by R. L. Stine
MONSTER BLOOD II
Goosebumps - 18
R.L. Stine
(An Undead Scan v1.5)
1
Evan Ross backed into the corner of the den as he stared at his dog Trigger.
The tan cocker spaniel lowered his head and stared back at Evan with wet, brown eyes. The old dog’s tail began to wag excitedly.
“Trigger—” Evan cried angrily. “Did you eat Monster Blood again?”
The dog’s tail began wagging faster. Trigger let out a low bark that rumbled like thunder.
Evan’s back pressed against the dark-paneled den wall.
Trigger took a few heavy steps toward him, panting hard. His huge pink tongue, as big as a salami, hung out of his enormous mouth.
“Did you?” Evan demanded. “Did you eat more Monster Blood?”
The answer to Evan’s question was obvious.
Trigger had been normal cocker spaniel size that morning. Now the dog stared down at Evan, as big as a pony.
Trigger’s furry paws, the size of elephant hooves, thudded on the den carpet. His enormous tail pounded louder than a bass drum against the side of a leather couch.
Evan covered his ears as Trigger let out an excited, high-pitched bark that shook the den walls. “Stay! Stay!” Evan shouted.
The enormous dog panted hard, his tail wagging furiously.
Oh, no! Evan thought in horror. He wants to play!
“Sit!” Evan screamed. “Sit!”
But Trigger didn’t know how to sit. For ten years—seventy dog years!—Evan had tried to teach Trigger to sit on command.
But Trigger just didn’t get it.
“Where did you find the Monster Blood?” Evan demanded. “We all saw it disappear into thin air. Gone. It was just gone. You know that stuff makes you grow. And grow and grow and grow. Where did you find it?”
Trigger tilted his big head at an angle, as if trying to understand Evan’s words. Then, wagging his huge tail excitedly, he started to run to Evan.
No! Evan thought. He’s going to jump on me! He’s going to jump! If he jumps, he’ll crush me!
An enormous glob of drool escaped Trigger’s open mouth and hit the carpet with a loud smack.
“Sit!” Evan cried, his voice choked with panic. “Sit, boy! Sit!”
Trigger hesitated, staring down at Evan. To Evan’s horror, the dog was growing even bigger. Trigger was now as tall as a horse!
Where did he find the container of Monster Blood? Evan wondered, his back pressed against the wall. Where?
The dog’s brown eyes gaped at Evan like shimmering, dark pools. Trigger uttered another deafening bark that shook the whole house.
“Yuck!” Evan cried, squeezing his nose with two fingers. The dog’s breath rushed at him like a strong wind. And it smelled as sour as a dead mouse.
“Back! Get back, Trigger!” Evan pleaded.
But Trigger had never learned that command, either.
Without warning, the giant dog leaped at Evan.
“Down! Down!” Evan shrieked.
Trigger’s mouth gaped open. The dog’s huge tongue licked the side of Evan’s face. The tongue felt scratchy and hot. Evan’s carrot-colored hair was matted down with sticky dog saliva.
“No—please!” Evan screamed. “I’m only twelve! I’m too young to die!”
He started to scream again. But Trigger’s big teeth clamped around his waist, cutting off his breath.
“Trigger—put me down! Put me down!” Evan choked out.
The dog’s wagging tail sent a lamp crashing to the floor.
The teeth held Evan gently but firmly. He felt himself being lifted off the floor.
“Put me down! Put me down!”
Why wouldn’t the stupid dog listen?
Evan thrashed his arms and legs frantically, trying to squirm free. But Trigger held on tightly.
The dog’s enormous paws pounded on the carpet. He carried Evan through the hall and across the kitchen. Then he lowered his head and butted the kitchen screen door open.
The door slammed hard behind them. Trigger began trotting over the grass.
“Bad dog! Bad dog!” Evan cried. His voice came out in a tiny squeak.
Had Trigger grown even bigger?
Evan was at least three feet off the ground now!
“Put me down! Down!” he cried.
