Thrills and Chills

by R. L. Stine

  He shook his head. “I never remember that.”

  “What do the feathers taste like?” Babbling Brooke asked Junkfood John.

  “They taste just like . . . chicken,” he said.

  Luke Puke let out a groan. “You actually ate chicken feathers? I feel sick.” He covered his mouth with one hand and went running to the bathroom.

  Brainy Janey climbed up from her chair. “Now that my brain is working again,” she said, “I know all of the mineral elements. There’s also nickel . . . dime . . . cobra . . . aluminum . . . cockapoodle . . . geranium . . . rice pudding . . . mineral oil . . .”

  “That’s enough!” I shouted. I could feel myself getting ready to explode. “Why won’t anyone concentrate on our pet problem?”

  “Yes, I agree,” Nervous Rex chimed in. “All this talk about m-minerals makes me nervous.”

  “Get serious,” Cranky Frankie snapped. “How can minerals make you nervous?”

  Rex gritted his teeth. “What if I accidentally step on one?”

  “Awwwwk. Ptooey!” the parrot cried from his perch. “I’ll step on you! Want to see parrot tracks on your skin? I’ll step on your face! Awwwk.”

  “Ptooey, shut your yap!” Cranky Frankie screamed.

  “Awwk. You shut your yap!”

  “You’d better shut up,” Frankie warned. “I have a recipe for parrot à la mode.”

  “Ptooey. I have a recipe for Frankie Bite Your Face Off!”

  “Why do we always have to argue?” Nervous Rex cried.

  “Everyone just be quiet and think,” I said. “We can’t let Peter and Patty Perfect win another contest. We need to find a pet that will beat that chihuahua.”

  “It’s impossible,” Wacky Jackie whined. “The Perfects say their dog is a great ballroom dancer and speaks three different languages.”

  “Pooper is talented, too,” Babbling Brooke said. “He can sit and roll over . . . sometimes . . . when he feels like it.”

  “Forget about Pooper,” I said. “Sure, we love him, but he’s a loser.” I blinked and gazed at the rug. “Hey, whose turn was it to walk Pooper?”

  Luke Puke raised his hand. “I think it was my turn.”

  “Well, you’re too late,” I said. “Now it’s your turn to get a sponge and some paper towels and clean that up.”

  I opened the front windows to let out some of the smell.

  “Does anyone have an idea about how we can beat the chihuahua?” I asked. “Anyone? Brainy Janey? Any ideas?”

  “Well,” she said, “there’s cobrium . . . malaria . . . salt . . . Saturn . . . Uranus . . . plutomium . . . tinfoil . . . rubadub . . . copper . . .”

  “Hold on! Whoa! Wait a minute!” Handy Sandy jumped to her feet. “I think I have an idea!”

  THIRTEEN

  We all turned to Handy Sandy.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She trotted out of the room and disappeared down the hall.

  “Sandy is so handy,” Wacky Jackie said. “She repaired my laptop before it was even broken.”

  “That’s awesome,” Babbling Brooke said. “She showed me how to use a screwdriver to floss my teeth. She’s amazing!”

  Sandy returned to the living room carrying a large rug. She held it up in front of her. “See this, guys? This is the white shag rug from my room.”

  We all gazed at it.

  I shook my head. “Sandy, I don’t think the judges will accept a shag rug as a pet.”

  “We could paint eyes on it!” Wacky Jackie suggested. “And a mouth.”

  “It won’t work,” I said.

  “What if we gave it a tail?” Jackie asked.

  Sandy frowned at us. “You don’t get it. That’s not my idea. I’m not suggesting my rug for a pet.”

  “Then what’s your idea?” I said.

  She waved the big furry rug in front of her. “The hippo! Let’s say we wrap this rug around him and glue it on. He’ll look like the hugest, furriest dog in history!”

  “Brilliant!” Janey exclaimed. “I can see that I’m not the only brainiac in this house!”

  “A furry Rob Slob Junior will make a great dog!” Rob Slob agreed. “How can he lose?”

  I scratched my head. “How are we going to glue the rug to the hippo?” I asked.

  “Easy,” Sandy said. “I have something like two hundred tubes of Kwazy Glue in my room. I use it to keep my sneakers from sliding off my feet. It should be enough to give Rob Slob a nice furry coat.”

