by R. L. Stine
Not the Grool. Only a brown paper bag, all wadded up in a ball.
Daniel hurled the paper bag to the ground and stomped on it.
My stomach lurched. I really felt sick.
Time is running out, I thought. And we have no idea where the Grool might be.
A tear came to my eye, and I blinked it away quickly. I didn’t want Daniel and Carlo to see how scared I was.
The panic rose in my chest. Would I really die if we didn’t find that evil creature?
I suddenly pictured Mom and Dad sitting around crying and missing me. I pictured Aunt Louise wailing, “It’s all my fault. I didn’t believe her.”
I imagined Daniel walking to school all alone.
I gazed down at my brother, who slumped sadly on the curb with Carlo.
And I had a truly terrifying idea. Maybe the Grool wasn’t lost.
Maybe the creepy little creature had decided to hide.
To hide from me.
So it could perform its most evil trick of all.
Hide for twenty-four hours so that I’d have the ultimate bad luck.
Death!
Carlo startled me by jumping to his feet. His dark eyes glowed excitedly. “I—I have an idea!” he cried.
“An idea?” I demanded. “What kind of idea?”
He smiled at me and grabbed my arm. “Come on. Hurry. I think I know where the Grool might be!”
23
“You know those guys who raced me?” Carlo asked, tugging me forward along the street. “The ones who hang out at the playground?”
“Yeah. What about them?” I asked.
“I’ll bet one of them picked up the Grool. I kind of remember—”
Daniel didn’t even wait for Carlo to finish the sentence. “Let’s go!” he shouted. He sprang onto his bike and raced off toward the playground.
I picked up my bike and started pedaling after my brother. Carlo ran behind us, calling, “Wait up! Wait up!”
We pedaled to the playground and walked our bikes to the baseball field. That’s where the older kids usually hang out.
“There they are,” Carlo said. He pointed to a group of boys taking turns batting and fielding balls.
“Carlo,” Daniel whispered nervously. “Those guys are really big. They look like they’re in high school.”
I spotted two older boys standing on the side of the baseball field. Their heads were bent, and they were staring at something in the taller boy’s hands.
Something small and round and brown.
The Grool!
I ran up to them. “Hey, how’s it going?” I said in my friendliest voice. “I know this sounds dumb, but you’ve got my favorite sponge. Can I have it back?”
The tall boy narrowed his eyes at me. He was kind of good-looking, with bright green eyes, and straight blond hair down over his shoulders.
“Your favorite sponge?” he repeated. He grinned. “Sorry. You’re mistaken. This is my favorite sponge.”
“No. Really,” I insisted. “It fell off that kid’s bike.” I pointed to Carlo. He and Daniel stood watching from a distance. “I really need it.”
“Can you prove it’s yours?” the boy demanded. He rolled it around in his hand. “I don’t see your name on it.”
I narrowed my eyes and gave him my meanest glare. “You’d better give it back to me,” I threatened. “Because it’s not really a sponge. It’s evil. It brings bad luck to anyone who has it.”
“Oooh, I’m really scared,” he teased. “Maybe it’s bad luck for you—because you’re not getting it back!”
He waved the Grool in front of my face, then called to his friend, “Hey, Dave. Catch!”
He tossed the Grool to Dave. “Here,” he snickered. “Catch some bad luck!”
“Hey, give me that!” I leaped for the Grool. But the sponge sailed high over my head.
Back and forth they threw the Grool, laughing, keeping it high over my head, out of my reach.
They were having fun. I wasn’t.
After ten minutes of their stupid keep-away game, I gave up.
Fine, I thought. Let them play with the Grool.
They would soon find out that it didn’t play fair, I thought nastily.
As I backed off, I shouted at the two older boys, “You’ll be sorry.”
The blond guy shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and hurried off to take his turn at bat. He made a big show of tucking the sponge into his back pocket—where he knew I couldn’t get it.
