Dory Fantasmagory

by Abby Hanlon

  For Ann Tobias, my fairy godmother

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  Copyright © 2014 by Abby Hanlon

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hanlon, Abby, author. Dory Fantasmagory / by Abby Hanlon. pages cm

  Summary: Dory, the youngest in her family, is a girl with a very active imagination, and she spends the summer playing with her imaginary friend, pretending to be a dog, battling monsters, and generally driving her family nuts.

  ISBN 978-0-698-13593-2

  1. Imagination—Juvenile fiction. 2. Imaginary companions—Juvenile fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters—Juvenile fiction. 4. Families—Juvenile fiction. [1. Imagination—Fiction. 2. Imaginary playmates—Fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 4. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H196359Do 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013034996

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1: Such a Baby

  Chapter 2: “Did You Hear the Doorbell Ring?”

  Chapter 3: Chickenbone

  Chapter 4: If You Take a Dog to the Doctor

  Chapter 5: Time-out

  Chapter 6: Bouncy Ball

  CHAPTER 1

  Such a Baby

  My name is Dory, but everyone calls me Rascal. This is my family. I am the little kid.

  My sister’s name is Violet and my brother’s name is Luke. Violet is the oldest. Violet and Luke never want to play with me. They say I’m a baby.

  “Mom! Rascal is bothering us!”

  “What is she doing?” calls my mother.

  All summer long, whenever I try to play with Luke and Violet, they say, “PLEASE LEAVE US ALONE!” Well, I’m not going to leave. But I can’t think of what to say, so I ask questions. Any question I can think of.

  “I can’t wait for school to start so we can get a break from Rascal!” says Violet.

  “Me too!” grumbles Luke.

  “Don’t talk about school!” I cover my ears. I never want summer to end. I like to stay home in my nightgown instead of getting dressed for school.

  “It’s a winter nightgown,” says Violet.

  “And it’s inside out,” says Luke.

  “And it’s backwards,” says Violet.

  “So what?” I say.

  “So, now that you turned six, you need to stop acting like such a baby!”

  “Why do you always call me a baby?” I complain.

  “Because you talk to yourself,” says Violet.

  “And you have temper tantrums,” says Luke.

  “And you play with monsters,” says Violet.

  Talk to myself? I have no idea what they are talking about. I never talk to MYSELF. I talk to my friend Mary. No one can see her except me.

  Mary always wants to play with me. She thinks I’m the greatest.

  At night, Mary sleeps under my bed.

  During the day, Mary follows me around. She wants to do whatever I’m doing. I usually don’t mind, but sometimes I have to tell her no.

  “Okay. Mary, what do you want to play?” I ask.

  Here are some things Mary likes to do:

  Mary is my favorite, but my house is actually full of monsters. There is the Toilet Monster, who comes into the bathroom if you sit on the toilet for too long.

  There is the Ketchup Monster, who makes weird noises when you squeeze the ketchup.

  There is also the Laundry Monster, the Broken Drawer Monster, the Vacuum Monster, the Upstairs Hallway Monster, the Living Room Monster, and more.

  I try to warn Luke and Violet when I see one.

  But Luke and Violet don’t appreciate it.

  After dinner Violet and Luke say they have something important to tell me.

  I follow them upstairs, skipping steps. I’m so excited. What can it be? Violet lets me sit on her bed. Maybe she will let me play with Cherry.

  Very slowly Violet asks me, “Rascal, have you ever heard . . . of . . . someone named Mrs. Gobble Gracker?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Well, Mrs. Gobble Gracker is a robber, and she steals baby girls,” says Violet.

  “And she is five hundred and seven years old and has very sharp teeth!” adds Luke.

  “And, well,” says Violet, “you’re going to be really surprised when I tell you this.”

  “What?” I say. I am dying to know.

  “She’s been looking for you,” she says quickly.

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “Dead serious,” she says.

  “Mrs. Gobble Gracker is looking for me?” I ask in amazement.

  “Shhhh,” says Luke. “She’s so scary you have to whisper when you say her name, like this: Mrs. Gobble Gracker . . .”

  “So, if I were you, I would stop acting like such a baby . . . so she doesn’t come get you,” says Violet. For a moment, I’m quiet.

  This is a lot to think about. Luke and Violet stare at me, as if they are waiting for me to cry. “How will she get in the house? Does she come in the front door? Will she ring the doorbell?” I ask them.

  Before they answer, I have some more questions, “Is she sneaky? Will I have to battle her? Does she wear a long black cape? Is it made out of fur? Is it real fur or fake fur? Are her teeth rotting? Does she brush them? Does she have a really creepy-looking nose? Does she have a cat? Does she live in a cave? Does she have really long bones?”

