The Monster's Ring

by Bruce Coville

  He had to answer her; if he didn’t, she would come up to see what was going on. Straining to make his voice seem normal, he said, “Yes, Mother, it’s me. I was just going to bed. Good night.”

  He put a paw to his throat in horror. He sounded as if he had been gargling with razor blades.

  “Are you all right, Russell? You sound a little hoarse.”

  “I’m fine! Just got a little frog in my throat!”

  Actually, it sounded more like he had a Gila monster in there.

  “All right,” called his mother. “But if it’s not gone in the morning, I’m taking your temperature, and no arguments!”

  “Yes . . . Mother.”

  Well, that was over. Now what?

  The directions! he thought again. I’ve got to look at those directions!

  Moving more cautiously now, Russell continued to his room. But the waxing moon, just past the halfway mark, was shining through his window. It caught his eye and he gasped. He felt as if it were tied to his heart by a silver thread.

  He crossed to the sill, raised the window, and leaned out.

  The moon was calling him.

  And deep within his monsterish breast something stirred in answer—something that insisted he could stay inside no longer.

  Filled with longing, Russell gazed out at the night, all black and silver and magic. It was a good fifteen feet to the ground, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. Suddenly he vaulted over and out.

  He landed in a crouch.

  Sniffing the air, he glanced around—then ran howling into the darkness.

  THREE

  The Battle in the Cafeteria

  Russell bounded joyfully out of bed. What a fantastic dream!

  Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks.

  There were hairy feet sticking out of his pajamas.

  He sat down.

  Slowly.

  So it wasn’t a dream.

  He shook his head as images began to flicker through his mind. He saw himself—his monster self—in action: growling at late shoppers, swinging on street lamps, and—his cheeks burned at the memory—chasing cars down Main Street.

  On all fours.

  Snapping at the hubcaps!

  Cripes. This was embarrassing.

  He groaned as he remembered what had come next. Even now he wasn’t sure how he had escaped from all those policemen.

  It was a good thing his monster legs could move so fast.

  He shuddered.

  So he had made it back to his room somehow.

  Wonderful.

  Now what?

  “Russell! Time for breakfast!”

  His mother’s voice doubled his panic, and he almost howled in despair.

  He slapped a paw across his hairy face. Howling was the last thing he ought to do at this point. But how could he go down there like this? What could he possibly say? “Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad. What’s wrong? Oh, this. Yes, it is a little weird, isn’t it? . . .”

  No, that would never do.

  He stood up to pace the room and spotted a paper on his dresser.

  The directions! What a dope! How could he have forgotten them? Being a monster must have addled his brains.

  He snatched up the paper.

  There it was, in black and white: the way to turn back.

  He sighed. His mother had told him time and again, “Read all the directions before you start a project.”

  Score one for Mom.

  He examined the paper carefully, this time reading every word.

  * * *

  HOW TO WORK THE MONSTER’S RING

  To change yourself into a hideous monster, place the ring on the ring finger of your right hand. Grasp it with your left hand. Turn the ring to the left as you repeat this chant:

  Powers Dark and Powers Bright,

  I call you now, as is my right.

  Unleash the magic of this ring,

  And change me to a monstrous thing!

  The strength of the spell depends on how many twists you give the ring:

  Twist it once, you’re horned and haired;

  Twist it twice and fangs are bared;

  Twist it thrice? No one has dared!

  Use with caution, and never on the night of a full moon. To return to normal, turn the ring to the right, repeating this chant:

  Powers Bright and Powers Dark,

  Hark to one who bears your mark.

  Let now my shape return to me,

  And make me as I used to be!

  HAVE FUN!

  * * *

  Trembling, Russell took the ring in his claws and twisted it as he repeated the final verse.

  It worked! He could feel his horns beginning to shrink, his hair growing shorter, his claws turning back into nails.

  He wanted to shout for joy.

  Then something occurred to him—a thought his panic had blinded him to before. If he had an antidote, he could become a monster anytime he wanted.

  For the first time in his life, the future looked beautiful.

  Russell was sitting in the cafeteria. School had been fun so far. The place was buzzing with rumors about the “maniac” who had run amok in town last night, and it was all Russell could do to keep a straight face.

  Missy Freebaker sat down next to him. “Did you hear about the monster, Russell?” she asked excitedly. “Isn’t it scary?”

  “I think it’s silly. There’s no such thing as monsters.”

  “Well, how come so many people saw this one?”

  “Maybe they were hallucinating.”

  Missy scowled. Russell smiled and turned to his lunch.

  Then Eddie sat down opposite him.

  Russell groaned as he felt a familiar lump form in his stomach. There was no doubt that Eddie would do something rotten. So there was no sense in even trying to eat. It wasn’t worth the effort.

  He looked up. Eddie was grinning at him, with all his teeth showing. Russell knew that grin well. It was a very bad sign.

  A sudden crash from the other side of the cafeteria caused Russell to turn and look.

  When he turned back, Eddie was pouring chocolate milk all over his lunch.

