crayons and markers were strewn all over her purple bedspread, along with the Monsterville game. Who knew that a kid could cuddle with a board game like a stuffed animal?