by Dann Gershon
Einstein spent the next few minutes jotting something down in his notebook. He stopped briefly to review what he had writ-ten, then ripped out a single sheet of paper and handed it to Greeley. The ghost read it carefully, occasionally looking up to give Einstein a dirty look, and then passed the piece of paper to Roxie. “What’s this?” she asked.
“The new house rules,” Einstein answered.
“But it’s my house!” Greeley muttered.
“Didn’t you say that mi casa es su casa?” Einstein remind-ed him.
“Yes.” Greeley sighed.
“Well, in my house we have rules.”
“And I’ll bet you ignore every single one of them,” Greeley mumbled under his breath.
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Cha p te r
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Day Six — 9:36 P.M. urly was collecting the leftovers from dinner when he heard the familiar high-pitched squeals coming from the large room that was hidden behind the pantry. He walked over to a trash can and popped open the lid. The mashed horseflies that he had put in there yesterday had turned into a rancid- smelling pulp. The stench was overpowering, but that was what the recipe called for. Holding his breath, he dumped the leftovers into the pitch-black goop and mixed them in with a large wooden ladle. He filled a ten-gallon jug to the brim and replaced the lid to the trash can. With considerable effort, Curly lifted the jug, walked behind the pantry, and cautiously entered the secret room.
“Come and get it, boys,” Curly shouted, dumping the mix-ture into a long trough through a vent in the doorway. He watched the five furry little creatures as they waddled over to the trough, tripping over their own cute little legs—all eight of them. The baby glokas were roughly the size of small sheep-dogs and just as cuddly, with big black puppy-dog eyes. The difference was that each gloka had ten eyes in total, positioned equidistantly around the top of its head, providing a three- hundred-sixty-degree field of vision. It was almost impossible to sneak up on a gloka unless it was asleep, and even then, it slept with six eyes open.
As adorable as the babies were, Curly reminded himself, they were still potentially dangerous. All it would take was a hard rain and a leaky roof to instantly turn the cuddly infants into mature adults, and the adults were anything but cuddly. The adults were like land sharks with legs, fearless and effi-cient predators. The walls of the large room had been fitted with hurricane glass as an added precaution. It allowed Curly to monitor the glokas without having to go in the room. The door was made of heavy reinforced steel, with a slide lock. It seemed silly considering how docile the creatures were in their present state. Nonetheless, the precautions were necessary.
“Cute little guys, aren’t they?” Big Al said, startling the cook.
“Until you add water,” Curly replied. He looked at the in-fants and shook his head. “If you ask me, we’d be better off without them.”
Big Al didn’t disagree, but orders were orders. Glokas co-cooned their prey and let them rot, eating them several weeks later. The spun metal cocoons were soft on the inside but impregnable, which made them perfect for transporting dan-gerous prisoners from location to location to ensure that they did not escape during prison transfers. They were also used to protect valuable cargo. Vampires, mummies, and werewolves all qualified on both counts. “Our customer wants the campers to be cocooned before transport,” he replied. “If that’s what he wants, that’s exactly what he’ll get.”
10 10 “I know,” Curly added before Big Al could finish the rest. “The customer is always right.”
“Especially this customer,” Big Al reminded the cook.
Bucky walked into the room and tapped on the window hard enough to startle the glokas. They stopped eating and tried to hide beneath the trough.
“Are the holding tanks complete?” Big Al asked Bucky.
“We’re all set,” he replied. “Six individual tanks for the glo-kas and three large holding pens for the campers, all built to specification. The unit was prefabricated.”
They both glared at the cook. Thanks to Curly, they were short one gloka.
“What do you want me to do?” the cook asked. “Apologize again?” In addition to caring for the creatures, he had been assigned to pick up six males. The obvious difference in their coloring made it easy to tell a male from a female. The male’s coat was dark green; the female’s fur was the color of blood. It should have been easy, but Curly was completely color-blind.