  “Hey!” Rob Slob said in protest.

  “The hippo, not you.”

  “Oh. That’s a relief.”

  “Yaaaay! We’re gonna win! We’re gonna win!” Everyone cheered and shouted.

  Babbling Brooke moved to the center of the room and performed a cheer.

  “GO, HIPPO ROB SLOB!

  “YOU CAN DO THE JOB!

  “GO, HIPPO, GO HIPPO,

  “YOU WON’T SLIPPO!

  “THE PERFECTS DON’T HAVE A CLUE

  “BECAUSE WE’VE GOT ALL THE GLUE!

  “YAAAAY!”

  Brooke did a cartwheel, and her head slammed into the kitchen cabinet. The sound of shattering glass drowned out all the cheering in the room.

  Could a shag rug hippo actually win the Smellville Pet Show?

  I glanced out the front window and saw Rob Slob Junior chomping on our mailbox.

  It was as good an idea as any. And the only one we had.

  A SIMPLE WORKOUT EXERCISE FROM COACH SWETTYPANTS

  Listen up, everyone!

  I’m Coach Swettypants from Smellville Middle School.

  If you’ve read thirteen chapters of this book, it means you’ve been SITTING TOO LONG.

  So here’s a simple workout exercise you can do to get the blood flowing, the heart pumping, and the muscles muscling. It doesn’t take much time, and the only equipment you need is your body.

  Shape up—or ship out! Don’t just sit there waiting for Chapter Fourteen to start. Follow these simple instructions . . .

  1. Put the book down and stand up.

  2. Now pick up the book. How are you going to read my instructions if you put the book down?

  3. Press your hands against your waist and push in— push until a little squeak escapes your mouth.

  4. Press as hard as you can without screaming and stretch your back. Keep leaning backward till you hear a soft cracking sound.

  5. Put your hands together and crack your knuckles loudly. This will help you forget the pain in your back.

  6. Stand up as straight as you can and slowly bend your knees until you feel them pop.

  7. Hold onto a chair and ease your knees back into their sockets.

  8. Bring your head back as far as it will go and cry for help.

  9. I’ve been doing this exercise along with you, and I seem to be in a lot of pain. I can’t walk or move any of my body parts.

  10. Can anyone help me? I’m in a lot of pain here.

  11. I know you think this is supposed to be a funny book, but I’m serious. I need help right away.

  12. Someone, please help me.

  13. Is anyone out there? Anyone?

  FOURTEEN

  Hey, it’s me, Nervous Rex. I get to tell the story from here. I sure hope I don’t mess it up.

  On the day of the pet show, I was so nervous I chewed all my fingernails and my toenails! I was breathing so hard, my chest went in and out like an accordion.

  I kept thinking someone was at our front door—but it was just my knees knocking.

  The Smellville Town Hall was packed with a huge crowd of people and pets. Adam Bomb, Handy Sandy, and I dragged Rob Slob Junior into the center ring. In his furry white rug, he looked amazing.

  Our big problem had been trying to find a dog collar long enough to fit around his neck. The only thing we could find was one of Junkfood John’s belts.

  Adam Bomb and Handy Sandy kept tossing dog biscuits into the hippo’s open mouth. Sandy thought it might fool people into t
hinking he was a dog.

  I gazed around the big arena. I saw Smellville town mayor Eli Crumbum on the far side of the hall. He was talking with Parker and Penny Perfect, the parents of the Perfect twins.

  They were laughing and patting one another on the back. It looked like the contest was already over and Crumbum was congratulating them on winning.

  I could feel my stomach sink to my knees. I was so nervous, I can’t even describe how nervous I was. It felt like a big chicken was flapping its wings inside my chest.

  My head was spinning. I sat down on Rob Slob Junior to help get myself together.

  Just then, Patty and Peter Perfect walked up with big smiles on their faces. Patty cradled Good Boy, their chihuahua, in her arms.

  “We are going around the arena and saying hi to all the losers,” Patty said.

  “That’s because we’re good sports,” Peter added. He popped a little yellow tablet into Good Boy’s mouth. “We feed him krill oil,” he said. “It’s good for his coat.”

  “Coat?” Adam Bomb cried. “Your dog doesn’t have a coat!”

