The Monstrous Memoirs of a Mighty McFearless

by Ahmet Zappa

  “Look at that, Minerva. My diamond is around that cat's neck,” said Max. “Here, kitty-kitty.” He tried to coax the animal over to him. No luck. With a roll of its eye, the little critter bared its teeth and growled. “Come on, strange kitty-cat, I won't hurt you. Come here, weirdo kitty-kitty.”

  “Please don't call me kitty, kitty-cat or weirdo kitty ever again, you little imbecile. I find it insulting, for I am no such thing and so much more than a cat,” said the animal with disgust. “Also, the word kitty has a rather feline femininity to it, which I feel doesn't describe me in the very least, for I am clearly canine—coyote to be exact—and most assuredly male. And if either of you two dim-witted tiny twits likens me to a cat again, I'll be more than happy to use my kitty-kitty-like coyote claws to scratch my way up your legs and past your shoulders, where I'll bite two gaping holes in your necks. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” we answered immediately.

  “By the way, it took you two bumbling buffoons an eternity to realize that it was safe for you to crawl out of that hole. I despise waiting. However, now that you've arrived, I shall introduce myself. I am Mr. Devilstone, and both of you may call me Mr. Devilstone and only Mr. Devilstone. Is that also clear?” said the persnickety one-eyed coyote.

  “Yes, sir. It is, sir,” we replied, both stunned.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Devilstone,” I said unenthusiastically while I impolitely stared at the eye patch he wore where his other eyeball should have been.

  “Um, can I have that diamond back?” asked Max sheepishly.

  “Absolutely not, and don't ask me again,” Mr. Devilstone said in a way that sent shivers down my spine. “We don't have any more time for this sort of dillydallying, children. Your father has been taken, along with the Bewilder Box. But not all is lost. You see, the monsters wanted what was inside that box, but because it was closed and they didn't have its combination, your father will be kept alive until he reveals it—which is good and bad. Good because he'll be alive, but bad because they'll be bringing him before the king of evil. Once your father is there, the king will want the combination and he'll torture him to get it. I doubt your father will last more than a day or two. So if you want to get him back alive, then we are going to have to act fast.”

  “How do we know that we can trust you and that you're not working for the monsters while the sun is up?” I asked suspiciously.

  “I don't care if you trust me or not, you mindless miniature McFearless,” barked Mr. Devilstone. “But if you ever again imply that I work for monsters, I'll scratch out your right eye so that you'll have to wear an eye patch just like the one you've been staring at.” I quickly averted my eyes, ashamed that I'd been caught. “Now, let me illuminate some things so that your moronic brains might consider following me into battle. It was I who healed your battered bratty brother by licking his wounds clean after mentioning a few magic words. It was also I who cared for the lovely Ms. Monstranomicon, opened the trapdoor and carried her safely away from the harmful rays of the monster-burning sun. I hazard to think that if I hadn't done so, the two of you McFearless dimwits would still be fumbling around down there in the dark like a pair of sniveling snots until you died of starvation. Now, if we're lucky and if you still want a father, then we might be able to save your beloved Manfred McFearless and, hopefully, the world.”

  I didn't like the way Mr. Devilstone talked to us one bit. But we were stuck with him, at least for the time being.

  Then Mr. Devilstone swung his tail out from behind him. Held within his curled-up tail was a dark green velvet sack that appeared to contain a large square item.

  “Hi, Minerva. Hi, Max.” The muffled, pleasant, papery voice of the Monstranomicon came from within the sack.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, worried about the well-being of my friend.

  “Oh, I'm fine,” she replied.

  “Give her to me, Mr. Devilstone,” I begged.

  “I'm not going to hurt her, Minervous McFearless,” Mr. Devilstone responded snidely.

  “You be nice to Minerva, Devilstone,” scolded Ms. Monstranomicon protectively. Mr. Devilstone's furry gray face turned embarrassingly crimson for one satisfying second.

  “Don't worry about me, Minerva. Mr. Devilstone and I are old friends. He'd never let any harm befall me,” she said happily enough. “But that doesn't mean you should let him forget to take me out of here the moment the sun goes down. I'm starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.”

