Desmond Pucket and the Mountain Full of Monsters

by Mark Tatulli

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  Other books by Mark Tatulli

  Heart of the City

  Liō: Happiness Is a Squishy Cephalopod

  Silent But Deadly

  Liō’s Astonishing Tales

  There’s Corpses Everywhere

  Reheated Liō

  Zombies Need Love Too

  Liō: There’s a Monster in My Socks

  Liō: Making Friends

  Desmond Pucket Makes Monster Magic

  1 the fog of desmond

  Something’s wrong.

  You know that kind of wrong, like when you put your underpants on backwards by mistake: everything looks like it’s supposed to, but something just doesn’t feel right.

  I sit up, reach over to my bedside table, and grab my official limited-edition Ray Harryhausen Jason and the Argonauts saber-skeleton talking alarm clock.

  “. . . and how can it be light outside if it’s the middle of the night!”

  Then I notice the skeleton isn’t making his usual chattering teeth sound. And he’s not crazily swinging his sabers in his typical skeletonly way. In fact, it’s like he’s dead.

  OK, right, a dead skeleton is a normal skeleton. But in this case it’s making me nervous.

  I spring out of bed and bolt over to my bulletin board. I begin tearing through the billion-and-two scraps of paper and ideas that are tacked to every bit of empty cork board space.

  Mom bought me this bulletin board so I would stop leaving little ideas and cartoons all over my desk. Now I just pin them all over my wall.

  Eventually I find the old brochure that I’m looking for . . .

  . . . but most important, the Post-it note that’s stuck to the bottom.

  “Today is May twenty-fifth,” I say out loud. “But what time is it?!”

  I dig through the mounds of plastic fangs, rubber spiders, and tubes of fake blood in my top desk drawer and find my official 60th anniversary Creature from the Black Lagoon commemorative wristwatch. I pop open the cover.

  “Hot dog! I still have five minutes!”

  I get dressed with lightning speed, fly down the stairs without touching a single step, and spring out the front door! The walk to Cloverfield Memorial Junior High is usually long, but today I run it in record time. And I know I’m safe when I see my class waiting at the curb for the bus. I race up to Ricky DiMarco, trying to catch my breath.

  Yes, that’s right . . . no pants. All alone in my tighty whities. In front of the entire sixth grade class.

  Sheila Cutter screams and slips into a witch-like cackle. Scott Seltzer laughs so hard that an entire Sour Patch Kid candy flies out of his nose. And everybody, yes, everybody, pulls out their cell phones . . .

  . . . and starts making the viral video of the century. Even Tina Schimsky, the love of my life and dream girl extraordinaire, who adds her own blow-by-blow commentary.

  2 go time

  A stupid dream.

  My Jason and the Argonauts skeleton clock is still clattering away, just like always. The alarm will go off on time. I won’t run out of the house in just my underpants. And I won’t miss the sixth grade trip to Crab Shell Pier. Or the Mountain Full of Monsters ride, which basically I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

  “I know! This is a good chance to go over the plan!”

  I walk across my bed, jump into my thinking chair, and pop on my desk lamp. And, of course, I pull out my giant spiral notebook of scary effects and gross ideas . . .

  I look at step 3. The note. The note that I carefully wrote the day I found out I was allowed to go on the sixth grade trip to Crab Shell Pier. I carried it in my wallet for weeks. I better check it again.

  I pull the bit of folded paper out of my vintage Fiend Without a Face collectors’ billfold.

  Yeah. That seems right to the point. Maybe I should add a “please” here and there? Nah, I don’t want to sound too whiney and begging.

  Truth is, ever since the success of my epic monster magic show last month (that used to be Mr. Bramfield’s boring musical), things sort of changed for me. And suddenly just going on the Mountain Full of Monsters ride by myself isn’t enough anymore . . .

  But before I drift off into this thought, I set my miniature replica Lon Chaney Phantom of the Opera alarm clock to 7 a.m. and super-organ blast . . . just to be sure. Because when it’s about to be the best day of your whole life, you really don’t want to sleep through it!

  3 a funny thing happened on the way to the bus stop

  I guess I should have warned you.

  Ricky lives with his grandparents, and they’re really into Christmas. Really, really into Christmas. Like even now, when it’s May.

  “Uh, Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. DiMarco. Is Ricky ready?”

  “Oh, Desmond, you bad boy,” Ricky’s grandmother says, grabbing my hand and pretend–slapping the top of it. “Remember, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Mistletoe!”

  “Would you like some hot cocoa and a candy cane while you wait for Ricky?”