  Russell got angry. Then he got scared because he was angry. Then the anger became more important again.

  He picked up his spoon and smacked Eddie’s hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Crannaker?” screamed Eddie. He shoved Russell’s tray so that it smashed into his chest.

  Without thinking, Russell took what was left of his milk and threw it at Eddie. The carton struck his chest, and chocolate milk erupted out of it, spattering all over Eddie’s face.

  Eddie howled in rage. Lunging across the table, he grabbed Russell’s shirt, shouting about how Russell was going to be sorry he’d been born, and how they were going to need a spatula to get him off the cafeteria walls.

  Russell was crying. But he was also smacking Eddie on the head with his spoon, shouting, “Stop it, stip ot, stoop it!”

  Eddie didn’t stop.

  Russell picked up his plate and dumped it on Eddie’s head.

  Spaghetti flew in all directions.

  Eddie screeched. Strings of spaghetti dangled over his ears like some strange new hairdo.

  Suddenly Russell realized what he had just done. Eddie had never heard of forgive and forget. He would be after Russell for the rest of his life now. He would wait around every corner, hide behind every bush, ready to jump out and pay Russell back a thousand times for this one insult.

  The horror movie of revenge unreeling in Russell’s mind was stopped short by someone grabbing his shoulder. He was wrenched around to find himself face-to-face with his teacher, Miss Snergal.

  “What is going on here?” she cried. She was so angry she could hardly get the words out.

  Russell and Eddie both started talking.

  “Be quiet!” she snapped. She marched them both out of the cafeteria. “You go wash up,” she said to Eddie. “Russell, you wait here until I com
e for you. After lunch we’ll make a little trip to the principal’s office.” She stood him beside the door and disappeared back into the cafeteria.

  Russell slid to the floor. The principal! Old Man Rafschnitz was the most feared person at Boardman Road Elementary. Kids turned white at the very mention of his name. And now he, Russell, had broken the rules.

  He was being sent to that office.

  He would have to face . . .“The Beast of Boardman Road.”

  What had made him do all that, anyway? Usually he just took Eddie’s abuse without saying or doing anything, and ended up feeling rotten as a result.

  To Russell’s surprise, he realized that he did not feel rotten now. In fact, if you didn’t count his fear of Mr. Rafschnitz, he felt pretty good.

  Just then Eddie came swaggering back from the bathroom. He still had spaghetti sauce in his ears, but he was smirking as if he owned the world. He had been through this a thousand times, after all. In fact, Eddie spent so much time in Mr. Rafschnitz’s office that most kids thought he must have a special chair set aside just for him. Some even claimed it had his name on it.

  Leaning against the door, Eddie smiled down at Russell and said fiendishly, “Wait till school’s over, Crannaker. I’m gonna mop the hallways with your face.”

  Russell began to tremble. Clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking, he felt the ring.

  The ring!

  A smile flickered over his face.

  “Try it, bozo. See what happens.”

  The look on Eddie’s face was perfect. He couldn’t believe Russell would dare talk to him like that.

  Russell began to chuckle. He couldn’t believe it, either. He, Russell, the meek and mild, was making tough Eddie squirm.

  He laughed out loud. As he did, Miss Snergal stepped back out of the cafeteria. “I don’t see what’s so funny, Mr. Crannaker,” she snapped. “I had hoped that by now you would have realized the seriousness of what you’ve done.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” said Russell. He scrambled to his feet, meek and mild again. “I do. Oh, do I ever!”

  “Good. You can explain that to Mr. Rafschnitz.”

  FOUR

  Russell v. His Father’s Mouth

  Mr. Rafschnitz’s face was beet red, and his nostrils flared out like a horse’s. Just the sight of him was enough to turn Russell into jelly. He had a horrible feeling that he was going to melt and slide right off his chair.

  “Well,” growled Mr. Rafschnitz, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Russell tried to think of an answer. Before he could come up with one, Mr. Rafschnitz began to pound his desk so hard that all the drawers in the filing cabinet rattled.

  “Never mind the excuses! I hear excuses all day long. What I want to know is what we’re going to do about this. Well, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Crannaker. We’re going to keep an eye on you. We’re going to watch every move you make. One false step—one teeny-tiny move in the wrong direction—and YOU’VE HAD IT!”

  The roaring was giving Russell a headache. He looked down at the floor and nearly choked on the boulder growing in his stomach.

  “I’m pleased to see you’re properly ashamed,” gloated Mr. Rafschnitz. “I have called your father. He’ll be picking you up after school. He will, I’m sure, have much to say to you.”

  The boulder pushed Russell’s stomach down to the bottom of his shoes and squashed it.

  Mr. Rafschnitz was right. Russell’s father had plenty to say to him. And he had been saying it from the moment Russell got into the car.

  Now Russell was having a frightening thought. He was thinking he might try to make his father listen to him. It seemed impossible. But his father had been babbling on for ten minutes already, and Russell thought he was going to explode. He felt as if he had swallowed a stick of dynamite and his father’s words were like matches, dropping near the fuse.

