by Ahmet Zappa
wasn't my fault,” I said, speaking to it in its own (forbidden for humans to use) native tongue, Monstrosity. “You see, Max had an accident with a gum ball and some nutmeg. I promise it won't happen again. I have an idea, though, about how we might be able to make it up to you. How about you release the children and give me back my book best friend and then we'll all walk out of here like nothing ever happened? Then, if you want, Max and I will come back here and help you get back to sleep—permanently.” It was obviously confused by my being able to communicate with it like a fellow monster would have, and I could tell that my boldness unnerved it. My strategy was to stall the Glorch from eating me until Max was ready with the second phase of our monsterminating plan.
“DON'T BE SILLY, YOU MOST DEFINITELY GOOD-TASTING, WRONG-IDEA'D LITTLE MCFEARLESS MORSEL. I ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT. MY TERRIBLE TUMMY COULDN'T ALLOW SUCH A STARVING THING LIKE THAT TO HAPPEN TO ME, AND YOU MUST BE INSANE IF YOU THINK A LITTLE GIRL LIKE YOU STANDS A CHANCE AGAINST A MAGNIFICENT MONSTER SUCH AS ME.” The Glorch took deep sucks of air through its nasty snot-dripping nostrils, which flexed open and closed like gills on a hammerhead shark. “I WONDER, WHERE HAS YOUR CHICKEN OF A BROTHER RUN OFF TO, HUH? HE MUST BE THE SANE SIBLING, HIDING AND TREMBLING SOMEWHERE IN A CORNER. I CAN SMELL THAT HE'S STILL AROUND HERE AND I CAN HARDLY WAIT TO FIND HIM. OH, HOW I LOVE A FINELY PREPARED BITE OF LEG OF LITTLE BROTHER WITH HIS SISTER WATCHING IN HORROR AS I EAT HIM. IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITE MONSTER MEALS.”
“I wouldn't worry yourself about Max, Mr. Glorch. I'd worry more about your decision not to let everyone go. It really is a shame you feel that way, and I'm afraid that I simply can't allow you to harm anyone else here in Whistlesqueak.” My lack of reaction to its threats confused the Glorch thoroughly. It was having a hard time figuring out what it should do about me. (Eating me was an option I wouldn't like.) “You wouldn't happen to have a first name, by any chance, would you? I want to make sure I know what the first name of the first monster Max and I properly monsterminate is,” I said, keeping up my charade.
“THIS IS PURE POPPYCOCK, AND YES, I DO HAVE A FIRST NAME. IT'S GREBLOR, GREBLOR GLORCH. NOW, WHY AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME? YOU REALLY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF ME. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” asked Greblor, suspicious and enraged.
“You're joking, right? You're not scary at all,” I lied. “You seem like you're a really sweet monster. But now you've done a bunch of bad things and it's time that you were punished.” The Glorch didn't like that answer, not one bit.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MCFEARLESS MIND, CHILD? ONLY A FOOL WOULD TALK TO ME LIKE YOU'RE DOING,” answered Greblor angrily. “I'VE ALWAYS BEEN THE MOST UNSWEETENED, DOWNRIGHT SALTY MONSTER ANYONE HAS EVER LAID EYES ON. NOW, I'M STARVING AND YOU'RE REALLY GETTING ON MY NERVES. I HAVE TO EAT YOU RIGHT AWAY.”
Greblor lunged, openmouthed, toward me and tried to snap his jaws around my waist, but I was too fast for his fat body to catch.
“Well, that wasn't nice,” I said.
“PLEASE JUST SHUT YOUR TASTY FACE UP AND LET ME EAT YOU. I'M SICK OF ALL YOUR SILLY LITTLE STATEMENTS, AND IF I HAVE TO HEAR ANY MORE OF THEM, I'M GOING TO THROW UP ALL THE DIFFERENT PEOPLE I'VE ALREADY EATEN HERE IN TOWN. AND THROWING UP IS SUCH A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT TO ME. I'VE ALWAYS HATED DOING IT. NOT BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO EAT MY OWN BARF BACK UP OFF THE GROUND. I DO, AND I LOVE EATING OTHER PEOPLE'S BARF LIKE THAT. IT'S BECAUSE I CAN'T RE-EAT MY OWN VOMIT ONCE I'VE BARFED IT OUT OF ME THAT MAKES ME HATE THROWING UP SO MUCH. IT'S JUST SUCH A SHAME, DON'T YOU THINK?” asked the gross Glorch, and he tried to chomp me again.
“Yeah, if you say so,” I said, dodging him for the second time. Listening to him talk about puking made me want to puke, and the thought of him eating my puke made me want to puke even harder. Max had to hurry, because eventually Greblor Glorch might get lucky and swallow me up. He was getting closer with every try. “Hey, are there other monsters here in town too, or are you the only monster Max and I will be monsterminating in Whistle-squeak?” I asked, ducking out of the way of another jaw-snap.