Evan watched the green grass of the back yard bounce beneath him. Trigger was panting as he walked. The panting sounds made Evan’s whole body vibrate. He realized his jeans and T-shirt were soaked from dog saliva. Trigger doesn’t mean to hurt me, Evan told himself. He’s just being playful. Thank goodness he’s such an old dog. His teeth aren’t very sharp.
The dog stopped at the edge of the flower garden in the back of the yard. He lowered Evan nearly to the ground, but didn’t let go.
His paws began to churn up the soft dirt.
“Let me down!” Evan shrieked. “Trigger—listen to me!”
Breathing hard, his hot, sour breath pouring over Evan, the big dog continued to dig.
A wave of horror swept over Evan as he realized what Trigger was doing. “No!” Evan shrieked. “Don’t bury me, Trigger!”
The dog dug faster, its front paws churning furiously. The soft dirt flew past Evan’s face.
“I’m not a bone!” Evan cried frantically. “Trigger—I’m not a bone! Don’t bury me, Trigger! Please—don’t bury me!”
2
“Don’t bury me. Please don’t bury me!” Evan murmured.
He heard laughter.
He raised his head and glanced around—and realized that he wasn’t home in his back yard. He was sitting in his assigned seat in the third row near the window in Mr. Murphy’s science class.
And Mr. Murphy was standing right at Evan’s side, his enormous, round body blocking the sunlight from the window. “Earth calling Evan! Earth calling Evan!” Mr. Murphy called, cupping his chubby pink hands over his mouth to make a megaphone.
The kids all laughed.
Evan could feel his face growing hot. “S-sorry,” he stammered.
“You seem to have been somewhere in Daydream Land,” Mr. Murphy said, his tiny black eyes twinkling merrily.
“Yes,” Evan replied solemnly. “I was dreaming about Monster Blood. I—I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Ever since his frightening adventure the past summer with the green, sticky stuff, Evan had been dreaming and daydreaming about it.
“Evan, please,” Mr. Murphy said softly. He shook his round, pink head and made a “tsk-tsk” sound.
“Monster Blood is real!” Evan blurted out angrily.
The kids laughed again.
Mr. Murphy’s expression grew stern. His tiny eyes locked onto Evan’s. “Evan, I am a science teacher. You don’t expect a science teacher to believe that you found a can of sticky green gunk in a toy store that makes things grow and grow.”
“Y-yes, I do,” Evan insisted.
“Maybe a science-fiction teacher would believe it,” Mr. Murphy replied, grinning at his own joke. “Not a science teacher.”
“Well, you’re dumb!” Evan cried.
He didn’t mean to say it. He knew immediately that he had just made a major mistake.
He heard gasps all around the big classroom.
Mr. Murphy’s pink face darkened until it looked like a red balloon. But he didn’t lose his temper. He clasped his chubby hands over the big stomach of his green sportshirt, and Evan could see him silently counting to ten.
“Evan, you’re a new student here, isn’t that right?” he asked finally. His face slowly returned to its normal pink color.
“Yes,” Evan replied, his voice just above a whisper.
“My family just moved to Atlanta this fall.”
“Well, perhaps you’re not familiar with the way things work here. Perhaps at your old school the teachers liked it when you called them dumb. Perhaps you called your teachers ugly names all day long. Perhaps—”
“No, sir,” Evan interrupted, lowering his head. “It just slipped out.”
Laughter rang through the classroom. Mr. Murphy glared sternly at Evan, his face twisted in an angry frown.
Give me a break, Evan thought unhappily. Glancing quickly around the room, Evan saw a sea of grinning faces.
I think I’m in trouble again, Evan thought glumly. Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut?
Mr. Murphy glanced up at the wall clock. “School is nearly over,” he said. “Why don’t you do us all a little favor, Evan, to make up for the time you made us waste today?”
Uh oh, Evan thought darkly. Here it comes.
“When the bell rings, go put your books away in your locker,” Mr. Murphy instructed. “Then come back here and clean Cuddles’ cage.”