  I was relieved that Ms. Monstranomicon was okay. But I didn't know if I trusted Mr. Devilstone yet. He did answer a lot of the questions I had, but he left me with a bunch of new ones. Ultimately, I decided that even if this was a trick and he was leading us into the mouths of monsters, it was still probably the best shot we were ever going to have at saving our dad. Max and I were going to have to be smart and keep our wits about us at all times.

  “What do you want us to do for you?” I asked.

  “Simple. I want you two misbehaving mealworms to help me monsterminate whatever creatures come between us and getting your father back,” sighed Mr. Devilstone. “In other words, act like McFearlesses. I've already gone to the trouble of packing up everything I could possibly conceive of that you might need on your first journey into monster battle. So, if we could please now take our leave?” As if by magic, he produced from behind his back a pair of battle-ready satchels, stuffed to capacity with monsterminational gear.

  Max had a huge smile on his face, from ear to ear. He couldn't wait to go through the satchel, and I'm sure he prayed to his pirate gods that there would be something along the lines of a sword packed inside.

  I was still less than thrilled by Mr. Devilstone and his bizarre, aggressive helpfulness. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something familiar about him that kept pricking annoyingly at my brain. I needed to solve this little mystery soon or I'd go nuts.

  I looked at Max, who seemed as ready as he'd ever be for a fight, and he looked at me as if waiting to see what I thought we should do next. Throwing caution to the wind, I picked up my pack and said, “Let's do it. Let's go kick some monster butt and get Dad back!”

  him from the grasp of Castle Doominstinkinfart's evil king.

  I know what you're thinking…. Sounds like a piece of cake, right? Well, it wasn't.

  The monsters had scared off all our horses—or, worse, had eaten them—so we had to set off on our journey on foot. The weight of my satchel was already starting to bother my shoulder and we hadn't even been on the road for more than thirty minutes. Max, who was normally a lazy lump of complaints, seemed totally unaffected by the burden. Mr. Devilstone had us walking at an overly brisk pace, which didn't help my soreness, to say the least. Our cantankerous canine guide was amazingly silent compared to me, with my clomping-around foot-dragging. Max was even louder than me. He banged about like a small tornado filled with exploding bombs and asked stupid questions like “Why are we going this way again?” and “Will someone please buy me some gum balls when we get into town?”

  Somewhere along the path, Max had also picked up a fallen branch off the ground and used it to imitate Mr. Devilstone's cane walk. He got away with his rude behavior for a little while, until Mr. Devilstone caught him out of the corner of his only eye, snatched the stick from his hand and smacked him over the head with it three or four times in quick succession. Then he handed it back to Max, who for some reason didn't want it anymore and dropped it. I thought the whole thing was pretty funny, and Max was much quieter after that.

  When we finally made it to the center of Whistle-squeak, things just weren't right. It was early afternoon and people should've been busy going from store to store. Families should have been strolling the boulevards in droves, but the town was empty. The signs in some of the shop windows said OPEN, but the doors were locked tightly. It was as if the owners had closed up in a hurry or abandoned their stores to run away from something sinister. The diamond Mr. Devilstone wore around his neck began to
glow bright red. Then an ominous and worried expression appeared on his whiskery face. “Children, I want you to be on guard. There is a monster in our midst. Judging by how brightly my jewel is glowing, I'd say it's not too far from here.”

  “You mean that diamond lights up when monsters are around? That is the best thing ever, Mr. D!” exclaimed Max.

  “Yes, to you it is, Maxwell Monkey Brain,” answered Mr. Devilstone insultingly. He then started sniffing the air for clues while his eyeball rapidly darted from left to right and top to bottom, investigating everything he saw on the empty streets. “My senses tell me that the Glorch who helped take your father is here, hiding somewhere in town, and is unfortunately performing more of his monstrously monstrous misconduct.”

  “Oh, no! What do we do, Mr. Devilstone?” I asked.

  “Judging by the faint stink of monster sweat in the air and the pattern of his clawprints, mixed with the other little footprints I've detected, I have regrettably concluded that it has captured all the children of this small town,” explained Mr. Devilstone as he pointed to the giant set of monster tracks on the street, as well as the many marks made by feet no bigger than mine. “So, to answer your question, Minerva, we are going to find that infernal beast, return the uneaten children to their loving parents, gather information as to why your father was taken and then rid this poor town of the Glorch's appalling appetite.”

