Literally Disturbed 2
Page 2
You can’t?
You’re way too chicken—I knew it!
Come on, I dare you.
I triple-dog dare you.
I ultra-super-extra-crazy dare you to do it.
You waiting?
Trembling?
Come on, be tough, get to it.
There, see, you’re fine!
What—whose turn? Mine?
Well, dare me!
Go on, dare me!
Because I am really, really scared.
And I know I’ll never do it,
unless I’m dared.
Wandering Around the Graveyard, Reading the Stones
This one was a preacher.
This one was a dad.
This one says loving wife and mother.
How sad.
This one died in 1904.
This one in 1869.
I can feel the presence of the buried dead.
Do they feel mine?
Bad Timing
Ashleigh has a pimple.
Ryan has a cold.
Buster has a terrible haircut
that makes him look weird and old.
But they can’t compete;
I’ve got them all beat.
My eyes and ears are burning,
and my head is slowly turning,
and when I try to talk, I howl and screech and shout.
My forehead is streaked and stippled,
and my stomach is bulging and rippled
like something ’s in there trying to get out.
What can I say?
It’s always the way!
Possessed by the devil
on picture day.
The Big Book in the Library
There’s a big book in the library
that no one’s allowed to see.
Mike’s brother Pete told Mike,
who told Amelia, who told me:
That there’s a big book in the library
you won’t find on any stack.
They keep it in an armored safe
in a padlocked room in the back.
It’s a million pages,
maybe two million, maybe more.
It’s been around since time began,
or even a few years before.
And nobody knows who wrote it
and nobody knows why.
And no one’s ever read it
and no one wants to try.
Because there aren’t any pictures,
and most of it’s in code.
And, oh yeah, if you open it,
the whole world will explode.
It’s the Little Things
Maggots are tiny.
Teensy.
Impossibly small.
Viruses are microscopic.
Bacteria, the same.
Germs leave no trace of where they crawl.
These little things can hurt you bad,
make you sick,
make you dead.
They creep into your clothes,
your house,
your hair,
your bed.
So, sure, be scared of monsters.
If they ’re coming, scream and flee ’em.
But one nice thing about monsters:
at least you can see ’em.
Old Boo
Old Boo is my hero.
I’ve had him since I was zero.
He’s a bear full of stuffin’.
I wouldn’t trade him for nuffin’,
’cause when I am frightened, he’s there:
Old Boo, my hero, my bear!
Old Boo is not ordinary.
He makes scary things unscary.
Just a bear full of stuffin’,
but he makes my heart toughen!
Monsters? Bad guys? I don’t care!
Old Boo! My hero! My bear!
If ghosties are hiding,
if they ’re creeping and sliding
in the shadowy night,
tryna fill me with fright—
I’m safe! I’m secure! What can they do?
When creepers come creeping
while I’m softly sleeping,
I’m fine, I’m all right,
but they ’ll have to fight with Old Boo!
But tonight
my baby sister,
being naughty,
went and tried to flush Old Boo down the potty.
She’s too young to know that it’s wrong.
I carried on,
I screamed and cried,
but Old Boo’s being washed and dried,
and I’m staying up all night long.
Sunrise
Daylight!
Daylight!
Oh, daylight at last!
Daytime!
Daytime!
The hours have passed—
Of lying there fearing
what’s under the bed.
Of lying there shivering,
trembling with dread.
Oh, dawn!
Oh, sun!
My favorite old friends!
The thing I love best about nighttime
is how, every morning, it ends.
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