by Bill Doyle
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
Monster Blitz
CHAPTER 2
Quarterback Sneak
CHAPTER 3
What a Pit!
CHAPTER 4
Abso-toot Chaos
CHAPTER 5
Burp Dreams
CHAPTER 6
Herd of Mouth
CHAPTER 7
Save that Pigskin!
CHAPTER 8
Bowled Over
CHAPTER 9
Oh Gnome You Didn't
CHAPTER 10
Halftime Showdown
CHAPTER 11
A Real Head for Football
CHAPTER 12
Sudden-Life Overtime
CHAPTER 13
Whatever Makes You Happy
Beck the Bigfoot trading card
Copyright
Three monsters snarled as they rushed at Karl.
He stumbled a few steps back and almost tripped. Stay calm! he told himself.
The charging creatures were just inches away. Karl had to act. It was now or never. He cocked his arm and threw the football—
Ka-klam!
The monsters crashed into Karl and lifted the werewolf off the ground. Sailing through the air, Karl kept one eye on the ball as it wobbled toward the end zone.
Floosh! Karl splashed into a pool of mud under the three tacklers. He spit out a lump of warm sludge and laughed. “You guys are the best!”
His best friend, J.D. the ghost, floated over his head. Eric the blob was squished under his chin. And Dennis the vampire had a fang jammed up Karl’s nose.
With the start of football season still a week away, tonight the Scream Team was playing a 5- on-4 scrimmage against themselves. Their coaches hadn’t arrived yet, so they were just messing around on the muddy gridiron.
Karl couldn’t wait for the real games to start. More than anything he wanted to play in the midseason Wolfenstein Muck Bowl.
You needed to be invited to play in the Muck Bowl. The Frankensteins always got chosen because they were so popular. The other spot was completely up for grabs. If the Scream Team won their first three games, they’d have a better chance at it. And Karl might finally meet his hero, Wolfenstein! Every year, the Monster League legend and repeat all-star took part in the Muck Bowl halftime show.
Now, Karl hopped to his feet so he could see down the football field. Patsy the zombie had just missed the pass, and the play was over.
But Bolt the Frankenstein’s monster was still steaming straight toward Patsy. One of his legs had belonged to a ballet dancer who was always looking for a bathroom. So it never wanted to stop moving.
“Bolt leg stop now!” Bolt yelled at his leg. No good.
He barreled into Patsy. Her body parts exploded everywhere.
“Late hit!” Patsy shouted. Then she burst out laughing and put herself back together.
“My side’s turn for the ball,” J.D. said. “Come on, Karl!”
Karl’s tail wagged. There was only one thing the werewolf loved more than playing quarterback for one side. It was playing quarterback for both! Since it was just a scrimmage, no one cared if Karl played QB the entire game.
The two sides lined up and waited for the kickoff. The Scream Team didn’t have a football holder or any other equipment yet. So Beck the bigfoot waddled over to a mushroom mouth that was sprouting on the field. He stuck one end of the ball into the biting plant.
Then Beck took a few steps back. Karl watched his friend, knowing what would come next.
A goofy smile lit up Beck’s face and his eyes got all sparkly. He always looked like this when he was about to kick the football.
“This is the best part of the game!” Beck yelled. His feet were at least three times the size of any other bigfoot. Whenever he kicked the ball, it was like a hammer whacking a pebble. He pulled back one giant foot and—
“Nice flippers! You going scuba diving?” someone shouted from the sidelines. “Hee hoo hee!”
Pffft. You could almost hear the cruel laugh sucking all the fun off the field.
It hit Beck like a bucket of cold slime, and he froze with his foot in the air. Beck’s furry face turned red. Karl looked over to the sidelines to see who was teasing him.
No surprise.
Dr. Neuron, the president of the Junior Club Monster League, stood there.
“Ahh!” Dennis shrieked. His bat wings popped out on his back and started flitting in panic. Karl couldn’t blame him. Dr. Neuron was always out to destroy the Scream Team.