  “Krill oil keeps his skin so smooth,” Patty said, petting the little creature’s head. “We drink it, too. It keeps our skin shiny and soft.”

  Peter Perfect glanced down at Rob Slob Junior “What do you feed your dog?” he asked.

  “We feed him chihuahuas,” Adam replied.

  Good Boy uttered a YELP, and Peter and Patty took a step back.

  Sandy dumped an entire box of dog biscuits into Rob Slob Junior’s open mouth.

  Patty Perfect frowned. “You might be overfeeding him,” she said.

  “He doesn’t seem to mind,” Adam replied.

  Around the arena, contestants were lining up their pets. Dogs were barking. Two canaries in a wire cage were singing their hearts out, warming up their vocal cords. A white rat nibbled on a carrot stick as it ran furiously on a wheel.

  I could feel myself getting more and more nervous. My eyes began rolling in my head. I couldn’t control my face!

  “That’s a very large dog,” Patty Perfect said. “What breed is he?”

  “He’s a cocker spaniel,” Sandy said. “A cocker spaniel mix.”

  “Mixed with what? An elephant?” Peter Perfect joked.

  The chihuahua went HEE-HEE-HEE. He liked the joke.

  “Well, we’ll see you after you lose the contest,” Peter Perfect said. “And don’t worry. We’ll be very good sports about it. Because we’re always perfect.”

  Good Boy stuck his tongue out at Rob Slob Junior and made a rude spitting noise. The Perfect twins turned and walked away.

  Mayor Crumbum stepped up to a podium. His bald head was as round as a lollipop. And his eyes were so tiny, they looked like poppy seeds on a dinner roll.

  He wore a long white shirt over white pants. That’s because when he isn’t busy being mayor, he drives an ice cream truck.

  We always run after his Mr. Gooey ice cream truck because Mr. Gooey is the gooiest ice cream on earth. You just can’t believe how gooey it is. It’s awesome!

  We all call him Mayor Gooey. But not when he can hear us.

  “Welcome, everyone!” the mayor boomed into his microphone. “It’s time for excitement. Let the Smellville Pet Show begin!”

  FIFTEEN

  “Have your pets ready!” Mayor Crumbum instructed.

  “I’ll be coming down the row to judge each one.”

  Kids all pulled their pets into place, fluffing them up, making them stand straight and alert. I could feel the excitement in the room, and it made me very nervous. I sat on Rob Slob Junior’s back, clasping my cold, clammy hands in my lap.

  “Don’t worry, contestants,” Mayor Crumbum shouted. “Just because I love chihuahuas—and own eight of the delightful creatures myself—I will judge the pets fairly. I will not let my undying love for all chihuahuas stand in the way of my being a fair judge.”

  “Let’s go home,” Handy Sandy muttered to Adam Bomb. “There’s no way we can win this.”

  Adam shook his head. “We’re staying,” he said. “Quitters never win and winners never lose and losers never quit.”

  Sandy squinted at Adam. “Are you losing it?”

  It made perfect sense to me.

  I rested on Rob Slob Junior’s back as the mayor stepped up to the table to judge the Perfects’ chihuahua.

  Good Boy stuck out a paw, and the mayor shook hands with him. “Does he do any tricks?” Crumbum asked Peter and Patty.

  “Watch this,” Peter replied.

  The dog reached a paw up to the mayor’s ear—and pulled a quarter out of it.

  Crumbum laughed. “That’s a perfectly delightful magic trick. Why, how does he do that?”

  Patty handed a deck of cards to the mayor. “Pick a card,” she said. “Then put it back in the deck.”

  Crumbum pulled a card from the deck. He looked at it, then slid it back into the deck.

  Patty placed the cards face down on the table. The audience in the arena grew silent as Good Boy began to go through the deck, using his snout to move the cards.

  After a few tense moments, the chihuahua nosed a card from the deck.

  Mayor Crumbum picked it up. “The four of hearts! Yes! That’s my card!”

  Applause rang out all around.

  Peter Perfect fiddled with his phone. Music began to pour out.

  A lot of people gasped as the chihuahua jumped onto his back toes and did a dance solo from Swan Lake.

  When Good Boy finished and took a deep bow, Peter and Patty raised their dog high over their heads in victory.

  The crowd cheered and shouted.

  “Bravo! Bravo!”