  “I know life can be tough,” Mr. Crannaker was saying. “But violence isn’t the answer. You know that, Russell. It shows you to have a small mind, a petty mind, a mind given to a self-centered view of the universe. A mind—”

  Russell decided to try it. “But, Dad—”

  “This kind of behavior is not what your mother and I expect from you.” The flow of words rushed over him like a steamroller. His father wasn’t even aware he had tried to say anything.

  “Dad—”

  “You’ve been raised to know that dumping spaghetti on people’s heads is no way to communicate. And besides—”

  “Dad—”

  His father barreled on, unaware that Russell had even tried to speak.

  The fuse was lit.

  “Now, the next time this kid Eddie gives you trouble, I want you to—”

  “Dad—”

  “—inform the teacher—”

  The fuse was burning faster.

  “Dad—”

  “—her duty to see that—”

  The explosion was getting nearer.

  “Dad?”

  “—students are protected—”

  “Dad!”

  “—from situations like—”

  KA-BOOM!

  “DAD, WILL YOU BE QUIET FOR ONCE AND LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY?”

  Mr. Crannaker blinked and lapsed into a stunned silence. Russell’s cheeks turned red. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. He felt like getting out of the car and running. But he couldn’t. This might be the only time in his life that his father would be speechless.

  “Dad, listen. The teachers can’t help. The only time Eddie and I are together is in the cafeteria and on the playground, when there’s hundreds of kids around. Even if a teacher is watching, Eddie just punches me anyway and gets in trouble for the fun of it. He doesn’t care what happens to him. He doesn’t care what happens to anybody. I’ve been trying to tell you that but you won’t listen. You never listen. You’re always too busy talking. And it’s driving me crazy!”

  His father stared straight ahead and drove without speaking.

  Russell waited until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well, say something!” he cried.

  His father blinked. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I thought I was helping you . . . offering you guidance . . . showing you better ways to live. I always thought I listened to your problems. I’ve tried to be a good father, Russell. Goodness knows, it’s hard enough these days—”

  “Dad.”

  His father blushed. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” he said softly.

  “It’s all right,” said Russell. “I suppose it’s a habit by now.”

  “But it’s a habit I’m going to break,” said Mr. Crannaker firmly. “It’s about time we had a little two-way communication around here. I shouldn’t be the only one to do the talking. I should let you share your thoughts, your dreams, your ideas, your—”

  “Dad!”

  Mr. Crannaker stopped again. He bit his lip, looking embarrassed.

  “Let’s not say anything for a while, okay?” said Russell.

  Mr. Crannaker paused. “You mean, like practicing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  They rode for several minutes in silence, something Russell could not remember having experienced before.

  “Listen, Russell,” said Mr. Crannaker at last. “About this Eddie thing. I really don’t know what to say to help you. Maybe that’s why I said so much. But I’ll think about it. And I want you to come to talk to me if you have more problems with him. Next time I’ll listen. Scout’s honor.”

  Russell smiled. “Thanks.” He waited a second, then said, “What about Mom? What is she going to say about this?”

  “Truth is, I haven’t mentioned it to her yet,” said Mr. Crannaker. He stopped for a red light. Turning to Russell, he said, “Why don’t we just keep this one between us men?”

  Then he gave him a wink.

  Russell felt a wave of gratitude.

  The light turned green. As they started to r
oll again, Mr. Crannaker said, “I guess I really haven’t listened to much of anything you might have to say lately, Russell. Let’s try to catch up some.” He paused to think. “Oh, I know: Halloween’s this Saturday! Are you going to dress up this year?”

  Russell sighed. “I’m not sure. I was going to. But some of the kids are saying that’s baby stuff.”

  Mr. Crannaker sighed. “The tragedy of premature maturity. It’s a soul killer. Aren’t any of them dressing up?”

  “Well, Jack is working on an alien costume that should be pretty neat.”

  “That’s good,” said Mr. Crannaker. “Jack always did act as if he came from another planet.”

  Russell chuckled. “And Sam is going to be a fat lady.”

  Mr. Crannaker made a face. “That’s not very politically correct. He’s apt to have the FLS after him.”

  “The FLS?”

  “The Fat Liberation Society.”

  Russell laughed out loud. “That’s nothing! Wait till you hear what Jimmy Riblin’s planning.”

  “I hesitate to ask,” said Mr. Crannaker, who had always claimed that Jimmy was the weirdest kid in Russell’s class.

  “He’s going to put mayonnaise in his mouth and pretend he’s a pimple!”

  Russell puffed out his cheeks, then poked them with his fingers in a popping gesture to demonstrate.

  “Yuck!” cried Mr. Crannaker. He paused, then said, “But what about you? You’re so interested in monsters, I would think you would want to dress up like one.”

  Russell started to describe his plans for a Frankenstein costume, then stopped short as he suddenly realized the incredible truth.

  He didn’t need a costume.

  He had his ring!

  FIVE