“NO, THEY'RE LONG GONE WITH YOUR FA-THER BY NOW. I ONLY STUCK AROUND HERE SO THAT I COULD CHOMP UP ALL THE CHILDREN THIS TOWN HAD TO OFFER. STOP MOVING AROUND SO MUCH, MCFEARLESS,” said the Glorch, out of breath. “NOW, I'M WILLING TO MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU. IF YOU PROMISE TO WALK DIRECTLY INTO MY MOUTH WITHOUT A FUSS, I SWEAR I'LL SAVOR EVERY LAST NUTRITIOUS PART OF YOU WHILE I COLDHEARTEDLY CHEW YOU UP. BUT IF YOU KEEP MAKING ME EXERCISE, THEN I'LL BE FORCED TO FEED YOU TO MYSELF AS PAINFULLY AS MY STOMACH CAN POSSIBLY ALLOW,” growled the Glorch, and he lunged toward me once again, too close for comfort.
That was when Max reappeared, slingshot in hand. He pulled it back and slung a perfectly placed grape-flavored purple gum ball right down the Glorch's throat.
“MMMM, GRAPE. APPETIZERS BEFORE I EAT THE MAIN COURSE? I LIKE THE WAY YOU BOTH THINK. NEVER HAD ONE OF THOSE BEFORE, BUT I CAN'T LET YOU DO THAT AGAIN,” the Glorch said, and slammed his tail down as hard as he could. The whole room shook like an earthquake, and I almost fell over. Max was caught off balance and fell to the floor, spilling the only handful of grape gum balls he had. He didn't have two of any other flavor left in his pocket gum ball artillery (since the grape ones are his least favorite to chew, they're always the last ones to go), so he needed to get at least one of them back to be able to poison the Glorch.
“YOU NAUGHTY MCFEARLESS MEAT PUPPETS WILL SLIP UP SOON, AND I'LL BE THERE TO RIP YOU TO SHREDS,” screamed the world's most frustrated Glorch. He thrashed about, knocking over everything in the store with his hulking frame, mindless of the damage he was causing. The chains connected to the poor children were pulled in every direction. Things were getting out of control.
Max barely rolled out of the way of one of the Glorch's tail swipes, his head almost crunched by its crushing blow. Poor Max was having trouble keeping track of the rolling purple gum balls that we desperately needed. Every time he'd almost get his hands on a precious purple piece of chewy goodness, Greblor would stop him, or it would roll too dangerously close to the Glorch's rampaging feet for Max to snatch it back safely. There were four purple shots of gum left. Unfortunately, Greblor stepped on and destroyed three of them, which left us with only one shot, and that was only if we could get to it before it too was destroyed. Both Max and I spotted the last remaining gum ball as it rolled through the Glorch's legs and into a corner. It was now or never. I had to create a diversion so that Max could get to it and then get it down Greblor's evil throat or we were all dead meat.
“Hey, tubby! Over here, slowpoke,” I called, insulting him in my most condescending voice. “You're an embarrassment to all monsterkind. It must be driving you insane that an eleven-year-old girl is too fast for your fat body to catch.”
“ARRGGHHHH, THAT IS IT! YOU'RE DEAD!” growled one very fed-up Glorch.
I must have said something right, because Greb-lor brought his full attention back to me. Hopefully, Max would have all the time he needed to get his gum ball. The Glorch charged at me, head down, like a battering ram, with the chains full of children in tow. This time he was too fast. One of the many horns that adorned his creature cranium connected with my shoulder blade, sending me flying into the air like a rag doll. I landed hard and I was hurt. I was hurt bad. I started to weep, which Greblor loved.
“DO I HEAR CRYING? OH, HOW THOUGHTFUL OF YOU,” he said, satisfied. “YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TO THE TROUBLE OF MAKING ALL THAT EYE SAUCE TO ACCOMPANY YOUR FACE FOR WHEN I EAT IT OFF, MINERVA. I'M SURE MY TUMMY AND I WOULD FIND YOU DELICIOUS SIMPLY PLAIN.”
The floor rumbled again. The Glorch started to charge once more, this time bearing down on me with his jaws wide open for the kill. Searching for something to defend myself with, I found a hammer on the ground. With all my might, I threw it at Greb-lor's face. Although it never even touched him, a glorchtastically great thing happened. Greblor ducked away from my tossed hammer and accidentally jammed his biggest monster toe into the store's stone wall. He banged it so hard tha
t his big toenail bent back and broke off in a fountain of bloody toe gore.