When Big Al had discovered the furry red female mixed in with the males, he was furious. A mature female was four times the size of an adult male and far more dangerous, especially during mating season. He ordered Curly to destroy her imme-diately. The cook had taken her out to the desert and left her there to die, deciding to let one of the natural predators do his dirty work. After all, the female was just a helpless little baby. How was he to know that it was going to rain that night?
“You should have told me you were color-blind. Make one more mistake,” Big Al warned the cook, “and we won’t just be short a gloka, we’ll be short a crew member. Am I making myself clear, Curly?”
“Clear as rain, boss,” the cook replied.
“Has the truck been repaired?” Big Al asked Bucky, referring to the old pickup they had found rotting away in the barn.
“She won’t win any races, but she runs.”
Big Al nodded his approval. “Okay, let’s get packed up in here and begin phase two of the operation. You two take the glokas to the barn and place them in separate holding tanks.”
“Do you want ’em showered?” Curly asked.
“Not yet,” Big Al replied. “That can wait until after we have moved all of the campers to the barn, right before we bag and tag them.”
“The sooner the better,” Bucky said. “We got twelve camp-ers missing, including the Fleet kid. Someone or something is out there and we can’t afford to lose anyone else.”
They both looked at Curly again.
“The female is dead, isn’t she?” Big Al asked the cook, his tone menacing.
Curly was smart enough to know better than to admit the truth, especially after Big Al had�
�just threatened to kill him. “Of course she’s dead, boss.”
“Are you sure?” Big Al asked.
“Why should I lie?”
10
Cha p te r
Day Six — 11:06 P.M.
THE NEW HOUSE RULES 1. No loud shrieking permitted (after 10 p.m.).
2. No rattling of chains (or similar items).
3. No rearranging of cabin furniture without prior written permission.
4. No speaking in tongues or pig Latin.
5. No materializing out of thin air unless wearing pants.
6. No séances or conjuring of the dead (after 10p.m.).
7. No levitating objects (especially me).
8. No sing-alongs or camp songs (ever).
9. No farting, especially with the windows shut.
As Roxie read the list, she couldn’t help but giggle. A few seconds later, Greeley joined in and began to chuckle.
“Laugh all you want,” Einstein said firmly, “but the rules are the rules.”
“Who died and put you in charge?” Greeley asked. “Oops, I guess I did!”
The ghost laughed at his own joke and Roxie joined in.
All of a sudden, Einstein doubled over in pain. His belly cramped and felt like it was filled with lead. “You wouldn’t have anything to eat around here, would you, Greeley?” Ein-stein groaned. His stomach made a gurgling noise, like gas bubbles rising from a tar pit. “I’m starving.”
“It must be your lucky day, Houdini,” the ghost replied. Greeley levitated a medium-sized brown box and dropped it at Einstein’s feet. The parcel was stamped fragile in at least six spots, but instructions had been completely ignored. The brown paper wrapping was torn and frayed. Three out of four corners had been completely crushed and were caked with sticky white goo. Greeley admired his work with a sense of pride. Tampering with the U.S. mail may be a federal offense, but mutilating it was a time-honored tradition. “I was going to give this to you earlier.”
“Well, why didn’t you?” Einstein asked, eyeing the box sus-piciously.
“The truth is I forgot,” Greeley replied. “You want to file a complaint or have a look-see?” He gave the pummeled package a good hard shake and it burst open at the seams. Einstein’s eyes lit up as a bonanza of mutilated Twinkie cartons came tumbling out of the box like quarters from a winning slot ma-chine. “Looks like you hit the jackpot, Houdini.”
“You can say that again,” Einstein said, ogling the Twinkies like a condemned prisoner about to eat his last meal. He picked one up off the floor and tore off the cellophane wrapper. Just
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as he was about to stuff it in his mouth, he hesitated and had second thoughts. “Try one,” he said to Greeley, tossing him a Twinkie. “It’s delicious.”