  “Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. DiM—Mrs. Mistletoe. We have to catch a bus.”

  “Right, yes, the class trip! Let me hustle up Ricky then. You go wait in the Rudolph room.”

  Not only are Ricky’s grandparents totally into Christmas, but they even divided their house into “theme rooms.” The Rudolph room is all reindeer, the Santa room is full of every kind of Santa Claus decoration, and on like that. But my favorite is the North Pole room!

  It’s like another world! And the coolest thing is the snow machine that pumps fake flakes 24/7!

  Ricky’s grandparents used to dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus and drive around the country in this giant caravan called the Santa Express.

  But then they had to stop to take care of Ricky, so they parked the old beast out back next to the shed . . .

  . . . and it hasn’t moved since.

  For as long as I can remember, Ricky has lived with his grandparents in this non–stop Christmas fantasy. Everybody thinks the DiMarcos are nuts and Ricky catches a lot of guff about them at school. But I think this whole Christmas trip is amazing and I couldn’t even imagine growing up with so much awesome!

  “Now, Ricky, where’s your jacket?” says Mrs. DiMarco, following us to the door. “It’s going to get cold later and—”

  “It’s in my backpack, Gram. I’ll be fine!”

  “Have fun today, you two! And if you see any nifty Christmas decorations at Crab Shell Pier, pick them up for me and I’ll give you the money later!”

  “OK, we’ve got fifteen minutes until we get to school,” I say, changing the subject. “We should go over the plan.”

  Ricky smiles and I can tell he’s thinking about Becky DeWicky. Ricky’s not totally into Becky or anything, but she’s a girl he knows, and the big picture of our plan is to get on the Mountain Full of Monsters ride with both Becky and Tina Schimsky. But you can’t just jump right into these things. You need a plan.

  But there’s one thing that definitely isn’t part of the plan . . .

  . . . Scott Seltzer!

  4 scott seltzer: anatomy of a dillweed

  Scott Seltzer isn’t the punch-you-in-the-chest, old school kind of bully. He’s just a first-class jerk.

  He’s a fart at a funeral. The snow that doesn’t stick. The rug fuzz in the Play-Doh.

  Scott’s always there when you don’t
want him, and never there when you really need him.

  But the really funny thing about Scott is, we used to be friends!

  My birthday was coming up, and of course Scott was invited to the party. Little did he know, it would be a surprise party!

  The day came and my house was packed with kids. And as usual, Scott was right in the front.

  And from that day forward, we were no longer feuding friends, but mortal enemies!

  And, just like old times, Scott is grabbing something that’s mine . . . the super-secret plans!

  Suddenly a hand comes out of nowhere . . .

  . . . and yanks the paper out of Scott’s hand.

  It’s always a shock to me that Tina Schimsky actually knows my name!

  Little does Tina know, she just rescued the plan to our almost-soon-to-be Mountain Full of Monsters first date!

  5 finally there

  I stare hard out of the bus window. Can it really be true? I rub my eyes and look again.

  It doesn’t go away. We’re really here! Crab Shell Pier! And somewhere in that tangle of rides is the Mountain Full of Monsters!

  Ricky and I jump out of our seats and join in the crush of kids squeezing out of the small bus door. Suddenly I feel a jerk on my backpack, and I’m pulled to the back of the line. I spin around, “Scott, you are in big trouble now . . .”

  Crud! It’s Mr. Needles, head of our school’s disciplinary office! I forgot: he’s one of the chaperones on this class trip! And he’s personally been assigned to me! I look for an escape route, but it’s like Needles reads my mind; he grabs the handle of my backback, holding me like a suitcase.

  “And look,” he says, pulling a piece of folded notebook paper out of his fanny pack. “I have a whole plan of educational activities that we can partake in at Crab Shell Pier! Things I’m sure you didn’t even know existed!”

  Oh, no! Mr. Needles has a plan, too! And it’s totally going to ruin my plan! What am I going to do?!

  I look at Ricky and point to the men’s room door by the entrance to the pier. Ricky nods.

  “Mr. Needles, we have to go to the bathroom.”

  He looks at us suspiciously. And then he releases his grip on my backpack.

  “Don’t take too long,” he snarls.

  Ricky and I bang through the door of the restroom and immediately attack the situation.

  “No way, Ricky! Crab Shell Pier isn’t that big; Needles will track us down! That’s what he wants us to do!”

  “Make him run from us?” Ricky says. “How we gonna do that?”

  I pull out my brochure of Crab Shell Pier. Inside is a map of all the rides and attractions in the place.