“OH! OW! OW! OW! MY TOE! YOU WORTHLESS, WRETCHED CHILD, SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! WHEN I GET MY CLAWS AROUND YOU, I'M GOING TO COMPRESS YOUR HEAD INTO YOUR FEET, BREAK YOUR SPINE INTO A MILLION PIECES AND PLAY YOU LIKE AN ACCORDION. OW, MY POOR HUNGRY TOE!” He howled in unbearable agony and hopped around in circles.
“Mini, are you okay?” asked Max, appearing by my side.
“I'm hurt pretty bad, but I'll manage,” I replied. “Did you get it?”
“Yeah, Mini, I got it,” he said, staring at my wound.
“Then forget about me, Max. Just send that monster back to whatever monster hole it came from!” I cried between whimpers.
“Hey, Glorchy! This is for my sister!” Max shouted to the ghastly Glorch—and fired.
Everything moved in slow motion. Max and I both stared at the trajectory of the purple gum ball and prayed. The Glorch's face contorted from a look of pain to one of sheer terror when he realized what was speeding toward his mouth. The Glorch was in the middle of an openmouthed toe moan, while the doom-infused purple gum ball of Glorch destruction was inches away from his face. My heart was pounding. I could feel every beat throughout my body. Time stood still. Max truly was a great shot, and the Glorch was finally going to get what he deserved. The gum ball found its mark—but not the one we needed. I heard the tink it made when it hit one of Greblor's razor-sharp teeth and ricocheted harmlessly to the floor, where Greblor stepped on it.
We were going to die.
“POOR LITTLE MAX AND HIS ANNOYING SISTER, MINERVA. WHERE HAS ALL YOUR HOPE GONE? YOU HAVE NOTHING LEFT.” His words rang true. I believed in that final moment that we were doomed. Max, however, did not. He raised his slingshot one more time and fired directly into the Glorch's mouth an item he'd found lying on the ground.
“WHAT DELICIOUS ITEM HAVE YOU MADE ME SWALLOW NOW?” the Glorch asked Max, not worried in the least. “I RATHER ENJOYED THAT. IT HAD A HARD, SLIMY OUTSIDE THAT WAS SALTY AND AN ALMOST CRUNCHY, CHEESY, DECOMPOSING ELEMENT TO IT THAT I FOUND TO BE EXTRAORDINARY. IT WAS MAYBE THE BEST THING THAT I'VE EVER TASTED, YET SOMEHOW FAMILIAR. YOU MUST TELL ME BEFORE YOU BOTH DIE IN MY MOUTH, WHAT WAS IT?”
I looked at my brother, because I also had no idea.
“That was your disgusting toenail. You ate yourself,” Max said with a smile.
And the once confident stare of our enemy disappeared altogether.
“YOU'VE POISONED ME! I'VE BEEN POISONED BY TWO STUPID LITTLE KIDS. HOW CAN THIS BE?” moaned Greblor. “ALL THE THINGS I'VE HAD TO EAT OVER THE YEARS TO GET TO THIS SIZE—IT'LL TAKE ME FOREVER TO DO THAT AGAIN. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME.” The impressively huge Glorch rapidly started to shrink. Within moments, Greblor was the size of a baby frog.
(It was brilliant on Max's part, really. You see, since a Glorch eats its way out of its own shell when hatching, it makes perfect sense that if it ate a part of itself later in life, the results would be detrimental.)
“Well done, children,” said Mr. Devilstone from out of nowhere. He picked up the helplessly tiny Greblor, put him in his mouth and swallowed him.
“Ewww, that was so gross!” I said woozily, and fell over….
While I lay bleeding on the ground, going in and out of consciousness, Mr. Devilstone, Max and Ms. Monstranomicon went about helping the town. They unfroze the adults with Mr. Devilstone's Glorch antivenin. Then they released all the children, tended to their wounds and reunited them with their incredibly grateful parents.
Max was heralded for his courage and re-warded with free gum balls for life (just like he'd wanted, and he greedily stuffed his pockets full of them) as Whistlesqueak's very own “brave and mighty monster slayer.” Which made me so mad. It was like they thought I had nothing to do with saving any of them at all. Maybe it was because I was badly injured and I could barely stay awake that all of the heroic focus went to “The Mighty Maxwell McFearless,” who lives just up the road with “that poor injured girl over there.” Forget the fact that I'm his older sister and I was practically impaled while trying to save everybody. All I heard anyone say as I painfully awaited medical attention was “Oh, it's that weird McFearless girl. Looks to me like she's not going to make it,” and “I hate to say this, but I'm glad it's not my daughter lying there.” You'd think someone would at least have called me brave too. But no, no one did.