Evan groaned.
His eyes darted to the hamster cage against the wall. Cuddles was scratching around in the wood shavings on the cage floor.
Not the hamster! Evan thought unhappily.
Evan hated Cuddles. And Mr. Murphy knew it. This was the third time Mr. Murphy had made Evan stay after school and clean out the gross, disgusting cage.
“Perhaps while you clean the hamster cage,” Mr. Murphy said, returning to his desk, “you can think about how to do better in science class, Evan.”
Evan jumped to his feet. “I won’t do it!” he cried.
He heard shocked gasps all around him.
“I hate Cuddles!” Evan screamed. “I hate that stupid, fat hamster!”
As everyone stared in amazed horror, Evan ran over to the cage, pulled open the door, and grabbed Cuddles up in one hand.
Then, with an easy, graceful motion, he flung the hamster across the room—and out the open window.
3
Evan knew he was having another daydream.
He didn’t jump up screaming and throw the hamster out the window.
He only thought about it. Everyone thinks about doing crazy, wild things once in a while.
But Evan would never do anything that crazy.
Instead, he said, “Okay, Mr. Murphy.” Then he sat quietly in his seat, staring out the window at the puffy white clouds in the bright blue sky.
He could see his own reflection staring back at him in the glass. His curly, carrot-colored hair looked darker in the reflection. So did the freckles that dotted his cheeks.
His expression was mournful. He hated being made fun of in front of the entire class.
Why am I always getting myself into trouble? he wondered. Why can’t Mr. Murphy ever give me a break? Didn’t the teacher realize how hard it was to be the new kid in school? How am I supposed to make new friends if Murphy is always making me look like a total jerk in class?
Bad enough that no one believed him about the Monster Blood.
Evan had eagerly told the kids in his new school about it. How he had stayed with his great-aunt the past summer. How he and a girl he met named Andy had found the blue container of Monster Blood in a creepy, old toy store.
And how the green, yucky Monster Blood had started to grow and grow. How it had bubbled out of its container, outgrown a bucket, outgrown a bath tub! And just kept growing and growing as if it were alive!
And Evan had told kids how Trigger had eaten just a little of the Monster Blood—and had grown nearly as big as a house!
It was such a frightening, amazing story. Evan was sure his new friends would find it really cool.
But, instead, they just thought he was weird.
No one believed him. They laughed at him and told him he had a sick imagination.
Evan became known around his new school as the kid who made up stupid stories.
If only I could prove to them that the story is true, Evan often thought sadly. If only I could show them the Monster Blood.
But the mysterious green gunk had vanished from sight before Evan left his great-aunt’s house. Not a trace of it had been left. Not a trace.
The bell rang. Everyone jumped up and headed for the door, talking and laughing.
Evan knew that a lot of his classmates were laughing at him. Ignoring them, Evan picked up his backpack and started to the door.
“Hurry back, Evan,” Mr. Murphy called from behind his desk. “Cuddles is waiting!”
Evan growled under his breath and stepped out into the crowded hallway. If Murphy loves that stupid hamster so much, why doesn’t he ever clean out the cage? he wondered bitterly.
A group of kids laughed loudly as Evan passed by. Were they laughing at him? Evan couldn’t tell.
He started jogging to his locker—when something hit his leg just above the ankle. His feet flew out from under him, and he toppled face down onto the hard tile floor.
“Hey—!” Evan cried angrily.
He stared up at a big, tough-looking kid from his class named Conan Barber. All the kids called him Conan the Barbarian. For good reason.
Conan was twelve, but he looked about twenty years older! He was taller and wider and stronger and meaner than any kid in the school.
He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, Evan grudgingly admitted. He had wavy, blond hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face. He was very athletic-looking, and played all the sports at school.
He was an okay guy, Evan thought wistfully.
Except that he had one very bad habit. Conan loved to live up to his nickname.
He loved being Conan the Barbarian.
