It Came From Beneath the Bed!
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Contents
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 1: “The Scary Place”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 2: “The Attack of the Giant Squid!!!!”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 3: “The Science Experiment”
Chapter 4: “The Potion”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 5: “Disaster!”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 6: “The Terrible Thing Under the Bed!”
Chapter 7: “Thump, Thump, Thump!”
Chapter 8: “It Escapes!”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 9: “Howie to the Rescue!”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Chapter 10: “Pudgykins Helps Out”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Invasion Of The Mind Swappers From Asteroid 6! Excerpt
About James Howe
To Alex Anest, who once let me hold his pet tarantula—and to Jessie, Florrie, and Chris
—J. H.
For Mary Jane
—B. H.
HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL
Uncle Harold—who is a dog, like me, and not even my uncle, I just call him that—got me this real cool notebook from under Pete’s bed. Pete is not a dog. He’s one of the two boys who lives in our house. Since he isn’t exactly what you’d call neat, a lot of stuff ends up under his bed. Uncle Harold said Pete would never notice the missing notebook. So now its mine.
I want to be a writer just like uncle Harold. Uncle Harold gas written all these books about Bunnicula, this strange but lovable rabbit who lives here with us. “US” is the Pete and Uncle Harold and me, and of course, Pop, this totally awesome cat whose real name is Chester I call him Pop. In my personal opinion, Pop is the coolest thing since chew bones.
I don’t want to write about real-life stuff the way Uncle Harold does, like Pop trying to kill Bunnicula because he thinks he’s a vampire or the time we stayed at this boarding Kennel and there were talking bones buried there, because if I stick to real stuff like that it’ll just be boring and i’ll never get to use my imagination. When I asked Uncle Harold what I could write about, he said it sometimes helps to start with something you know and see where it takes you.
Well, being a wirehaired dachshund and all, one thing I know about is the floor. I could write a story called “The Floor”
Or not.
I also know about water dishes and food dishes. I could write “The war between the Water Dish and the Food Dish.” That’s it! That’s what I’ll write! See, there’s this water dish that’s always crying because it thinks the dog, who happens to be this really cool wirehaired dachshund puppy, likes the food dish better and . . .
What a dorky idea.
Do all writers have this much trouble?
Hmm. Let’s see.
Uncle Harold isn’t the only one who spends time under Pete’s bed. I do, too. It’s really dark under there. It smells like Pete’s totally gross sneakers, and there’s dust and all kinds of junk and food so old it’s got whiskers.
(It doesn’t really have whiskers. That’s what’s called “literary license,” which means when you’re the writer you can pretty much say whatever you want. I don’t know why it’s called a license, since it’s not like writers have to wear tags or anything. I’ll have to ask Pop. He knows everything.)
Now where was I?
Under Pete’s bed. That’s it! I know what my first story will be!
It Came from Beneath the Bed!
By Howie Monroe
CHAPTER 1:
“THE SCARY PLACE”
Pete Monroe was a slob. He did things like sneak food into his room and instead of sharing it with his pets like any decent human being would do, he would toss what he didn’t want under his bed. Sometimes the pets, especially the cute and lively wirehaired dachshund puppy named Howie, would go under the bed and look for something good to eat.
But under Pete’s bed was a scary place. It was dark and full of secrets.
“Do not go there!” Chester the cat (who is sometimes called Pop, but won’t be in this story because it’s too confusing) warned Howie, the frisky and clever puppy. “You might not come out alive!”
“Ha, ha!” Howie retorted cleverly.
“Go ahead and laugh!” Chester said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
Howie bit his tongue to stop himself from saying, “I didn’t warn you.”
Even though Howie told Chester, “Ha, ha!,” he didn’t really mean it. That is because he believed what Chester told him. Chester knew a lot of stuff and Howie thought he was the coolest thing since chew bones.
Soon Howie was scared to go back under that bed. The only way he could prove that there was nothing really to be frightened of was to go under the bed in the dark of night. When the moon was full.
He did not know why it was important for the moon to be full, but in scary stories whenever people—or puppies—go into haunted houses, they do it on nights when the moon is full.
Howie, who was adorable, kind, and witty, had many friends in his neighborhood. He decided that he should ask one of his many friends to go with him under Pete’s bed the next time the moon was full.
Most of them did not want to go with him.
“Beware!” they told him, their voices trembling with fear.
“Be there or be square,” he told them back.
But they didn’t care if they were square. Not one of them. Well, okay, one of them.
That one was Delilah, a puppy who had recently moved in down the street. Delilah was beautiful, but not too smart.
(Delilah, when you read this, remember: It is ONLY A STORY!!!!!)
“I’ll go with you!” Delilah said.
They waited until Pete was sound asleep.
“What’s that? What’s that?” Delilah kept asking when she wasn’t bumping her head. (When she was bumping her head, she said, “Ow, ow, ow,” instead.)