  “Come on, Adam. Let’s go home,” Handy Sandy said. “We’re going to lose.”

  “Don’t move,” Adam said. “We’re next. And I think we’re gonna win.”

  SIXTEEN

  I was so nervous I wrapped my arms around myself and hugged tightly until I could barely breathe. I turned away. I couldn’t watch. I knew what would happen next.

  “Good Boy has won our hearts!” Mayor Crumbum cried. “I have eight chihuahuas at home, but I can still be a fair judge. Now, I am sorry to say that we have just one more contestant—”

  He gazed over at Rob Slob Junior.

  “One more contestant for me to judge—before I award the grand prize to the Perfect family’s amazing chihuahua superstar, Good Boy!”

  More cheers rang out around the arena.

  The Perfects raised their dog in the air again, and Good Boy took another bow.

  The mayor stepped up to Rob Slob Junior. He gazed at the big creature, then made a face at Adam Bomb and Handy Sandy. “Where did you find this dog? In a swamp?”

  “He’s a special breed,” Adam said.

  Crumbum made another disgusted face. “Yuck. His fur looks like a shag rug. Pitiful.”

  Rob Slob Junior opened his jaws and let out a long burp.

  “You need to teach your dog some manners,” Crumbum said. “Please get this hippo of a dog out of here. I’m so sorry I had to see him. Now I’ll never be able to unsee him.”

  “But don’t you just love his adorable brown eyes?” Sandy asked.

  Crumbum started to choke. “His eyes look like something I stepped in on the sidewalk!” he exclaimed.

  “Does that mean we don’t win?” Adam asked.

  Crumbum sputtered and his face turned bright red. “You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested!” he cried.

  “Arrested? For what?” Adam asked.

  “I’ll think of something!” the mayor snapped.

  “You’re hurting our dog’s feelings,” Sandy told the mayor.

  “Please step aside,” Crumbum begged. He raised a big blue ribbon. “It’s time for me to award the grand prize to that amazing chihuahua. The perfectly perfect Good Boy.”

  Before the mayor could turn around, Rob Slob Junior decided to move. He lowered his broad head and shook his fur-covered body. Then he took four heavy steps forwa
rd.

  I turned just in time to see our hippo open his mouth wide—and swallow the Perfects’ chihuahua whole.

  SEVENTEEN

  Gasps and loud cries of horror echoed across the big arena.

  I shut my eyes and held my breath. I’d never been so nervous in my life.

  If Good Boy was eaten, the mayor would have no choice. He would have to name Rob Slob Junior the winner.

  Was it possible? I crossed all my fingers and my toes.

  The mayor’s mouth dropped open and his tiny eyes almost popped off his round head. He dropped the blue ribbon to the floor. “Nooooooo!” he howled.

  Peter Perfect let out a moan and passed out in Patty Perfect’s arms.

  The mayor grabbed the sides of Rob Slob Junior’s big head and shouted at Adam and Sandy. “Make him open his mouth! Make your dog open his mouth!”

  “How?” Adam cried. “We don’t know how to do that.”

  “Didn’t you train your dog?” Crumbum shouted.

  “Not all that much,” Adam said.

  I stared at the hippo. His jaws were clamped tightly shut.

  “Let me try something,” Handy Sandy said.

  She squatted down beside the hippo. Then she reached out and tickled him under his huge chin.

  “Tickle tickle tickle.”

  We all watched. Everyone in the Town Hall arena watched. No one made a sound. No one breathed.

  “Tickle tickle tickle.”

  Rob Slob Junior uttered a soft giggle, and his mouth swung open.

  I saw Good Boy sitting on the hippo’s wide pink tongue. He was very shiny, all covered in slobber.

  When Rob Slob Junior’s mouth opened wide, the chihuahua bolted forward. Good Boy leaped out of the hippo’s mouth—and took off!

  Patty Perfect cried out in alarm. “Wait! Good Boy— wait!” she shouted. “Stop! Stop running!”

  Peter opened his eyes and called out “Arrête de courir!” in French, in case the frightened dog had forgotten his English.

  But the little chihuahua wouldn’t stop. He ran across the arena, through the crowd, up the stairs, and out the door. In thirty seconds he was gone. Vanished.

  The Perfect twins sighed and collapsed to their knees.