PHILIP AND THE MONSTERS
by
John Paulits
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2011, John Paulits
Cover Art Copyright © 2011, Charlotte Holley
Gypsy Shadow Publishing
Lockhart, TX
www.gypsyshadow.com
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing.
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DEDICATION
For Princess Taryn
Chapter One
“Boo!” shouted Emery. Philip’s heart shot up, and his stomach tumbled. He spun to face his friend.
“Are you crazy? Are you really crazy? Why did you do that? I walk into your house and you jump out like a maniac? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Emery laughed and waved a hand at Philip. “Get out. We’re too young to have heart attacks. Unless,” said Emery in a spooky voice, “your arteries are clogged with the cholesterol of fear.”
Philip stared at Emery.
“What?” Emery asked.
Philip continued to stare.
Emery smiled nervously and shrugged.
Philip didn’t move a muscle.
Emery blinked and blinked again.
Philip continued to stare and refused to blink.
“Say something, please,” said Emery in a small voice. He waited. Philip said nothing. “Come on, you’re scaring me.”
Philip kept on staring and counted to himself. When he reached three, he threw his arms in the air and shouted, “BOOOO!”
“Ahhh!” Emery burst out. “Why did you do that? Are you crazy, too? You were scaring me and then you scared me. Why’d you scare me?”
“Can we go back to the beginning?” Philip asked slowly, still giving Emery his coldest stare.
“The beginning?”
“Did you ask me to come over so we could do our homework together?”
“Yes, I did,” said Emery, paying very close attention to Philip’s questions. He didn’t want Philip to start staring and BOO-ing him again.
“Did you tell me you would leave the front door open, and I should just walk in?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“So I could jump out and scare you.”
“Then you admit it!” Philip cried. He tried to stay calm. “Why did you want to scare me?”
“Uh, because you said I could.”
Philip stared at Emery again.
“Are you going to do the staring Boo! thing again, because . . . ?” Emery stepped back, arms out, hands waving slowly.
“No, stand still,” Philip said softly. “When did I say you could jump out at me and try to give me a heart attack? When? When did I say it?”
“You said we would do our homework together, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, so? Is giving me a heart attack doing our homework together?” Philip shouted.
“No, but scaring you is. I’m doing my report on how people act when they get scared. You have to do a report too, you know. The class report we have to do about a feeling. Remember?”
“What was the stuff you said before?”
“Before? When?”
“Before. About the arteries and the clogging.”
Emery laughed. “Did you like it? I made it up. I read this newspaper article about good heart health, and I read a different article about how peoples’ hearts beat faster when they get scared.”
“You didn’t have to read about it. I could have told you.”
“Yeah well, I put the two things together and I said . . .”
“I know what you said. What does cholesterol have to do with your report?”
“Nothing. I made a joke, for Pete’s sake.”
“Some dumb joke. Next time, save it for Pete.”
“Never mind the joke. Tell me what you felt when you got scared.” Emery scrambled to the floor and lay on his stomach, pencil in hand and notebook open. “Go on.”
Philip tried the best he could to remember everything he felt when Emery jumped out at him. As Philip talked, Emery wrote fast.
“Good,” said Emery, his pencil zipping across the paper. “Good. Now let me write what I felt when you scared me.”
When Emery finished writing, Philip said, “Lemme see.” Emery handed him the notebook.
Philip read, “When Philip first scared me by staring, I got scared because I didn’t know what he was doing. I felt scared because I didn’t know what would happen next. When Philip jumped at me, I felt really scared, heart-beating scared.”
Philip looked at Emery, impressed. “Pretty neat. You got scared a different way each time.”
“Yeah, it’s great for my report. Now I need you to add things to my list.”
“What list?”
“My list of things people get scared by. Tell me what things scare you. You know, to see or think about. Know what my mother said? She said hairy people scare her. You know with hairy hands and arms and eyebrows and nose hairs and hair where it shouldn’t be, like on warts and stuff.”
“Disgusting!”
“Yeah, but scary. Go on, what scares you?”
“What did you put for yourself?”
Emery flipped back a few pages. “I put waking up in the dark in a strange place.” Philip agreed. No argument there. It happened to him. “Watching scary movies in the dark when my parents are out.” Philip agreed again. Still no argument. “Being alone in the house. Sometimes. Like at night. That’s all.”
“They’re all good ones.”
“Your turn.”
“You took all the good ones.”
“You have to give me something different. Come on.”
“The haunted house scared us. Going inside it, remember?”
Emery wrote it down.
“Somebody finally moved in there, you know,” Emery said, when he finished writing.