He stepped to the plate, crouched in a batter’s stance…
Thwock!
The very first pitch beaned the guy in the head.
His eyes rolled around wildly. He wobbled, then sank to the ground. He collapsed in a heap and didn’t move.
“Help!” the other boys were shouting. “Somebody—help!”
The Grool had done its work. The bad luck had struck again!
“Is he okay?” Daniel asked. “Is he—?”
I didn’t answer. I saw the Grool roll out of the boy’s back pocket and onto the ground.
I darted forward and dove for the evil sponge.
But my hands closed around dry grass.
Dave, the blond boy’s friend, snatched the Grool before I could reach it.
“Go chase it!” he cried. He heaved the little creature high into the sky.
24
I made a desperate grab. But Dave was much taller than me. He caught the Grool easily.
“Here. Take it,” he said. He tossed it at me. Then he hurried over to check on his friend.
The blond boy was sitting up now, rubbing his head. “I’m okay,” he kept repeating. “Really. I’m okay. What hit me?”
Daniel and I hurried to our bikes. Carlo came running after us. I tossed the Grool into my bike basket.
The sponge creature pulsed so violently that the basket shook as I rode. Its body changed from red to black, red to black, changing in time to its horrible breathing.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
It snickered with joy.
Heh, heh, heh.
It acted so pleased with itself. So happy it had knocked the blond boy out.
“You’re disgusting!” I shouted. “I’m taking you home and locking you in that cage!”
I pedaled rapidly, standing up for an extra boost of speed. Home, I thought. Get me home.
I zoomed down Oak Street, hunching over the bike with my head down. Faster, faster I pedaled.
The wind whipped my hair into my eyes.
I heard Daniel calling out from behind me.
But I was riding too fast. The wind rushed past me. I couldn’t make out Daniel’s words.
I heard him call out again.
And then I heard the blare of a horn and the shrill squeal of brakes.
I turned around in time to see an enormous black and silver truck skidding over the street, about to crush me like a bug.
25
I squeezed my brakes hard.
The truck skidded up behind me, tires scraping the pavement, horn blaring.
My bike lurched to a stop—and I tumbled off.
Hit the pavement hard on my elbows and knees.
The bike bounced on to the curb. Toppled over.
I rolled on to the grass.
As the truck swerved away. Squealed to a stop.
Missed me by less than a foot.
I climbed shakily to my feet. And stood there on the side of the road, too terrified to move.
I turned to see the truck driver toss open the door of his cab. “What were you doing in the middle of the street?” he shouted at me. “I could have killed you! Do your parents know you’re out here like this?”
Great, I thought bitterly. First this guy almost squashes me into a pancake—then he yells at me.
“Sorry!” I called.
What else could I say?
I waited for the truck driver to back up and drive away.
And all the time, I kept thinking: Bad luck forever. I’m going to have bad luck f
orever.
I called to Daniel and Carlo that I was okay. Then I raced down Oak Street and turned on to Maple.
Only two houses to go, I thought. I pushed down harder on the pedals.
Blam!
My front tire hit something. A broken bottle, I think.
The bike toppled on to its side, and I fell with it.
“Ow!” I cried. I’m spending a lot of time on the ground, I realized.
I examined the tire. Completely shredded.
Bad luck. Bad luck forever.
Heh, heh, heh. I heard the Grool’s wicked laugh.
The sound filled me with rage. I kicked the bicycle and stubbed my toe on the metal wheel rim.
“Oww!” I yelped, grabbing my foot.
Bad luck. Bad luck forever.
With a furious cry, I grabbed the evil sponge and flung it to the ground. Then I jumped back on my bike and started to run over the Grool.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Squishing the evil creature into the ground.
“Stop it! Stop!” Daniel screamed, riding up onto the grass. “You can’t kill the Grool. You’re only giving it what it wants.”
I glared at my brother. I struggled to catch my breath.