“Here we go again,” J.D. groaned. “He tried to trash our baseball and basketball seasons. What’s he going to take away from us now?”
Dr. Neuron held up a few tentacles as he walked toward them. “No, no,” he said. “I’m not here to take anything. I’m actually here to give you something.”
“What?” Patsy asked. “A case of the molten mumps?”
Dr. Neuron’s eyes bugged out. “Oh,” he said with a fake chuckle. “I forgot how incredibly charming you monsters are. No, here’s my gift.”
With that, Dr. Neuron stepped aside. A smaller monster had been hiding behind him the whole time. It was a mini version of Dr. Neuron, right down to the tentacles.
“This is Happy, my nephew,” Dr. Neuron explained. “For some very strange reason he doesn’t want to play sports. All he likes is to put on crunch bug puppet shows.” As he said puppet shows, he gagged like he might throw up. “My sister has been nagging me to put him in the JCML. I want Happy to join your team.”
Happy kept his head down so the Scream Team couldn’t really see his face. But Karl could tell he was smiling.
“Don’t forget, you’re the Scream Team, who accepts anyone,” Dr. Neuron said.
Good point, Karl thought.
When Karl and his friends had first formed the Scream Team, no one else had wanted them. Not the Werewolves, Blobs, Ghosts . . . no one. Now they were the only team in the league made up of different kinds of monsters.
“Besides, you need ten players on the field to play JCML football. Right now you only have nine. Are you going to tell my poor nephew he’s not wanted?” Dr. Neuron asked.
“Our coaches aren’t here yet,” Karl said, trying to stall so he could think things over.
“Then the decision is up to you and your teammates,” Dr. Neuron said. “I would consider it a personal favor to me. One that could be rewarded.”
“How?” Patsy asked.
Dr. Neuron thought for a second, then said, “As long as your ragtag team can manage not to lose all of your games, I think we can arrange an invitation to be one of the teams in the Muck Bowl this year. . . .”
The Muck Bowl! Karl would do anything to get his team there. Plus, he knew what it was like to have hurt feelings. He didn’t want to make anyone feel that way. “Huddle up, Scream Team,” he said, and gathered with his friends a few feet from the Neurons. “What do you guys think?” he asked.
“Dr. Neuron is right,” J.D. said. “We do need another monster to have ten players.”
Maxwell shrugged. “And his name is Happy.”
“We’ll need all the help we can get to beat the Frankensteins . . . in the MUCK BOWL!” Karl exclaimed.
Everyone nodded and the huddle broke apart. “Okay, Dr. Neuron,” Karl said. “Happy can be on the team, and—”
But Dr. Neuron wasn’t listening. Having heard okay, he was already rushing off the field, back to his limo.
Happy lifted his head all the way. Now the Scream Team could see his grinning face. Happy didn’t seem so happy anymore.
“He looks more like his name should be Wicked, or Nasty,” Mike said, lou
d enough for Happy to hear.
But instead of being angry, Happy just laughed. “Hee hoo hee!”
Karl’s ears perked straight up, realizing they had just made a monstrous mistake. “You’re the one who laughed at Beck!”
“Abso-tootly,” Happy said, snatching the football out of Karl’s paws. “I’m also the one who’s going to play quarterback for the Scream Team.”
Karl thought he must be hearing things. He jammed his paws in his ears to clear out any clumps of earwax.
“Um, you can’t play quarterback, Happy,” he said. “That position is already taken. By me.”
Happy’s creepy grin doubled in size. “I’m not going to argue with a shaved cat.”
“I’m not a cat!” Karl said. “I’m a werewolf.”
Karl knew his coat was a little patchy. He’d been called a poodle—even a spotted miniature pony—but never a shaved cat.
“Really?” Happy acted puzzled. He looked at the rest of the Scream Team. “He’s not a cat?”
Karl growled.
Just then, a van swerved into the nearby parking lot. It jerked side to side as if the steering wheel was being tugged back and forth. The van screeched to a halt.
Dennis sighed in relief. “The Coaches Conundrum are here. They’ll sort this out.”