“I heard. My dad told me. At least we won’t have to mow their lawn anymore. The new people can mow their own lawn.” He and Emery had beautified the deserted house by mowing its lawn as part of a community service project.
“Give me one more. A good one. How about monsters? Are you afraid of monsters?”
“What kind of monsters?”
“Regular monsters. You know. Frankenstein, Dracula, Wolfman.”
“Everybody’s supposed to be afraid of them, but they’re not real.”
“I’ll put it anyway.”
“Under my name?”
“Sure.”
“No, no,” Philip scoffed. “I don’t want everybody in the class to think I’m afraid of Dracula. Put your cousin Leon’s name instead of mine. He’s afraid of everything.”
“All right. All right. So there. Only one more person to interview and I’m done making a list. I’ll ask Mrs. Moriarty later what she’s
scared of.” Mrs. Moriarty was their favorite neighbor. “Fourth grade projects aren’t so bad. You pick yours yet?” Emery closed his notebook and tossed it on the sofa.
“No,” said Philip.
“You better hurry up. Want to go see what the new haunted house family looks like?”
Philip looked out the window. It was early December and darkness arrived early. Philip checked his watch, hoping Emery got the message and would suggest a time with more daylight available.
“We’re allowed out till five,” Emery argued.
“Let’s go tomorrow right after school.” Philip thought of the bright afternoon sunshine. “We’ll have more time.”
“Okay,” Emery agreed. “You afraid to walk home alone? Want me to walk you?”
“No! My arteries are not clogged with the cholesterol of fear.”
The two boys laughed. Philip gathered up his coat from the floor where he’d dropped it and hurried home alone, as fast as he could.
Chapter Two
“Are you scared?” Emery asked softly as they walked down the side of Pratt Street opposite the haunted house.
Philip stopped. Emery took two steps and turned around.
“Scared of what?” Philip asked. “Why should I be scared? Are you still doing your project?”
“It’s no fun visiting a haunted house if you’re not scared, so get scared. And don’t talk in a regular voice. Whisper.”
“I don’t want to whisper, and I don’t want to get scared. We were scared the last time when we went inside, but the house doesn’t look haunted anymore. People live in it.”
“Suppose a family of monsters moved into the house.”
Philip rolled his eyes. “You mean people with two heads and long tails?”
“No, what about if they’re a family of werewolves or vampires?”
Philip’s voice rose. “Why would werewolves or vampires move into our neighborhood?”
“It’s the perfect place. Nobody would suspect them?”
“You would.”
“I do. I suspect everyone. I should never have made scariness my project. Now everything scares me.”
“I still didn’t pick a feeling yet for my report. Such a stupid project. Who can do a project on a feeling people have?” Philip didn’t want to admit Emery’s project made him jealous. He’d picked a good topic and a fun one besides.
The boys started down the street again. “Let’s cross,” said Emery.
As they crossed the street, Emery touched Philip’s shoulder and pointed up. A huge black cloud which sat over the schoolyard at dismissal had gotten darker and covered up more and more of the sky. “The closer we get to the haunted house,” Emery whispered, “the darker it gets.”
Philip had noticed, but he refused to mention it—although it did seem to be a funny coincidence. They walked slower and slower as they got near the house.
Suddenly, Emery burst out, “Yipe! Look, they put out a new mailbox.” On the edge of the sidewalk near the street a wooden stake driven down into the grass held the mailbox. Emery and Philip stepped into the street to face it and take a better look.
The black mailbox had a white door, decorated with painted buttons to look like the front of a man’s white shirt. The mailbox itself looked like a black coat or cape. Attached to the top of the mailbox loomed the wooden face of a vampire, red-dripping teeth, shiny straight-back black hair, and evil eyes looking down to see what the mailman slipped into the mailbox. The boys studied the mailbox and turned to one another.
“I never saw a mailbox like this before?” Philip asked softly.
“Now you’re whispering. Are you scared?”
“No, but it’s a weird mailbox, don’t you think?”
“Maybe like a dentist hangs a tooth outside his office, they hang this up to show what they do.”
“What who do?”
“Who do? You mean voodoo?
“No, I don’t mean voodoo,” Philip said loudly. “I mean what who do. Who are you talking about?”
“Vampires. Maybe it’s like an advertisement.”
“Advertisement? An advertisement for what?”
“To drink blood. You know, come in and have your veins drained.”
Philip stared at Emery.
“You’re staring again,” Emery mumbled.
“An advertisement for people to have their veins drained? Like there’s gonna be a long line of people who want their . . .” Philip stopped. Looking at the mailbox straight on from the street had not allowed the two boys to read the names painted on the side, but as they moved onto the sidewalk, Philip’s eyes fell on the painted name.