“Look at it!” Daniel shouted, pointing. “The Grool is getting even more excited. You’re helping it, not hurting it!”
I lowered my eyes to the Grool. It pulsed faster than before. An evil light shone from its ugly little eyes. Its blood-red body gleamed in the afternoon sun.
Heh, heh, heh.
The cruel snicker cut through the air like fingernails on a blackboard.
I grabbed my bike and wheeled it to our driveway. I let it fall on to the asphalt.
Then I ran back to the Grool, gripped it tightly in one hand, and carried it into the house.
Daniel followed close behind me. “Now what are you going to do?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” I said. I made my way into the kitchen.
My heart pounded. I could feel the blood racing at my temples.
I jammed the Grool into the kitchen sink drain. Then I grabbed a wooden spatula and stabbed at the Grool, shoving it deep into the pipe.
Daniel stood beside me, watching in silence.
I turned the hot water on full force. I flicked a switch next to the sink and smiled at my brother.
The garbage disposal gurgled on.
The gurgle became a whine.
The whine became a roar as the grinding teeth went to work.
“Yes!” I cried happily. “Yes!”
A few seconds later, the disposal had ground up the Grool.
“That’s the end of that,” I told Daniel, sighing happily. I listened to the pipes run clean. “Down the drain! Yaaay!”
Carlo came running into the kitchen. “What’s happening?” he cried breathlessly. “Where’s the Grool?”
I turned to Carlo, grinning. “It’s gone. The Grool is gone!” I announced gleefully.
Then I heard my brother gasp.
I saw his mouth drop open as he stared down at the sink. “No, it’s not.” His voice was so low, I could barely hear him. “No, it’s not gone,” he whispered.
26
I lowered my eyes to the sink.
And realized at once what had horrified Daniel.
The hot water had started to back up.
It splashed and spurted up from the drain. As if something were pushing it with great force.
The hot water churned quickly—rolling up from the pipe below.
“I don’t believe it!” Carlo cried.
The Grool popped up, bobbing in the churning hot water.
There it was. Still in one piece. It had turned bright purple, an angry purple. As I stared down at it in horror, it thumped wildly in the sink.
“No!” I screamed. “It’s impossible! You can’t be back!! You can’t!”
I grabbed the sopping wet Grool and squeezed it as hard as I could.
A river of water ran out of the slimy thing and into the sink.
The harder I gripped, the warmer the Grool felt.
Warmer and warmer and…
“Ow!” I dropped it as it became scorching hot. Quickly, I ran my hands under soothing cold water.
The Grool perched on the side of the sink. It throbbed with joy, leered up at me with its creepy eyes, and let out an evil cackle.
“Daniel, Carlo,” I moaned. “There has to be a way to kill this thing! There has to! Think, guys!”
But the two of them stared in silence at the throbbing Grool.
“Come on, Daniel—think!” I waved my hand in front of Daniel’s face. “Help me! I’m all out of ideas.”
Suddenly, his eyes came back into focus. “I’ve got an idea,” he said quietly.
He rushed out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” he shouted, leaving Carlo and me alone with the nasty creature.
“I hate you!” I shouted at it. But my anger seemed to make it pulse faster.
A short while later, Daniel hurried back into the room. “Maybe this will help,” he announced. He set the Encyclopedia of the Weird on the kitchen table.
“I borrowed it from the library,” he explained. “I thought we might need it.”
He started to search for “Grool” in the index.
“Oh, Daniel,” I sighed wearily. “We’ve already read everything in that book about Grools. It can’t help us.”
“But maybe you missed something important,” Carlo insisted.
Daniel flipped through the pages of the encyclopedia. “Here’s the part about killing the Grool,” he said. “Let’s see what it says.”
He started reading: “The Grool cannot be killed—by force or by any violent means.”
“That’s it?” I demanded. “There’s nothing else?”