He loved strutting around, pounding kids who weren’t his size—which included everyone!
Evan had not hit it off with Conan.
He met Conan on the playground a few weeks after moving to Atlanta. Eager to make a good impression, Evan told him the whole Monster Blood story.
Conan didn’t like the story. He stared back at Evan with his cold, blue eyes for a long, long time. Then his expression hardened, and he murmured through clenched teeth: “We don’t like wise guys down here in Atlanta.”
He gave Evan a pretty good pounding that day.
Evan had tried to stay away from Conan ever since. But it wasn’t easy.
Now he gazed up at Conan from his position on the floor. “Hey—why’d you trip me?” Evan demanded shrilly.
Conan grinned down at him and shrugged. “It was an accident.”
Evan tried to decide whether it was safer to stand up or to stay down on the floor. If I stand up, he’ll punch me, he thought. If I stay down here, he’ll step on me.
Tough choice.
He didn’t get to make it. Conan reached down and, with one hand, pulled Evan to his feet.
“Give me a break, Conan!” Evan pleaded. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
Conan shrugged again. It was one of his favorite replies. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “You’re right, Evan,” he said, his grin fading. “I shouldn’t have tripped you.”
“Yeah,” Evan agreed, straightening his T-shirt.
“So you can pay me back,” Conan offered.
“Huh?” Evan gaped at him.
Conan stuck out his massive chest. “Go ahead. Hit me in the stomach. I’ll let you.”
“Whoa. No way,” Evan replied, trying to back up. He stumbled into a group of kids.
“Go ahead,” Conan urged, following after him. “Hit me in the stomach. As hard as you can. It’s only fair.”
Evan studied his expression. “You really mean it?”
Conan nodded, tight-lipped. He stuck out his chest. “As hard as you can. Go ahead. I won’t hit back. I promise.”
Evan hesitated. Should he go ahead and do it?
I may never get a chance like this again, he thought.
A lot of kids were watching, Evan realized.
If I hit him really hard, if I hurt him, if I make him cry out—then maybe kids
around here will have a little respect for me.
I’ll be Evan the Giant Killer. The guy who pounded Conan the Barbarian.
He balled his hand into a tight fist and raised it.
“Is that your fist?” Conan cried, laughing.
Evan nodded.
“Oooh—this is going to hurt!” Conan cried sarcastically. He made his knees tremble.
Everyone laughed.
I may surprise him, Evan thought angrily.
“Go ahead. As hard as you can,” Conan urged. He sucked in a deep breath and held it.
Evan pulled his arm back and swung his fist as hard as he could.
The fist made a solid thud as it hit Conan’s stomach.
It felt like hitting a concrete wall.
Evan’s hand throbbed with pain.
“Hey—!” a man’s voice called angrily.
Startled, Evan spun around—to see Mr. Murphy glaring at him.
“No fighting!” Mr. Murphy yelled at Evan.
The teacher came bouncing up to them and stepped between the two boys. Huffing for breath, he turned to Conan. “Why did Evan hit you?” he demanded.
4
Conan shrugged. His blue eyes went wide and innocent. “I don’t know, Mr. Murphy,” he replied in a tiny, forlorn voice. “Evan just walked up and hit me as hard as he could.”
Conan rubbed his stomach and uttered a short whimper. “Ow. He really hurt me.”
Mr. Murphy narrowed his beady black eyes at Evan. His chubby face turned bright red again. “Evan, I saw the whole thing. I really don’t understand you,” he said softly.
“But Mr. Murphy—” Evan started.
The teacher raised a hand to silence him. “If you were angry about what happened in class,” Mr. Murphy said, “you shouldn’t take it out on other kids.”
Conan rubbed his stomach tenderly. “I hope Evan didn’t break anything!” he murmured.
“Do you want to see the nurse?” Mr. Murphy asked.
Conan shook his head. Evan could see he was having trouble keeping a straight face. “I’ll be okay,” he said, and staggered away.
What a phony! Evan thought bitterly.