“No, thanks,” the ghost said. “Junk food gives me gas, remember?”
“He thinks we tampered with his Twinkies,” Roxie said, shaking her head. She reached out and took a bite of the Twinkie. “You happy now?”
He looked at Greeley.
“Okay, you win, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The ghost stuffed the whole Twinkie in his mouth and smiled. “Hey, these things are pretty tasty! Let me have another one of those bad boys.”
Einstein tossed one to the ghost and stared at the pile of Twinkies. Watching Roxie and Greeley eat only made matters worse. His stomach emitted a loud rumbling sound like a vol-cano about to erupt.
“We’re not the bad guys, Fleet,” Roxie said softly. “Believe it or not, we’re on the same side. Let’s have something to eat and try to relax for a while. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
“No battle was ever won on an empty stomach, I sup-pose,” Einstein conceded, grabbing a handful of Twinkies. “Let’s eat!”
For the next thirty minutes they pounded down Twinkie after Twinkie. They talked and told jokes and ate their fill. Ein-stein felt the best that he had in days. He was certainly more rational. Greeley had rescued him from suffocating in his own sleeping bag. Even if she had been too late to prevent the at-tack the night before, Roxie had rescued him from the infir-mary. They weren’t the enemy. Slowly the tension disappeared and was replaced by a sense of camaraderie. Whatever they had to face, they would face as a team. After his sixth Twinkie, Greeley rolled over and fell asleep.
“That old coot has the right idea,” Roxie said, yawning.
Einstein offered to take the first watch and let her get some rest as penance for his earlier outburst. “Get some sleep, comrade.”
Before she could lay her head on the pillow, a mighty blast shook the room, followed by the sound of muffled laughter. Slowly, a foul stench permeated the room and lingered for what seemed like an eternity. “All right, who broke rule num-ber nine?”
“It wasn’t me,” Einstein grumbled.
Another cannon exploded and echoed throughout the cabin. This shot was louder and more potent than the first.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Greeley chuckled.
“Open the window,” Einstein groaned. “It smells like some-thing died in here.”
“I resent that remark,” the ghost replied.
“Everyone go to sleep,” Roxie ordered as she buried her head under a pillow. “Like I said, tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
Greeley launched another atomic bomb.
“It’s going to be a long night too,” Einstein moaned.
11
Cha p te r
T
Day Seven — 8:40 A.M. he camp was quiet when Einstein awoke. Roxie was still asleep on the armchair next to him, but Greeley was nowhere to be found. He looked down at his watch to see the time and noticed that his knuckles were covered with tufts of brown fur. It hadn’t been there when he’d gone to sleep the previous night, but it was certainly there now. There were thick patches of hair on his arms and legs as well. Einstein scanned the room to make sure that Roxie was still asleep and pulled open the front of his shorts to take a quick peek. Like most boys his age who had matured slowly, Einstein had prayed for puberty to arrive and end the merciless teasing of those who had sprouted hair in all the appropriate places. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but at least no one would make fun of him in gym class anymore.
“How they hangin’, Houdini
?” Greeley said, materializing next to the door.
“You’re forty minutes late,” Einstein replied, hiding his arms behind his back.
“Let me clue you in on a little something there, sonny. I work for the United States Postal Service. I don’t have to show up anywhere on time.” Greeley took a closer look at Einstein and made a clucking sound. “You need a shave, boy.”
“Who needs a shave?” Roxie asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Our little amigo,” Greeley told her. “Looks like you were right.”
Roxie examined his arms and legs, then pried open his top lip to take a peek at his teeth. They were yellow, but normal. Nothing a good brushing couldn’t fix.
“Are you planning on buying me to race or to keep as a pet?” Einstein asked.
“Neither,” she said, “but we do have a small problem. You’re turning into a werewolf.”
“You knew this was going to happen. That’s why Greeley wanted to wait until morning to g-mail me home.”