“Uh oh,” Philip said, eyes widening.
“What?” Emery cried.
“Oh, nothing. Their name. Whew! I thought it said the ‘Monster’ family.”
“Where?”
“There, on the side.”
Emery studied the name and spelled it out loud. “M-o-s-t-e-r/T-a-l-b-o-t. It almost spells ‘monster.’”
“At least Talbot’s a regular name.”
A drop of rain fell, and as Philip glanced toward the sky, he saw something in the upstairs window of the house. “Look. Look up there!” he cried in alarm.
“Where? Look where?” Emery spun around until Philip grabbed him by the shoulders and aimed him.
“Look up.”
“Okay, I’m looking up, but I don’t see anything. What was it?”
“I don’t know. There. There it is again. You see it now, don’t you?”
“I see it! I see it!” Something black flitted behind the white shade covering the brightly lit upstairs window.
“It looked like . . .” Emery began.”
“Don’t say it,” Philip interrupted.
“A bat,” Emery finished.
“I told you not to say it.” Philip took a moment to ponder. “Why would a bat be flying around in the house?”
“Could be they have strange pets.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe it’s wild and got in the house, and they’re trying to chase it out.”
“I don’t think so,” said Philip. “Uh oh!”
The shade on the upstairs window rose slowly. A dark figure appeared at the window as the first rumble of thunder from the coming storm rolled through the darkening afternoon. The figure at the window looked directly down at them. Suddenly, the light in the room went out, and darkness swallowed the figure.
“You don’t think it could have turned into a . . .”
“Don’t say it,” Philip interrupted.
Emery flicked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the mailbox and whispered, “Vamp . . .”
“Argh! I told you not to say it. Stop saying things I tell you not to say.”
Emery tapped the head of the vampire on the mailbox.
Another burst of thunder, much louder than the first, crashed across the sky.
“I read vampires can create storms and stuff,” said Emery in a low voice, stepping closer to Philip.
“Listen!” Philip cried as a sharp howl broke the silence. “Mrs. Wenner’s dog, probably. Maybe it doesn’t like the thunder.”
“You sure it’s her dog? It sounded like a w . . .”
“Don’t say it,” Philip insisted.
Emery couldn’t help himself. “A wolf,” he cried. “Maybe a werewolf.”
“I told you not to say it.”
“So, I said it. So what?”
“Never mind. Let’s get out of here. I hate this house, and I’m tired of whispering.”
A small truck pulled to a stop in front of the Moster/Talbot house, and Philip and Emery moved behind a tree. Emery poked his head out one side of the tree; Philip poked his head out the other side. Two men in overalls got out and went around to the back of the truck.
“Hurry up before it really starts coming down,” one man said to the other.
They quickly opened the rear doors of the truck and pulled out a long rectangular box made
of wood. The boys noticed small, round holes punched into the side of the box. The box had wheels, and the men rolled the box along and lifted it up onto the porch. One man rang the doorbell.
“Emery, you can see better. Tell me who answers.” Emery leaned out from the tree.
“Somebody opened the door. I can’t see who. It’s too dark.” Emery stepped out further from the tree, but Philip pulled him back.
“Don’t. It’ll see you,” said Philip.
Emery ducked back behind the tree. “It? It? What it? You saw an it? Did you see an it?”
Philip shushed him, and the two boys watched the men push the box through the doorway. A moment later the men left the house, climbed back into their truck, and drove away.
The two boys bustled away from the house toward the safety of home. “What do you think they had in the box?” Emery asked.
“I don’t . . .” Suddenly, Philip thought of the long box and the name on the mailbox at the same time. “Moster/Talbot.”
“Moster/Talbot what?”
“Remember the movie we saw? The one my dad made us watch from one of those sets he buys? The name! The box!”
“What movie? What name? What box?”
“Talbot. Talbot,” Philip insisted. “Let’s go to my house. You can call your mom and ask to eat over. I’ll ask my dad to let us watch the movie again.”
“What movie? What movie?”
“Stop asking so many questions and come on.”
The rain began to fall hard, and as the two boys ran down the street, Emery tried hard to remember what movie Philip meant.
Chapter Three
“I can’t stay to watch the whole movie,” said Emery after Philip told him which movie he meant.
“Why? Scared to?”
“No,” Emery snapped. “I got homework to do.”
“You don’t have to watch the whole movie. The beginning’s enough. I don’t know why you don’t remember things.”
“I remember things. I just don’t remember what I’m supposed to remember about this movie.”
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