by Kirk Scroggs
In memory of Ruth Owens and Ann Richards. Two of Texas’s finest.
Special thanks to:
Suppasak Viboonlarp, Mark Mayes, Hiland Hall, Amy Pennington, DJ Dave, Jackie Greed, Alejandra, Inge Govaerts, Joe Kocian, Jim Jeong, TJ, Irwin, Deep and Tabby, Will Keightly, Ruben Blades, Laura and Gus, Kyle and Natalie, Laura and Beth at the Grove, Kaman, Chevalier’s Books, and the mezz crew—woo woo!
Andrea, Jill, Alison, Elizabeth, Saho, Sangeeta, and the Little, Brown Crew—yeeha!
An extra slimy alien thanks to Ashley and Carolyn Grayson, Harold and Betty Aulds, Dav Pilkey, and Steve Deline.
And an explosive three-bean thanks to Diane and Corey Scroggs.
Copyright ©2007 by Kirk Scroggs
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com
First eBook Edition: May 2007
ISBN: 978-0-316-06890-1
The Little, Brown and Company name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Series design by Saho Fujii
The illustrations for this book were done in Staedtler ink on Canson Marker paper, then digitized with Adobe Photoshop for color and shade.
The text was set in Humana Sans Light and the display type was handlettered.
Contents
CHAPTER 1: Comin’ at Ya!
CHAPTER 2: A Cut Above
CHAPTER 3: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gramma
CHAPTER 4: Food Fright
CHAPTER 5: Gross Anatomy
CHAPTER 6: Widespread Panic
CHAPTER 7: Stakeout
CHAPTER 8: Aliens Are a Drag
CHAPTER 9: Fortress of the Grannies
CHAPTER 10: Uh-Oh!
CHAPTER 11: Extreme Earth Makeover
CHAPTER 12: Alien Slime Is Fun
CHAPTER 13: Spreadin’ the Word
CHAPTER 14: Stay Calm!
CHAPTER 15: Crouching Nerd, Hidden Oddball
CHAPTER 16: When Grammas Attack
CHAPTER 17: Gee, Your Hair Looks Horrific!
CHAPTER 18: Now We’re Cookin’
CHAPTER 19: Gross Encounters of the Lard Kind
CHAPTER 20: Hair Repair
CHAPTER 1
Comin’ at Ya!
Ladies and Gentlemen...A dangerous meteor, roughly the size of a mutated honeydew melon, is headed toward our planet as we speak! Scientists have tried to stop it with laser beams, nuclear weapons, and harsh language, but they’ve had no effect. The President advises that you all crawl into your underground bunkers and make sure they’re stocked with medical supplies, wide-screen TVs, and, of course, plenty of delicious pork cracklins....
There’s the meteor now! It’s headed straight for us, bringing certain destruction and doom!
No, wait! That’s not a meteor—it’s just one of Merle’s world-famous hair balls. And that’s Dr. Nate Farkles, Gingham County’s best veterinarian, helping him cough it up. That’s me, Wiley, watching the disgusting procedure with my grampa and gramma.
“Ooh! That reminds me,” said Gramma, “we’re having Swedish meatballs with brown gravy tonight. I’ve gotta stop by the grocery store.”
But the streets of Gingham County were in chaos.
“Is it Mardi Gras again?” asked Grampa.
“No!” screamed a crazy screaming person. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a meteor headed this way. We have only a few minutes left!”
“Oooh!” said Gramma. “Then I’d better get to the grocery store, quick!”
“Stay calm!” yelled Officer Puckett. “Don’t worry, folks. We have a team of top scientists and military leaders, and they have all assured me that there is nothing we can do and we’re all gonna die!”
“I’m not gonna die!” yelled Grampa. “Not on Swedish meatball night!”
Grampa borrowed a grappling hook from the local sporting-goods store and flung it over a giant tennis racket on the roof.
“Pull it tight, Wiley,” said Grampa. “We’re gonna send that meteor back where it came from!”
“Aye, aye, Captain!” I yelled back.
We pulled the rope as hard as we could.
Then Gramma used Merle to gnaw through the rope, just as the meteor was about to hit.
The racket snapped back and smacked the you-know-what out of that meteor, sending it hurtling over a busload of nuns only to bounce off the Devil’s Rump and crash into the wilderness.
That night, Grampa and I were a big hit on the nightly news. Blue Norther even did a special report on us.
“So that’s it, folks! That’s how my amazingly accurate meteor prediction allowed these two guys to save the town. Now, let’s go live to the scene of the impact....”
“After close examination with probes and beepy things,” said Dr. Fred Yepsir, “we have concluded that the meteor is actually made of hair. That’s right, it’s a giant hair ball. Scientists are trying to determine if the hair is human or alien. We will also be giving it a shampoo and blow-dry.”
“Hair!” yelled Gramma. “That reminds me. Tomorrow is haircut day. I made appointments for all of us!”
“Ohhh!” I moaned. The only thing I hate more than getting a haircut is a good tooth drilling.