  “ . . . I think our answer is right here!”

  6 ditching needles

  “I was getting worried about you boys,” quips Mr. Needles. “I was about to send in a search party!”

  “So, fellas, what’s it going to be first?” Mr. Needles asks. “Since we’re going to be together all day, I thought we’d start out with something fun!”

  “Well said, Mr. Pucket!” Mr. Needles replies. “Perhaps you are ready to put away childish things like monsters and mayhem!”

  The Technology Shack is one of those boring amusement attractions that mixes fun with learning.

  Or pretends to anyway. We all know it’s just there to make parents feel better about bringing their kids to a fun place like Crab Shell Pier, which has no educational value and will probably end up making them puke and get cavities.

  “OK, dude,” I whisper to Ricky. “You entertain Mr. Needles while I take care of business!”

  Great! Needles is distracted! But I’m not going to have much time! I sure hope this works!

  “Hey, Richard!” Mr. Needles says excitedly, “Did you know that the original form of home video was called Betamax and actually was superior in record/playback quality to VHS?”

  Bzzzzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzz!

  “Listen, fellas, I’d love to continue this educational journey with you, but my services are required back at the fort! Just check in with one of the other chaperones . . .”

  And just like that . . .

  . . . Mr. Needles is off like a shot.

  “I grabbed up one of those old phones from the ’90s . . . they’re easy as pie to program and make a text message look like it’s coming from anybody!”

  “Ah,” says Ricky. “Even the school principal! Man oh man, Needles is gonna be mad as a hatter when he finds out. Principal Badonkus, too!”

  “You’re right, Ricky. So we better get in as much of Crab Shell Pier as possible, while we still can.”

  7out and about on crab shell pier

  OK, Mr. Needles is out of the picture (for now), so let’s get back to the plan. I pull the list out.

  Step one, check!

  Step two, the next order of business! Time to explore the wildness that is known as Crab Shell Pier.

  Crab Shell Pier was built way back in the 1950s, and they’ve never torn down anything since; they just keep layering the new stuff over the old. So it just grows and grows, like some kid’s giant Lego set. Only they keep adding parts that don’t match the Legos, like Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs and K’NEX and lots of wires, rubber bands, and electric tape.

  Now the whole thing is one humongous, awesome, twisted mess of metal rides, wooden coasters, squirting and spinning and shooting games, candy, popcorn, and fudge shops, cheeseburger-on-a-stick and deep-fried saltwater taffy stands. In other words, kid heaven. But the one thing that has always stayed the same is the Mountain Full of Monsters ride!

  Ricky and I worm our way through the mass of kids pressed all around the ticket booths, the huge lines for the rides snaking everywhere. Man, every sixth grade class in the country must be here today! Ricky jumps in line to get tickets for the thrill rides, but right now my brain is only in one place: even though we’re saving it for last, I just have to see The Mountain Full of Monsters before I do another thing!

  My mind is focused on this one thought, which is probably why I don’t see the fist coming.

  I’d know those knuckles anywhere . . . the patented Becky DeWicky “Hello.”

  Becky was the brains behind the electronics of my epic Monster Magic show. If it hadn’t been for her, I never would have been able to pull it off. But that doesn’t make my arm hurt any less.

  “Oh, right! The Mountain Full of Monsters,” she says. “Are you going on that now?”

  “No, we’re going on it last because—” and then I stop and remember the plan: Step three . . .

  OK, maybe I’m jumping the gun a bit, but I get excited and the time seems right.

  “Hey, Becky, you know Tina Schimsky, right?” I say as I pull the note out of my wallet. “Can you give this to her?”

  “Well, I’m not giving it to her unless I can read it first,” she replies, unfolding the crumpled paper.

  “No, that’s priv—!” I reach out, but I’m too slow.

  “Are you kidding with this?!” Becky yells, and then throws the note in my face.

  OK, wait . . . so what just happened now?

  Becky is my pal. My bud. Always been.

  Why doesn’t she want to help? Isn’t that what friends are for?

  So it looks like my plan is falling apart. Time to start thinking about a Plan B. I bend down to get my note . . .

  . . . but I’m just a second too late!

  Uh, hello! Isn’t this supposed to be the best day of my whole life?!

  What’s happening?!

  8 the crazy chase

  Scott Seltzer runs off and melts into the ocean of kids surrounding the Swiss Bob ride.

  Luckily, I can see his chubby fingers holding my note above the heads of the crowd. He’s moving slower because of the mass of people, and I
close the space between us.