Daniel slammed the book shut. “Nothing else,” he replied sadly. “Kat, it really can’t be killed. It’s the most evil creature in the world and it can’t be killed. Not by force. Not by violence. Not by anything.”
“Not by force,” I repeated, thinking hard. “Not by violence.”
I stared at the throbbing, purple creature.
“Hmmmm.” I couldn’t help but smile.
“Kat? What’s your problem?” Daniel demanded. “Are you totally losing it? Why are you smiling?”
“Because the Grool can be killed,” I announced. “And I’ve just figured out how to do it.”
“Huh?” Carlo cried. “You’ve really figured it out?”
“What are you going to do?” Daniel demanded. “You can’t kill it. It always conies back to life.”
I shook my head. “We’ll see,” I replied.
I wanted to think my plan through before I explained it to them.
Actually, it turned out to be pretty simple.
27
Much as I hated to, I picked up the throbbing Grool from the sink and held it gently in my hands.
I patted the disgusting creature tenderly on its wrinkled head. Then I sang to it sweetly:
“Lullaby and good night, little Grool, I love you. Please sleep tight, little Grool, la la la, la la la.”
“Kat, I’m worried about you,” Daniel groaned. “Stop it, okay? You’re a little messed up. You need to lie down.”
But I just kept singing as sweetly as I could.
“What is she doing?” Daniel asked Carlo. “Do you get it?”
Carlo shook his head.
I didn’t pay any attention to them.
I had to concentrate.
I forced myself to stroke the Grool lovingly. I hugged the slimy thing and cuddled it in my arms—as I would a soft puppy.
I cooed in its ear:
“Little Grool, cute Grool, you are so nice, so sweet, so wonderful. I love you, Grool.”
“Kat, please stop,” Daniel begged. “You’re upsetting me. I’m really worried about you, Kat.”
“How can you pet the thing?” Carlo demanded. “It’s so gross!”
“Sweet, Gro
ol,” I whispered. “So sweet.” I cuddled it tenderly and stroked its wrinkled skin.
If this doesn’t work, I told myself, nothing will.
“I’m going to get Mom and Dad,” Daniel threatened. He started backing toward the kitchen door.
“Ssshhh.” I raised a finger to my lips. Then I pointed down at the Grool cradled in my arms. “Look, guys.”
The Grool’s violent throbbing had slowed to a gentle pulse.
I sang some more, softly, gently, sweetly.
And we all watched in amazement as the Grool’s color faded. From red to pink, and—finally—back to its ordinary dull brown color.
“Wow!” Daniel whistled.
“Keep watching,” I said, hugging the Grool closely. I sang another lullaby.
The Grool let out a low sigh. I could see it shrinking, see it drying up in my arms.
Its eyes closed. The dry, brown skin covered them up.
“It—it’s getting weaker, Kat,” Daniel whispered excitedly.
“Keep watching,” I told him. Then I cooed to the Grool, “There, there little Grool. What a sweet Grool.” I rocked it like a baby.
The Grool’s breathing slowed—slowed—then stopped.
The Grool slumped lifelessly in my hand. Not a sound. Not a throb. Not a twitch.
“Now, check this out!” I announced to Daniel and Carlo.
I raised the wrinkled sponge to my face—and planted a big fat kiss on it.
28
The two boys made disgusted faces.
But I knew what I was doing.
I lowered the Grool from my face and studied it carefully.
“Aaaaaaaah.” The sponge let out a long, slow sigh—and shrank into a tiny ball.
I took a deep breath and blew.
The tiny ball flew apart. Dry, brown puffs floated into the air.
I watched the feathery puffs float to the floor. Then I wiped my hands off on a towel. “All done.”
“It—it’s gone!” Carlo declared.
“But how?” Daniel demanded.
“Well, you helped give me the idea,” I told him.
“I did?”
“Yes,” I replied. “When you read that part of the encyclopedia that said the Grool can’t be killed by force or violence.”