Zombie Surf Commandos from Mars!
Page 5
He licked it off. “Mmm, not bad.”
“Do you think so?” asked his mother.
Next Sean shook the milk carton and raised it to his lips. Thick blue liquid poured down his chin. After that he reached into a bowl on the counter, grabbed two eyeballs, and popped them into his mouth at the same time.
“Crunchy,” he mumbled, showing red teeth.
“Ho, ho!” cried Mr. Todd Vickers, the not-at-all-famous movie director, producer, special effects person, camera person, and in fact the only person at Humongous Horror Movie Studios. “Daisy, you’ve done it again! Hideous movie props you can eat! Dear, you are wonderful!”
Mrs. Daisy Vickers blushed. “I try.”
“This is a little disgusting,” said Holly, dipping her spoon into her cereal.
No, this is the Vickers household. A home full of gunk and goop. Fake monster heads and hands. Eyeballs in little bowls. Crawling hands under the sofa. Green oozy brains in the hamper.
“Is this any way for a kid to grow up?” asked Holly.
“No,” said Sean, “but it’s a good way for a kid to throw up!”
Mr. Vickers beamed at his two children, got up from the table where he was making notes for a new movie, and did a little dance across the floor. On the way, he grabbed Mrs. Vickers and twirled her around.
“Dad!” snorted Holly. “Please don’t be weird. Someone could be watching.”
“Ah, sorry, little one.” Mr. Vickers halted in mid-twirl, but, oh, Mrs. Vickers didn’t! She kept spinning and hit the table, her arms flying. Then she slammed the oven door—wham!
She quickly recovered her balance, and sang, “Ta-da!”
“Children,” said Mr. Vickers, “today I have to check on scenery being built for my next film spectacular. A big bald guy stomps a little town. I call it The Amazing Colossal Bloody Fiend From Beyond the Third Realm of Venusian Fire Attacks the Tiny American City of Grover’s Mill.”
“Oh, darling,” Mrs. Vickers beamed. “I just adore the bloody fiend part, but will that lovely title fit on the sign, dearest?”
“Hmm,” he mused. “Perhaps you’re right, sweet cheeks. Anyway, I’ve asked a toymaker to create a little model town for my fiend to crush. It’s a tiny version of our fair Grover’s Mill!”
“A toymaker?” said Holly. “A jolly toymaker? Maybe he’s like old Pagetto, in Chiponnio, the Puppet Boy. Short and chubby with white hair, clicking his heels, always singing.”
“Or maybe,” said Sean, hunching his shoulders and swooping down on his sister, “he’s the creepy guy in Terrible Toymaker of Terrorville!”
Holly backed up and hit the wall. Sean smiled.
“To the toy shop!” exclaimed Mr. Vickers, and headed into the garage.
The Vickers piled into the family car and made the short drive to Main Street in the center of Grover’s Mill. Mr. Vickers parked and pointed to a row of stores. “A left at Vader’s Glove Store. The toy shop is in the alley right around the corner.”
Sean took off, leaping giant steps ahead of everyone.
But when he got to the corner, he screeched to a stop, and stared.
3
UFO! Sort of
It looked like a dream a kid might have the night before his birthday.
The little shop in the alley twinkled all over with tiny colored lights. Toys were stacked up in the windows in neat little arrangements.
It looked like a kid’s dream, all right.
Except for one thing. Filling up the doorway, towering over everything, was a man.
Nope, it wasn’t Pagetto, the chubby little toymaker. No way.
This guy was thin. And very tall. His hair was black, inky black, except for a streak of silver-white that shot back from his forehead to behind his left ear. He wore really thick glasses. And his long nose had long hairs curling out.
But the weirdest part of all was that his face was crooked. It was tilted, as if the two halves of his face didn’t go together.
“The little child,” the man said suddenly. He stepped forward from the doorway.
Sean looked around. He was the only one in the alley. “Me?” Then he pulled himself up taller. He started thinking of some snappish big superhero words to say. None came to him.
The man stepped closer. “The little child …”
Sean shuddered and shrank back.
“And his family!” the man said, stopping just as Holly and her parents ran up next to Sean.
Suddenly, the man’s crooked face smiled. Well, half of it did. “Welcome to Kruger’s Toy World,” he said. Then he bowed really low and swept his hands toward the door. “I am Kruger.”
“Now there’s a howdy for you!” Mr. Vickers exclaimed.
“I’m going to order a pizza,” said Mrs. Vickers. She swished across the street to Duffey’s Diner as the others walked into the store.
“This is awesome,” said Sean, staring at shelf upon shelf of all the latest toys advertised on TV. “He’s even got Moto-Men! My favorites!”
Sean ran across the room to where dozens of mega-warrior Moto-Men stood shoulder to shoulder on a shelf. Each Moto-Man was ten inches tall with a face that was all rivets and blinking lights. The arms were rocket launchers.
Sean reached for one. Suddenly, the robot’s little head turned to face him. “Exterminate!” droned a little voice. Then it shot its arm rocket.
Flonk! It bounced off Sean’s chest. “Hey!”