  “WE DON’T KNOW! LEAVE US ALONE!” they shout, shaking their heads and walking away fast.

  I follow Luke and Violet around the house.

  “Oh my gosh! What have we done?” says Luke, covering his ears.

  “This is the worst idea we have ever had,” says Violet, trying to get away from me.

  “Ever,” says Luke. “Ever. Ever. Ever.”

  “I don’t even want to know what happens next,” says Violet.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Did You Hear the Doorbell Ring?”

  The next morning I warn Mary. “Mrs. Gobble Gracker is five hundred and seven years old, and she has black teeth that are sharp like needles, and her pockets are full of dirty tissues. And . . . she could be on her way over here right now, so don’t act like a baby.”

  I’ve never seen a monster so scared.

  When I hear the doorbell, I run downstairs.

  “Okay! I’ll get it,” I say.

  I run and hide under my parents’ bed. There’s something warm and furry under the bed. Someone is already hiding under this bed. It’s Mary.

  “Have you seen my cape?” I whisper. Mary reaches behind her and hands me my cape, all wrinkled up in a ball. She always takes my things and doesn’t return them.

 
“I’m going to battle,” I tell her as I put on my cape.

  “Can I help?”

  Then, as fast as I can, I run into Luke’s room to look for his darts. But when I hear footsteps coming closer, I dive into his closet to hide.

  It’s dark and warm and kind of smelly. Actually, I’m very happy in the closet, so I decide to stay. Days and days go by, probably. I can hear my family saying, “Where’s Rascal?”

  “Heee, Heee! They’ll never find me!” I giggle.

  The footsteps again! OH NO! SHE’S GOING TO FIND ME!

  The closet door opens.

  It’s just boring old Luke!

  “Rascal, what the heck are you doing in here?” he asks me.

  “LEAVE ME ALONE!” I scream. I am so angry that he ruined my hiding spot.

  “DON’T FIND ME. DON’T FIND ME!” I shout.

  Then I kick and bang and throw some things. I cry so hard the room looks blurry and upside down.

  After I’m done crying, I feel all better. “Can I borrow a dart?” I ask Luke, drying my tears.

  “You’re nuts,” he says, and walks away, which I think means yes.

  I take the dart and run. In the hallway, I run into Mary. She is pointing and jumping up and down. “Mrs. Gobble Gracker went downstairs! She’s in the living room! What are you going to do?” she yells.

  “I’m going to shoot her with this special sleeping dart. It will make her sleep for a hundred years.”

  “Wow!” says Mary. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t follow me,” I warn her.

  There she is! Just sitting there! I hold my dart ready to shoot it across the room. Ready, one, two . . . Wait a minute. What did Violet just say?

  “I’m the mommy and you are the daddy,” says Violet.

  Are they playing house? I stop my battle. I drop my dart. I want to play house.

  “Now, we just need a baby,” says Violet.

  Baby???? Did somebody say baby????

  My sister and brother look at me very carefully, trying to decide. I show them my cutest baby face. “Goo,” I say.

  “Hhhhmmmm,” says Luke.

  “Wellllll . . .” says Violet.

  “Hummmm,” says Luke.

  “I have a better idea!” says Violet, grabbing Cherry. “Cherry can be the baby!”

  “Great idea,” says Luke. “She’s much quieter.”

  “And cuter,” says Violet.

  Stupid old baby Cherry, I think. Using my scariest voice, I clench my teeth and warn her, “Just wait, one day I’ll get you.”

  As I walk away, I hold my head up high and think, I don’t have time to play anyway. I’m way too busy.

  But what was I so busy doing? I can’t remember.

  I know I was in the middle of something.

  When I get back to my room, I snuggle in bed with my bunny. Then Mary comes in with my dart.

  “Oh, yeah!” I say, “I was just about to shoot Mrs. . . . Uhhh . . . sshh . . . did you hear that?” Creaky sounds are coming from the stairs. Even the Upstairs Hallway Monster is scared and wants to hide out in my room. We peek out and see Mrs. Gobble Gracker looking angrier than before. It’s time for me to be the brave one.

  “Three, two, one . . .” I whisper.

  And then I jump out and shoot my dart.

  Mrs. Gobble Gracker stumbles around. She is walking into the wall, her knees are bending, her eyes are closing . . . she collapses! “I’ll find that girl when I wake up,” she mumbles, and then she is sound asleep.

  I have to tell Luke and Violet! They should know that I shot Mrs. Gobble Gracker, because I was so quick and tricky and I had such good aim. They should know that no baby could do what I did. They should know!

  I run to the living room and jump right on Violet’s lap. I cup my hands around her ear.

  I whisper my secret. “Mrs. Gobble Gracker is asleep in the upstairs hallway! I shot her with a sleeping dart! I’m dead serious.”