CHAPTER 2
A Cut Above
The next day we headed over to Big Hair by Leslie, Gingham County’s finest beauty salon.
“Let the boredom begin,” I said as we went inside.
We were greeted by Leslie, the owner. “Bless your hearts! Pull up a chair. There’re hairs to be cut.”
“I’m not leaving until I look like the guy in this picture,” said Grampa.
“Sugar,” said Leslie, “I’m a stylist, not a miracle worker.”
“It’s a good thing you guys showed up,” Leslie said as she worked my scalp into a luxurious lather. “That fancy new beauty shop opened up across the street this morning and has stolen all of my business. If this keeps up, I’ll have to go back to my second job spinnin’ records and spittin’ phat lyrics on my beat box.”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” said Grampa. “We would never get our beautiful do’s done anywhere else. Isn’t that right, Granny.... Granny?”
But Gramma was already walking toward Star Curls, mesmerized by its swirling lights and neon sign. It seemed like a lot of old ladies were headed over there.
They were greeted at the door by a seven-foot-tall, rather odd-looking woman. “Greetings, ladies. I am Jacqueline Greed, the most famous hair stylist in the universe—I mean, world. Please step into my beauty chamber for hair follicle modification.”
We tried to go in, too, but were stopped by the towering beautician.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” said Madam Greed. “Only grandmas are allowed in my beauty chamber.”
“That’s all right,” said Grampa nervously. “We already had our hair follicles modified, anyway. We’ll just wait out in the car.”
CHAPTER 3
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gramma
After her haircut, Gramma just wasn’t the same. She just stared straight ahead, blankly, and her hair was gi-normous!
“I dunno,” said Grampa. “That new hairdresser was about as friendly as a constipated Komodo dragon.”
Gramma’s behavior just got weirder....
First, she tried to iron the wrinkles out of Merle’s tail.
Then she fried some egg
s with a homemade laser beam.
In the afternoon she got on the roof and tried to call someone named Slorzog.
Then her quilting buddies came over and they turned the backyard into a flying-saucer parking lot.
CHAPTER 4
Food Fright
That night she served us a home-cooked meal. “I made you a delicious garbanzo bean and raisin casserole,” said Gramma robotically. “Bon appétit.”
“Good, I’m starved,” said Grampa. “All that napping I did today really gave me an appetite.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Garbanzo bean and raisin casserole. Maybe Gramma is back to her old self.”
Suddenly the casserole attacked Grampa, shooting out slimy tendrils of gravy and garbanzo bits! The goopy blob crawled right out of its dish!
“I always said your Gramma’s cooking would be the death of me,” yelled Grampa, “but this is ridiculous!”
Grampa jumped up and struck an impressive martial arts pose.
“All right, you dastardly dish!” yelled Grampa. “Now I’m gonna have to show you my Stinging Scorpion maneuver!”
Grampa let the casserole have it, but his hand just sliced right through the slime. Grampa’s skills had no effect!
And the same went for me. My Pulverizing Powerhouse kick didn’t even slow the beastie down.
Even Merle’s razor-sharp claws were useless.
We had to make a run for it. The killer casserole chased us right up the stairs.
“What should we do?” I asked.
“What we always do after one of your Gramma’s meals,” said Grampa. “Head straight for the bathroom!”
We barricaded ourselves in the bathroom.
“I’ve got an idea!” I said, opening the medicine cabinet. “What’s the one substance that can combat the effects of Gramma’s cooking?”
“Pepty Bizmo!” said Grampa. “Wiley, you’re a genius. Here’s the plan: I’ll let the casserole in, and you can douse it with the pink stuff while I run to safety.”
The casserole burst in and I poured the whole bottle of Pepty Bizmo on its pulsating head. It jiggled and shrieked, and then exploded.
“That cursed entre´e can never harm another child!” I yelled triumphantly.
“I apologize for the behavior of your dinner,” said Gramma. “I don’t know what happened. It was a new recipe.”
“Don’t sweat it, dear,” said Grampa. “It’s okay. But I think tomorrow night we’re ordering a pizza.”
We decided to spend the night out in my deluxe tree house.
“I don’t know,” said Grampa. “It looks like Gramma, sounds like Gramma, and cooks disgusting cuisine like Gramma, but it just isn’t Gramma.”
CHAPTER 5
Gross Anatomy
The next morning, we took what was left of the casserole to the authorities, who brought in some top experts—Dr. Hans Lotion and his grandson, Jurgen.
“I thought you were a foot doctor,” said Grampa.
“Vell,” said Hans, “vhen I’m not treating foot fungus, I like to dissect slimy critters. It helps me to relax.”
Hans pulled out a scalpel and started to make his incision. “First, I vill slice through ze flaky crust and dig deep into ze jelly-like innards.”
“Bingo!” said Hans, pulling out a large, drippy organ. “Look at zis beauty! Zis is no ordinary casserole. Beneath ze onions and rich brown gravy, zere is a functioning heart.”
“And here is ze source of power for ze organism. Zis indicates zat it vas created by no ordinary grandma-ma—it vas created by somevone vith a superhuman, perhaps alien, intelligence.