“You think?” Patsy asked doubtfully.
Coach Wyatt and his brother, Virgil, were part of a two-headed monster. They had different heads and shared the same body. But that was all they had in common. They had different ideas about everything, and the team could hear them bickering as they crossed the field.
“Who’s this?” Wyatt asked gruffly, pointing at Happy. “He looks like a spy to me.”
Karl realized a lie would solve his new problem. He could say Happy was a spy. Coach Wyatt was so freaked out about spies that there was no way he would let Happy play quarterback.
“This is Happy. He wants to join the team,” Karl said, sticking with the truth. He figured that might be worse anyway. “He’s Dr. Neuron’s nephew.”
“Well, you can’t help who you’re related to,” Virgil chirped. “I should know.”
Wyatt frowned at his brother. “Are you still telling people we’re related?” he snapped. “There’s no proof of that. Besides, I’ll decide who’s on the team. After all, I’m the offensive coach.”
“Got that right, dude.” Virgil held his nose and made a comical face. “You are pretty offensive.”
“Well,” Wyatt said, “at least I don’t think defense is something that goes around a farm. Some defensive coach you are!”
Happy did a little dance as if he loved fighting. “Hee hoo hee!” he laughed. “So it’s decided. I’ll play quarterback.”
Karl started to say something. But Coach Virgil beat him to the punch. “Happy, dude—chill,” he said. “Today we’ll run through drills to figure out who will play what. We’ll match your aura to the position of your destiny.”
“Oh brother,” Wyatt said, rolling his eyes. “Whoever wants to be quarterback, follow me. The rest of you go with Virgil to work on blocking.”
With both brothers pulling in different directions, no one went anywhere. Finally, Karl and Happy walked over to stand next to Wyatt’s half of the coaches’ body, and the rest of the team grouped together on Virgil’s half.
“Quarterbacks need to think fast under pressure,” Coach Wyatt said to Happy and Karl. “See that giant pile of fish heads next to the trash bin? Three weeks ago, I hid a bologna sandwich from my brother in there. The first one of you to find the sandwich wins a point!”
Karl hesitated. “What does this have to do with football?”
Coach Wyatt shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
Happy wasn’t waiting. By the time Karl jumped into the pile, Happy was digging through the fish heads with his tentacles. He found the sandwich in a flash.
“That’s one point for Happy,” Coach Wyatt said. The next drill was called Spinpuke. Happy and Karl were supposed to run around in circles for a couple of minutes and then sprint in a straight line. But Karl didn’t stop spinning. He spotted something just at the edge of his vision and tried to catch it.
“Get it, Karl!” Happy shouted from down the field. He was already done with the drill.
His laugh made Karl realize something was wrong. Karl was actually chasing his tail. Something he did when he got nervous.
“That’s another point for Happy,” Coach Wyatt said. “One last drill, quarterback wannabes. Throw this ripe pus bag twenty yards without letting it pop.”
Karl carefully lifted a jiggly pus bag and threw it. His wobbly pass hit the ground and exploded everywhere. Karl groaned, but Mike the swamp thing started rolling around in the slime. “Nothing like a pus bath!” he said cheerfully.
When it was Happy’s turn, he sucked the pus out of the bag and held it in his mouth. He threw the empty bag twenty yards down the field. He walked to the bag, picked it up, squirted the pus back into it, and then sealed the bag shut.
“That was sneaky!” Karl said. But he had to admit it was also pretty clever. Karl had choked under pressure, and didn’t have a single point.
He turned to Coach Wyatt. “I’m not going to get to be QB, am I?”
Coach Wyatt shrugged again. “Before we announce who is playing what, we still have to hold tryouts for kicker.”
Beck was the only monster who wanted to be kicker. “I’ll give it a shot,” he said. He didn’t sound as sure of himself anymore.
His flipper-sized feet flapped out onto the field. The coaches held the ball in place. Just as Beck was about to kick it, Happy laughed. “I’ve heard of a bigfoot,” he crowed, “but I’ve never seen the BIGGEST foot!”