  “Mom! Rascal is bothering us!” calls Violet, pushing me off her lap.

  “What is she doing?” calls my mother from the kitchen.

  “She’s spitting in my ear!”

  “No, I’m not! I’m telling you a secret!” I shout.

  But before my mother comes in the room, I run away as fast as I can. As I’m dashing up the stairs I hear my mom say, “Where did Rascal come up with this crazy Mrs. Gobble Gracker game?” I stop to listen.

  “I have no idea,” says Violet.

  “How would we know?” says Luke.

  Then I run down the hallway to my room, being careful not to trip on the body lying on the floor.

  CHAPTER 3

  Chickenbone

  As I step over Mrs. Gobble Gracker’s body on my way to breakfast, I start to worry. One hundred years sounds like a very long time, but what if one hundred years goes by really fast? I decide to wear my cow costume as a disguise just in case Mrs. Gobble Gracker wakes up. Just to be safe.

  “Aren’t you hot in that?” asks Luke.

  “No. Yes. I don’t want Mrs. Gobble Gracker to recognize me.”

  “Stop talking about Mrs. Gobble Gracker!” screams Violet.

  “Stop talking about Mrs. Gobble Gracker!” I copy her.

  While Mrs. Gobble Gracker is asleep, I finally have time to hang out with Luke and Violet.

  I try and get Luke and Violet to laugh at me. Cereal time, I’ve discovered, is the best time for laughing. If I can get milk to come out of my nose, they always laugh. And if my parents sleep late, I can make them laugh by saying bathroom words.

  But after cereal time, I have to work much harder to get their attention.

  “If you want, you can milk me,” I offer Violet.

  “Eeeew,” says Violet.

  “Okay, I’ll milk myself and fill up a glass for you,” I offer.

  “GET AWAY FROM ME!” screams Violet.

  I follow Luke and Violet around the house and think of ways to impress them. Mary follows me.

  “Can I draw a mustache on Mrs. Gobble Gracker while she is asleep?” asks Mary.

  “No, that is way too risky!” I tell her.

  “But she’s snoring really loud!” says Mary.

  “I’m busy,” I say, waving her away.

  “Hey, guys, do you want to see a magic trick? See the stick in this hand?” I say. Then I put my hands behind my back.

  “Now it’s in this hand. Ta-da!!”

  “That’s the worst trick I’ve ever seen,” says Luke.

  They didn’t even want to see me eat a napkin.

  “Hey, guys, do you know that I can sing without opening my mouth? I’m dead serious. Listen!”

  “Can you please hum somewhere else?” says Luke.

  “It’s not humming, it’s singing!” I say.

  “Wait a minute . . . is that sweat?” says Violet, looking up. “Are you covered in sweat?” she asks. “Take that thing off!”

  “Nope.” I say, and fold my arms. “I will not.”

  “Why do you always have to act like such a baby?” asks Violet.

  Then my mom yells:

  I am boiling mad! “I was singing! You are interrupting!” I collapse onto the kitchen floor. The tile feels cool on my hot face. My tears fall onto the diamond patterns in the tile that I know so well from so many temper tantrums on the kitchen floor. As I’m screaming and kicking and crying, I unbutton my cow costume and strip down to my underwear because it’s way too hot to have this temper tantrum in a cow costume . . . not because they told me to!

  When I’m all done, I put my bathing suit on and go outside.

  I find Mary asleep under a tree.

  “Are you real sleeping or fake sleeping?” I ask her.

  “Real sleepi
ng,” she says without opening her eyes. Now even Mary doesn’t want to play.

  I lie in the hammock all by myself and think maybe Luke and Violet are right. Maybe I am a baby. I think of all the babyish things I do: I still smell my bunny and suck my fingers to fall asleep. I still put my clothes on inside out. I still can’t whistle. I still overflow everything I pour. I still want to wear my nightgown all day.

  When I look up at the trees through my tears, I see someone up there looking down at me.

  “Who are you?” I ask, rubbing my eyes, squinting into the sun.

  “I’m your fairy godmother,” says a little man, crawling down from the tree like a koala.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t look like a fairy godmother.”

  “Well, pretty sure,” he says, but he looks kind of confused to me. “Well, the important thing is, I’m here to help you.” He says his name is Mr. Nuggy and that he lives in the woods.

  “Boy, do I need help!” I say. “Can you turn me into something else? I have too many problems as a human.”

  “Sure,” he says. “How about a pineapple?”

  “Ummm. Okay,” I say, shrugging. “Why not?”

  He takes out his wand, “One! Two! Three! TA-DA!”

  I look down at my body. “I don’t feel like a pineapple,” I say. “Do I look like one?”

  Mr. Nuggy looks at me very carefully. He sniffs me. And pokes me. Then sadly he shakes his head no.