But when she wouldn’t stop, Howie, whose keen eyes and powers of observation were second only to those of the legendary detective Sherlock Holmes, told her what each thing was.
“That’s a balled-up soccer shirt and that’s half a baloney sandwich that was stale last week and that’s the remote control Mr. Monroe has been looking for and that’s Pete’s homework he couldn’t find yesterday and that’s Pudgykins.”
“Pudgykins?” asked Delilah.
“Pete’s koala bear he’s had since he was two that he keeps under the bed for emergency hugs and thinks nobody knows about.”
“Awww,” said Delilah. “That’s sweet.”
“Sweet, harrumph,” said Howie, the manly yet sensitive dachshund puppy.
“And what are all those things?”
Howie sniffed at the things and sneezed. “Dust bunnies,” he said.
“EEK!!” screamed Delilah as she scrambled out from under the bed. “Dust bunnies! Dust bunnies! Run for your lives!”
Howie’s Writing Journal
Uncle Harold read what I wrote and said that it’s a GOOD BEGINNING!!!!!!
I asked him if he would send it to his publisher for me and he said maybe I should write the rest of the story first.
Rats.
He also said that he thinks something exciting should happen soon. I said, “What about the dust bunnies?”
He said he doesn’t think most readers will be excited about dust bunnies.
So now I have to think of something REEEEEEALLLLLLY EXCITING!
CHAPTER 2:
“THE ATTACK OF THE GIANT SQUID!!!!”
T
hat night, there was a TERRIBLE storm!!!! The Monroes were awakened by a HORRIBLE screeching sound that was followed by these ka-phlumph noises like GIANT SUCTION CUPS being attached to the house!!!!
Mr. Monroe looked out the window!!!! “GIANT SUCTION CUPS are being attached to the house!!!!” he cried in alarm.
Everyone SCREAMED!!!!
The house was being attacked by a GIANT SQUID that had risen from the waters of Lake Erie to DESTROY Planet Earth!!!! The Monroes went running into the night in their pajamas!!!! The house was flattened and Pete fainted from SQUID BREATH!!!! It looked like he was a goner until Howie, the courageous and plucky dachshund puppy, put his own life at risk by going back and
HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL
Uncle Harold said maybe it doesn’t have to be that exciting.
And besides which, the squid comes out of nowhere and that’s cheating.
I said, “But Uncle Harold, the squid didn’t come out of nowhere. It came out of Lake Erie!”
He rolled his eyes (I don’t know why) and said, “I mean, the idea of the squid comes out of nowhere. You just put the squid in for excitement. You need to put something in that connects to the rest of the story.”
I guess he’s right.
He also said I might be using too many adjectives, especially when describing one of the characters.
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
CHAPTER 3:
“THE SCIENCE EXPERIMENT”
The next day, the ever curious and bouncy Howie scampered up the stairs and down the hall to Pete’s bedroom.
He was stopped by a sign on the door that read:
DO NOT ENTER
SCIENCE EXPERIMENT IN PROGRESS
FUMES MAY BE FATAL
KEEP OUT
that means you!
Just then, Pete’s brother, Toby, walked by Howie and pushed open Pete’s door.
“Can’t you read?!” Howie heard Pete shout.
“You’re not doing any science experiment,” said Toby. “Unless you call seeing how long you can lie on your bed without doing your homework a science experiment.”
“I will be doing a science experiment!” Pete shot back.
Later that night, when most of the house was asleep, Howie heard a strange noise coming from upstairs. As he got closer to Pete’s room, the noises got louder. And there was the strangest smell. . . .
Howie, the alert and inquisitive dachshund puppy, poked his nose through the half-open door.
What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks!!!!
(That is just an expression. Howie did not die and he also did not have dirty paws.)
The room was filled with test tubes gurgling with strange-colored liquids. Streams of smoke rose up and filled the room like ghosts. In a graveyard. On Halloween. Pete sat hunched over his desk, mumbling to himself.
Howie perked up his keen ears and listened carefully.
“If I can only perfect this formula,” Pete was saying, “I’ll have what every eleven-year-old boy dreams of: world domination and an A in science!”
He threw back his head and cackled wildly.
Howie could hardly believe his ears. He knew that Pete sometimes acted like he was one kibble short of a full meal, but could he really be out to dominate the world? How would he do that, anyway? He didn’t even have a driver’s license. He’d have to get his parents to drive him everywhere. What if they didn’t want to? And if he was busy dominating the world, wouldn’t he miss a lot of school?
Howie could not help feeling sorry for Pete as he imagined him flunking out of sixth grade and having to dominate the world without a high-school diploma.
But that feeling didn’t last long.
“What are you doing here?!” he heard Pete hiss accusingly. “Get out!”
Pete jumped up from his chair and waved his arms frantically.
“Not a word of this to anyone, do you hear me, dog? If I find out that you’ve been squealing . . .”
The demented boy put his hands to his own throat and made a choking sound.
Howie scampered out of the room as fast as you could say, “Pete Monroe’s gone bonkers!”