“And here ve have ze brain of ze casserole. Zis little slimy organ is ze center of—No, vait. My bad. It’s just a potato.”
“Vell, gentlemen,” said Hans. “My vork here is done. Now, if you’ll excuse us. Ve have a plane to catch.”
“You’re flying to Washington to tell the President about these important findings?” asked Grampa.
“Are you kidding?” said Hans. “Zere are killer casseroles on ze loose. Ve are getting ze heck out of here!”
CHAPTER 6
Widespread Panic
It turns out we weren’t the only ones with gramma problems. The next day at school, the lunchroom was abuzz with stories of grammas gone wild.
“Last night I was attacked by my grandmother’s homemade cherry pie, via remote control!” yelled Hiland Hall.
“This morning my granny knit me a sweater that was not only horribly ugly, but it tried to eat me!” said little Amy Pennington.
“My nana came after me with toxic fu-fu– smellin’ hand lotion, but she usually does that anyway,” said Jubal, my best friend in all of Gingham County.
“This is crazy!” I yelled. “Grammas are supposed to be cool. Some strange force is turning our beloved grannies into dangerous criminals.”
“Silence,” said a mysterious nerd that walked up all of a sudden. “We can’t talk here. We’re being watched.”
Sure enough, we were being watched closely by Ms. Thang, the second-grade teacher. I couldn’t help but notice her fancy, big new hairdo.
“Come!” said the nerd. “Let’s go talk where it’s safe.”
We relocated to the playground, which was free of elderly women.
“Welcome, comrades,” said the nerd. “I am Morbius and we are known as the Dragons, Wizards, Elves, Extraterrestrials, and Bigfoot Society, or D.W.E.E.B.S. for short.
“Ever since the arrival of that meteor, our precious grandmas have become diabolical fiends,” he said.
“Where do you think the meteor came from?” I asked.
“Who’s to say?” said Morbius. “Saturn? Neptune? Perhaps it flew straight out of Uranus! What I do know is that the strange new beauty shop opened up the day after the meteor hit, and it’s been a hoppin’ granny hangout ever since. I implore all of you, keep an eye on your grandmas. Watch their every move. Alien forces are at work!”
CHAPTER 7
Stakeout
That night, we gathered our spy equipment to monitor Gramma’s strange activities.
“Okay,” said Grampa. “We’ll communicate with these walkie-talkies. If I say ‘The hen has flown the coop,’ that means ‘Gramma has left the building.’ If I say ‘Code blue,’ that means ‘We’ve got trouble.’ And if I say ‘The rooster needs a yellow melted,’ that means ‘Please bring me a grilled cheese sandwich, pronto!’”
Jubal and I used the doghouse as our base of operations. We watched the house for hours, but nothing was happening. Then we got a call from Grampa.
“The hen has flown the coop!” said Grampa.
Sure enough, Gramma was leaving the house, and she was carrying an armful of cookbooks.
We followed Gramma into town and realized, to our surprise, all of the old ladies of Gingham County were marching into the Star Curls beauty parlor.
“They’re all carrying cookbooks,” said Jubal. “Must be some sort of midnight bake-off.”
CHAPTER 8
Aliens Are a Drag
“We’ve got to find a way to sneak into that beauty shop,” said Grampa.
“You’ll never get in there,” said a mysterious voice from behind us.
It was Leslie the hairdresser.
“I’ve been watching them from across the street all night. You gotta be a grandma to get into that joint.”
That gave me an idea. “Leslie, could you use your stellar beautician skills to turn us into grannies?”
“For shizzle!” said Leslie.
So Leslie helped disguise us as grandmas. Jubal got a big black bun and a polka-dot dress.
I got a pink frock and a string of pearls.
Javier, Leslie’s assistant, gave Merle the granny treatment.
But Grampa was Leslie’s masterpiece.
“All right,” I said. “Remember, when we infiltrate the beauty shop, we have to act like hypnotized grannies. Don’t show any emotion. Are there any questions?”
“I just have one ques
tion,” said Grampa. “Does this dress make my butt look fat?”
CHAPTER 9
Fortress of the Grannies
We grabbed some cookbooks and marched into the spooky beauty salon. We fit right in with the other grannies. The place was huge and super high-tech. Madam Greed lorded over everything, in her floating La-Z-Boy.
Gramma and her friends were being squirted with gooey hair products. Their hairdos seemed to grow and pulsate before our very eyes.
In another room, we spotted a bunch of giant cages. A few of them even had people in them.
“Look, there’s old man Jorgensen,” said Grampa. “I was wondering why I didn’t see him at rugby practice yesterday.”
Madam Greed gathered the army of grannies together: “Elderly women of Earth. The weapons test last night proved to be a great success. We launch our full-scale attack tomorrow night at nine, right after America’s Top Supermodels.”
“Full-scale attack,” said Grampa. “I don’t like the sound of that. Thank goodness we blend in with these ladies. They don’t suspect a thing.”
CHAPTER 10
Uh-Oh!