“Ha-ha!” It was Mr. Kruger, holding a small radio controller box. “Rockets sold separately.”
Then the man turned to Sean’s father and crooked a long finger at him. He shuffled across the floor. “Walk this way, yes?”
“Sure, if I can.” Mr. Vickers shuffled after him.
Sean noticed that the toymaker’s streak of white hair went all the way back behind his ear to his skin. It ended in a black spot on his neck.
“Ultra creepy,” Sean whispered to himself.
“Will you take a look at this!” Mr. Vickers whistled from the backroom. “Now, this is my town! Grover’s Mill! I can’t believe the detail.”
Sean entered the backroom and walked over to a long table. He had to agree, the detail was amazing. One little house even had lights on inside. There was the Double Dunk Donut Den clock and even Lake Lake.
Suddenly the bell on the door jangled and Mrs. Vickers came in carrying a flat white box. The room smelled instantly of pizza with anchovies.
“What is that smell?” the toymaker snarled.
“Oh, no!” Mr. Vickers screamed out. “Don’t anyone move!” He ran and snatched the white box from his wife and whipped out the steaming hot pizza. “Flying saucer from Pluto!” he screamed. “The fiercest alien force in the galaxy!”
Mr. Vickers flung the cheesy pizza over the model town. It whizzed and almost hovered for a second, just like real flying saucers do.
The horror movie director crouched low and made a frame with his fingers as if he were watching the pizza through a camera.
But then—no!—the cheesy pie started to dip.
“It’s not going to make it!” Sean gasped.
The tall toymaker rushed over in horror as he saw the pizza coming in fast for a landing.
FLOOOOTH!
The crust caught the tip of a tiny water tower and pulled the whole thing down with a crash. A sudden rush of water splashed out on the table.
“Hey! Realistic!” Sean’s father cried out in joy.
A big anchovy slapped the side of a little white house above the lake while the rest of the pizza spun to the distant mountains.
“Crash landing!” Mr. Vickers cheered. “Aliens all dead! Another victory for earth-lings!” He posed with his hands on his hips.
Mrs. Vickers hummed big movie music.
“Yoooooou!” screamed the tall man, whipping the pizza off his creation. “How could you?”
Mr. Vickers’ eyebrows shot up and he smiled like a kid opening presents. “Like this!” He curled his hand toward him then flipped it ou
t, as if he were throwing another pizza. “Wanna try? I can run out and get a small cheese—”
“I AM A GENIUS!” the tall man proclaimed. “My incredible work is too good for you and your horrible movies!”
“Horror movies,” Mr. Vickers corrected him. He looked at his wife. She smiled and nodded.
“No!” the man gasped. “I’ve seen them. They’re terrible!”
“You mean terror-filled?” Mr. Vickers said.
“I mean—bad!” said Mr. Kruger.
“As in evil?” Mr. Vickers grinned delightedly. “Yes! I can see we’re thinking the same way about my movies. I’ll be back in two days to pick up my town!”
Mr. Vickers slipped his arm around his wife’s waist, and strode out the door into the street, licking cheese from his fingers.
Sean edged to the back of the room toward a door that was slightly open.
The moment he reached for the doorknob, Mr. Kruger shuffled in front of him. “Forbidden!” he said.
“Eeeee!” a scream suddenly filled the shop.
It was Holly! Sean whirled around just in time to see a furry white cat fly across the room and dive for a piece of little silver fish that had fallen off the flying pizza. Anchovy!
“Fluffy, no!” cried Mr. Kruger. “Not the stinky fish!” The tall man pushed his cat away from the anchovy. The cat flashed its eyes and snarled. Then it jumped on the table and began to slurp up the water from fake Lake Lake.
Mr. Kruger shuffled over to Sean, leaned down, and stared in his face. “You like it here, I can tell.” Then he paused and said, “You will be back.”
The man said it quietly and simply. As if it were a command.
You will be back.
Then Mr. Kruger rolled his hands over and over as if he was going to pick up a sandwich and bite it.
Sean’s tongue got thick. He couldn’t say a word. He felt all jittery and nervous again and he didn’t like it.
He shoved past Holly and ran out the door.
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About the Author
Over the last two decades, Tony Abbott has written dozens of mysteries, comics, and adventure books for young readers aged six to fourteen, with series including Danger Guys, the Time Surfers, the Weird Zone, Underworlds, Goofballs, and the long-running fantasy series the Secrets of Droon. He is also the author of the fantasy epic Kringle and the realistic novels Firegirl (winner of the 2006 Golden Kite Award for Fiction), The Postcard (winner of the 2008 Edgar Award for Best Juvenile Mystery), and Lunch-Box Dream. Among his latest novels is The Forbidden Stone, the first installment of the twelve-book saga the Copernicus Legacy. Tony has taught on the faculty of Lesley University’s MFA program in creative writing, is a frequent conference speaker and visitor to schools, and presents workshops to creative writers of all ages. His websites include www.tonyabbottbooks.com, www.thecopernicuslegacy.com, and the literary blog www.fridaybookreport.com.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by Robert T. Abbott
Cover design by Connie Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4804-8649-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10014
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