Even faster.
(NOTE: In case Pete ever reads this: NONE OF THIS REALLY HAPPENED! I am making it all up in order for the story to be as exciting as a giant squid!!!!)
CHAPTER 4:
“THE POTION”
That night, Howie had terrible dreams. Over and over, Pete appeared out of nowhere, his hands outstretched, hissing, “I’m going to get you, squealer! You’re dead meat!”
Waking up in a sweat, Howie vowed not to tell anyone what he had found out, not even Chester.
The next morning, he told Delilah.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,” he said.
“Okay,” she replied, “but does it have anything to do with . . . with . . . oh, you know.”
“No,” said Howie, “I do not know.”
“With . . . with . . . oh, it’s too horrible to say . . . I can’t . . . but I must, I can’t live tormented by my fears . . . with . . . with . . . d-d-dust b-bunnies?!!!”
Howie, being a deep-thinking and perceptive dachshund puppy, concluded that the subject of dust bunnies was an upsetting one to Delilah, especially seeing as how she had just fainted.
“There, there,” Howie said as he revived Delilah. He had never noticed before that she had eyelashes. And what lovely eyelashes they were. “You’ll be all right. I’ll never let those bunnies harm you.”
“Oh, Howie,” Delilah said, batting the eyelashes he had not known until a moment before even existed, “you are so manly yet sensitive.”
He was almost ashamed to tell her his dream. But he needn’t have feared. In Delilah’s eyes, he could do no wrong.
“You have to stop him!” Delilah said. “You can’t let him whatever-you-said-he-was-going-to-do.”
“Dominate the world.”
“Yeah, that. And I’m going to help you.”
“No, Delilah, it isn’t safe.”
“But I can’t let you go alone. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
Howie looked into Delilah’s eyes. He saw himself reflected there. He was a cute puppy. He could understand why Delilah felt the way she did. “Well, okay,” he told her.
So that night, Howie and Delilah returned to Pete’s room. They hid under the bed and waited.
Howie had gone back under the bed earlier in the day and cleaned out all the dust bunnies with his tail. He also found two Oreo cookies, one of which he ate then and there, and the other of which he waited to share with Delilah.
She liked the filling. He liked the cookie. They were meant for each other.
“What are we waiting for?” Delilah asked after they had finished eating the Oreo.
The intelligent and smart, not to mention wise, dachshund puppy gave Delilah’s question serious consideration. “I’m not sure,” he told her at last, “but we’ll know when we find out.”
Howie could feel the breeze coming off Delilah’s fluttering eyelashes.
“You are so intelligent and smart,” she told him. She did not mention wise.
As it turned out, they did not have long to wait.
They scurried farther back under the bed as they heard Pete enter, close the door, and sit down at his desk.
Soon the room was filled with the gurgles and stench of science gone mad.
“That’s it!” they heard Pete cry. “I have the answer at last!”
“I didn’t hear the question,” Delilah whispered in Howie’s ear.
“That tickles,” replied Howie, whose every sense was as finely tuned as a concert piano.
“Yes!!!!” Pete exclaimed to no one (or so he thought). “No more homework! No more having to clear the table! With this potion, I will be more powerful than anyone on the face of the Earth. Even Ms. Kipper! Ya-ha-ha-ha!!!!”
Later, after Pete had gone to sleep and Howie had explain
ed to Delilah that Ms. Kipper was Pete’s school principal, the two dogs crept out from under the bed.
“We must find that potion and destroy it!” Howie told Delilah.
“But look!” Delilah said.
One of the test tubes was missing! Where could it be?
Delilah gasped. “There!” she cried.
“Where?” said Howie.
“There!” she cried. Again.
“Oh, no!” said Howie, the strong and determined yet capable-of-being-surprised dachshund puppy. “How will we get the potion now?”
There, clutched in Pete’s sleeping hands, was the vile vial, filled with purple ooze.
Howie said, “We’re doomed.”
Delilah said, “Being doomed makes me hungry.”
“Me, too,” said Howie.
They went downstairs and had something to eat.
HOWIE’S WRITING JOURNAL
Uncle Harold said this is STRONG WRITING!!!! He like the part about the “vile vial” and said that “every sense was as finely turned as a concert piano” was an excellent smile.
Whatever it is.
But he said the last chapter ending fell flat. He said I should try using cliff hanger, which is when you leave the reader wondering what’ going to happen next.
I told him, “But the reader doesn’t know what Delilah and Howie had to eat.”
He said that for him that was a cliff-hanger, but he guessed that the average reader might be looking for something a little more mysterious than what’s in the food bowl.
I’ll try again.
Delilah gasped. “There!” she cried.
“Where?” said Howie.
“There!” she cried. Again.
“Oh, no!” said Howie, the strong and determined yet capable-of-being-surprised dachshund puppy. “How will we get the potion now?”
There, clutched in Pete’s sleeping hands, was the vile vial, filled with purple ooze.