  “What's happened to all the grown-ups? Have they been eaten?” I asked, horrified.

  “Probably not, Minerva. The grown men and women of this town are all most likely still alive, but nevertheless in danger. Glorches prefer the softer bones of children to chomp. As you might have read, Glorches can spray a toxic mist from the glands above their snouts that renders their prey motionless. It appears this particular Glorch froze the adults so that it could easily kidnap their sons and daughters. The sun is still shining above us, which leaves us only a modicum of time to ready ourselves while the unsuspecting beast slumbers. We are going to have to prepare a potion large enough to unfreeze all the grown-ups and get rid of the Glorch before sundown, or it'll consume all of the children, bite by bite. This is going to be difficult. Let's get started. Open your packs.”

  “Minerva, this is so exciting,” Max said. “I'm gonna be a hero, and every time I come back here I'll probably get as much chocolate as I can eat and all the gum balls I can fit in my pockets—all for free. I bet the townsfolk will shout, ‘Hurrah, Maxwell McFearless, hurrah!' when I walk the streets. Maybe then I won't have to do as many of the mean things I love doing to you because I'll be too busy being Whistle-squeak's swashbuckling hero.”

  “Max, I hope Ms. Monstranomicon bites off your pinkie toes next time you fall asleep,” I told my dumb brother. “Mr. Devilstone, can you believe what an imbecile my brother is, especially at a time like this?” I couldn't wait for the flood of scathing remarks to fly out of his mouth at Max.

  “Actually, I can believe it, and I think you're an imbecile as well,” was Mr. Devilstone's disappointing reply. “Now, I want both of you to look inside your satchels for powdered sparrow's beak, essence of squirrel liver, some butterfly milk and peanut butter.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, a bit upset. I quickly found what he had asked for and then watched him carefully take Ms. Monstranomicon out of her velvet bag in the shade of a shop awning, where she'd be safe from the sun's harmful rays. She had been

  “While I'm making the Glorch antiserum to administer to the frozen adults, I want both of you to make the Fly Mummy Toilet Ball,” Mr. Devilstone instructed. “You should have the majority of the ingredients you'll need inside your packs. For anything else, go across the street to that empty market. Are we clear, Max?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Max.

  “Are we clear, Minerva?” asked Mr. Devilstone.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  “Very good. Take the lovely Ms. Monstranomicon with you just in case your memory is as bad as I think it is, and follow her recipe of defense to the letter. Keep her safely shaded from daylight, even though it is fading fast. Always stick together and stay out of trouble.” (I wished he hadn't mentioned the word trouble. Fingers crossed that trouble wouldn't come our way.) “I'll meet you all back here in twenty-five minutes. Now go, and don't be late.” Mr. Devilstone gently placed Ms. Monstranomicon back in her sack and handed her over to me. (I have to say, I was really happy to have my bundled-up best friend of a book back.)

  Max and I quickly discovered that we already had water, a roll of toilet paper, peanut butter, a wooden spoon, a dead, crusty and dusty fly, mayonnaise, vinegar and even a bowl to mix them in. Mr. Devilstone had thought of almost everything. But we were missing the unbleached flour, and we needed to find some kind of hot sauce as well.

  “Young Maxwell and Miss Minerva, let's locate those missing ingredients, shall we?” mumbled Ms. Monstranomicon from within her velvet coverings.

  “Now that Mr. Devilstone is out of hearing distance,” I said with my voice lowered, just in case, “what is going on with you and that grumpy, mean old coyote anyway?”

  “Nothing, we're just old friends. Why, did he say something about me while I was asleep?” inquired Ms. Monstranomicon bashfully.

  “No, he didn't, but both of you act so weird around each other that I had to ask. Forget I even mentioned it,” I said, not entirely believing her. “Let's just go get our missing ingredients so we can get this icky mummy thingy over with already.” I strapped my satchel on my shoulder, grabbed Max with my left hand, held Ms. Monstranomicon in my right and started off toward the shadowy market across the street.

  reflected true horror. The more we moved about the store, the more glorchified victims we discovered. Paralyzed people appeared around every corner. Some were trying to run away from the Glorch. Some were on their hands and knees, begging. Others, like the man we first saw, seemed to have tried to fight off the ghastly Glorch, with no luck whatsoever.