Beck stopped. He took a breath and then started toward the ball again.
“When you buy shoes do they charge you by the mile?” Happy tittered. Beck froze and lowered his kicking foot.
Before anyone else could speak, Happy fired off two more insults. “Too bad we’re not on the slopes, you already have two huge skis! Is it hard to clip your toenails when they’re in another time zone?”
“Enough!” Coach Wyatt shouted. Happy giggled one last time and finally closed his mouth.
By now, Beck’s face had turned bright red. “I guess I don’t want to be kicker anyway,” he mumbled. He backed away from the ball and tried to hide in the middle of the team.
“That’s all right, dude,” Coach Virgil said to Beck. “We’ll figure out who will be kicker later.”
When the coaches wandered off to fight over who would play what position, Karl stomped over to Happy.
“Leave Beck alone,” Karl snarled. “Nobody thinks what you’re doing is funny.”
“I do,” Happy replied, pretending his feelings were hurt. “Are you saying I’m nobody, Karl? That’s just mean of you.”
Karl was so mad, he could only sputter. The coaches walked over to the goalpost and taped up the list of players. They stood in front of the list, blocking everyone’s view.
“We need a quarterback who can lead the team,” Coach Wyatt said, looking directly at Happy. “Not one who makes fun of his teammates.”
The coaches finally stepped aside so Karl and the rest of the team could read the list.
Karl was QB! He pumped his paw in the air. “Yes!” He spotted Happy glaring at him but still smiling. “Sorry,” Karl said.
“Oh, you will be,” Happy said.
“What’s that mean?” J.D. asked.
“I’d rather be home putting on crunch bug puppet shows than playing football,” Happy explained. “My mom and my uncle are making me be here. The only spot I would have wanted is quarterback. And if I can’t be QB . . .”
“What?” Karl asked.
Happy laughed wickedly and then answered, “I’m going to . . . tear the . . . Scream Team . . . APART.”
Normally, Karl loved the stench of a football game. The smelly cups of old hot-dog water and the whiff of a hundred or so monsters sitting in the stands. But ton
ight when Karl walked into the stadium, he’d been too worried to enjoy any of it.
The start of the Scream Team’s first game against the Bigfoots was just ten minutes away. And Happy couldn’t be found anywhere. Their newest teammate hadn’t bothered to show up to practice that week. So Karl and Happy were never able to work on their snaps.
“Over here, Karl!” Coach Virgil called, waving him over to the Scream Team bench. Their sponsor, Mr. Benedict, had brought crates filled with their game equipment. The mole man handed each monster a helmet, mouth guard, and shoulder pads.
The mouth guard covered only one of Dennis’s fangs, and the shoulder pads weren’t the best fit on Eric the blob.
“Who cares how we look?” Patsy said. “Without Happy we don’t have enough players for the game anyway.”
“Oh, Happy will be here,” Mr. Benedict said. “He told me last night when he called to—”
“Hee hoo hee!” Happy’s high-pitched laugh interrupted him. In the parking lot, Dr. Neuron was practically pushing Happy out of his limo.
“You will play football and you’ll like it!” Dr. Neuron said before slamming the car door and speeding away.
Karl trotted over to Happy. “Hey, glad you’re here,” Karl said. When Happy didn’t respond, he added, “Um, you didn’t really mean what you said about wanting to tear the Scream Team apart, right?”
Happy grinned at him. “I’d be lying if I said I was telling the truth that that was a lie.”
Karl scratched his head. “Oh, good, I guess,” he said, confused. “Because if we win this game, we’re one step closer to playing in the Wolfenstein Muck Bowl.”
“I’m abso-tootly aware of that, my shaved-cat friend,” Happy said, smiling. “It’s all part of my plan.”
Before Karl could ask what he meant, Hairy Hairwell’s voice boomed from the loudspeakers. “Welcome, fiends and ghouls, to the first football game of the JCML season!” the announcer shouted from his booth high above the stands. “Let’s hear it for our referee of the evening, Frank the Cyclops!”