Max and Ms. Monstranomicon happily showed the townsfolk how to make some of her defensive recipes, in case of future monster attacks. They were obliged once again and showered Max with tasty treats and many more thank-yous (none for Minerva). While I sat unnoticed and in pain, watching the adoration that unfolded around Max, I realized that I didn't need the townsfolk's gratitude or accolades. I just wanted help. Eventually, after everyone else in town was tended to, Mr. Devilstone came to my aid. He scooped me into his furry coyote arms; then he placed me gently into the back of an old horse-drawn cart.
“You were incredibly brave back there, and I'm proud of the way you handled yourself,” he said, and then apologized for having taken such a long time to tend to me. He explained that he'd needed to make a powerful and complicated potion that could heal my wounds rapidly.
“Now, I know that you are in a lot of pain, but I need to warn you that this potion can have strange side effects that will not be to your liking,” he said in a stern but caring voice.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, just wanting the pain in my shoulder to stop.
“All right, tilt your head back and open your mouth.” Mr. Devilstone unscrewed the shiny silver top half of his cane's handle, revealing a hidden compartment. He turned the cane over and a tiny blue bottle with a tiny blue cork plopped out.
Then, without wasting any more time, he pulled out the cork and poured the potion down my throat.
It was the worst thing I'd ever tasted in my whole entire life. Once the potion hit my stomach, things only got worse. It felt like a fire had been set in the back of my throat, and I was sure that my tongue had melted away. After a few moments, my mouth finally calmed down to a somewhat normal state. In fact, the only bad side effect from the potion—besides its temporarily turning my teeth fluorescent blue, the gross aftertaste and the clumps of itchy hair that sprouted on my tongue—was Max's face as he laughed at my discomfort. I swore to myself that the moment my shoulder healed, I was going to strangle him.
“Yuck, what was in that stuff?” I asked, noticing that my shoulder had rapidly started to feel much better.
“Some skunk-liver oil, chopped moose bladder, the droppings from a—” began Mr. Devilstone, but I had to shut him up. There are certain things a girl my age just doesn't need to know.
“Now, try to take it easy, lie down and let the potion do the rest of its work,” said Mr. Devilstone, reassembling his cane.
I listened to Mr. Devilstone, shot Max an evil stare and tried my best to get as comfortable as I could. We'd lost precious time in Whistlesqueak and we needed to get back on the road quickly if we were ever going to stand a chance at catching up with my father. The grateful townsfolk had provided us with water, food and blankets, along with their fastest horses to pull the cart.
Mr. Devilstone cracked the horses' reins and hurried us all along toward the very frightening Fangswood Forest.
The potion's power was amazing. Its magic had gone to work, repairing the deep wound on my shoulder. It felt as if I had hundreds of army ants rebuilding me so that I might McFearlessly fight once again. The potion, however, could do nothing to help with the way Mr. Devilstone was driving. He really wanted to make up for lost time, so he drove the horses hard, whipping them until we were traveling as fast as their legs could possibly carry us through twisty turns and over butt-breaking road bumps.
While I lay there under the starry night sky with my head bouncing brutally around on my neck, I closed my eyes for just a second. Strange visions appeared in my mind, perhaps just more of the potion's strange side effects that Mr. Devilstone had warn
ed me about.
It was as if I had been teleported to an evil underground cavern, where I was an invisible fly on the wall. My poor father was tied to a chair and there were two monsters tormenting him. One of them was a Swoggler, a nasty caterpillar-like monster with a sickeningly massive saber-toothed sucker mouth and several snakelike sucker tentacles.
The hideous monster beside the Swoggler was an evil creature (my hands are shaking as I write this) I'd never seen inside the pages of the Monstranomicon. A huge, hulking, twelve- hundred-pound gargoyle, who with a whisper of its demonically ice-cold voice could make plants wither and give cats nosebleeds. It had opaque, unblinking, sharklike eyes, a bat snout for a nose and a mouthful of fearsome fangs. A long, forked serpent tongue darted out periodically to lick its slippery, moist, eelskin-looking lips. It had a monstrously muscular body covered in patches of prickly hair and dragon scales of varying shades of black. Its two talon-clawed hands were clenched into fists, and a set of vampire wings were closely folded against its back. Basically, it was the scariest monster ever.
“Tell me the combination to the Bewilder Box and I'll set you free to see your children once again,” it lied.
“Never, beast!” shouted my father.
“I only offer to save you from the pain, Manfred. My Swoggler slave can easily extract everything I need directly from your brain—but you'll be in agony. Every suck he takes will steal more and more of your memories, until you have nothing left. And I doubt that you want that, Manfred McFearless, son of Milton, who was the son of Martin, who was the son of Mandrake, whose father was my mortal enemy, Maximillius McFearless. So please, just tell me what I want to know before I lose my temper and kill you by accident,” said the scariest monster ever through gritted fangs.