  “Let's just get what we came here for, make our gross Glorch repellent and get out of here before—”

  I didn't get to finish what I wanted to say because—

  “Mmhhh! Mmhh! Melp mmus!” came a faint sound.

  “What was that? Did you just hear that or am I losing my mind?” I asked Ms. Monstranomicon and Max.

  “Yeah, I heard it too. What do you think it is?” asked my brother.

  “We need to be on our guard, children,” said Ms. Monstranomicon.

  “Mmhhh! Mmhh! Melp mmus!” came the desperate noises again. “Meemore mit mhakes muhp mand mmeats mall muv muss.”

  “Max, help me climb atop these shelves so that Ms. Monstranomicon can have a bird's-eye view of the store. Since she can see in the dark, she'll be able to spot something deadly waiting to jump out at us from the shadows,” I suggested quietly. Ms. Monstranomicon agreed that it was an okay plan, while Max, like he always does when he's nervous, snatched a fear-stabilizing gum ball from his pocket, plopped it in his mouth, chewed it vigorously and nodded.

  “Miz menee mawdee mare?” came the sounds even more frantically.

  “It doesn't sound like one of my monstrous relatives, but be careful anyway. It might be a trap,” reported Ms. Monstranomicon as Max helped me quietly climb up the shelves, secure a position for Ms. Monstranomicon high atop a large jar of saltwater string beans and climb back down again.

  Max decided he didn't like the thought of walking into a potential trap without a weapon, so he searched his satchel. He found his old slingshot with Maximillius etched into its handle, which surprised him, since he hadn't seen or used it in a long time. He was quite good with the miniature Y-shaped catapult contraption—and he should have been, considering that the last time he'd had it he'd intentionally shot out most of our neighbor's windows before my father confiscated it. I could tell it felt good to Max to have his old trusted slingshot back in action, and it increased his much-needed monster-fighting confidence.

  He tested the elastic part of the sling a couple of times by pul
ling it back to his elbow, holding it in firing position and releasing it with a snap. “Seems to be in tip-top shape, but I should test out my aim real quick just to make sure I still have what it takes,” Max said, and reached into his pocket once again for a gum ball. In one swift, fluid movement, Max placed the sour-apple-flavored munchable monster munition into the sling, took aim at a bottle of ground nutmeg fifty feet away and fired before the words “Max, that's a really bad idea” could escape my mouth.

  The gum ball blasted the nutmeg right off the shelf, knocking it effortlessly and inconveniently into similar breakable bottles and causing a domino effect that led to a very loud crash! The floor began to vibrate intensely. Something growled and started burrowing its way up from the bowels of the market. Something humongous. Suddenly, the Glorch exploded through the floorboards just a few feet away from where we stood. I'd never seen such a huge living thing in all my life. My father had once taken Max and me to see the elephants at the zoo, and the Glorch must have been at least three times their size—and three times more frightening. Its fat face was reptilian, and it walked about on four enormous clawed feet. Having to support such a massive stomach had flattened them out—and transformed its blubbery legs into powerfully muscled limbs capable of kicking a man in half.

  Ms. Monstranomicon screamed, “Help meeeeeeee, Minerva!” so loudly, my eardrums almost burst. One of the Glorch's huge, yellowy white, pudgy claws had grabbed her and was scratching the sensitive skin of her cover with its dirty nails.

  That was when I discovered what had been making those strange noises. Held in the Glorch's other fat claw was a long rusty iron chain—and all of Whistlesqueak's missing children were connected to it with collars. It was their muffled pleas for help that we'd been hearing from below, where they were hidden down in the Glorch's underground lair. Tears of hopelessness poured down their miserable, dirty faces from their soggy red eyes. They were all beyond terrified. The Glorch had chained them up so that none of them would be able to escape during its sunlight-avoiding snooze. It was a shockingly sad thing to see. It made Max and me McFearlessly mad—no, scratch that. It made us monsterminatingly mad. We had to do something.