Bye-bye, Blue Creek

by Andrew Smith

  It was Friday, and there was so much going on in my brain. I had to go shopping and get things ready for the dinner at the Blanks’ (because no matter what Dad said, turning down a chef job was off the table), I still needed to return Princess Snugglewarm versus the Charm School Dropouts to the library, and James Jenkins would be coming this weekend to spend the last few moments of freedom and summer vacation with me.

  There was so much here, and so much I’d be saying good-bye to.

  And that included Blue Creek, too, so the insomniac spiders on trampolines in my stomach had been bouncing around like a million off-balance washing machines. I tried to stay calm by focusing on unsweetened iced tea with Bahar at Colonel Jenkins’ Diner, because that was coming on Saturday too.

  Like I said, I had an awful lot to think about.

  In the morning, Mom drove me and Karim to the grocery store so I could pick up the ingredients for the Boris-and-his-parents-and-Bahar dinner. Karim complained after half an hour because I was taking too long, walking up and down the aisles and trying to conjure up recipes, but everything I thought about making seemed to whisper to me, Boris is going to hate that, and he will make you feel awful for trying to serve it to him. I finally decided to do a chicken-tarragon potpie with an upside-down blood orange cake for dessert.

  Everyone likes chicken potpies, right? Maybe even Boris, I thought.

  But it was when we were driving back home after dropping Princess Snugglewarm off at the library64 that Mom made a random Mom comment that nearly gave me a panic attack.

  To be honest, it did give me a panic attack.

  She said this: “Linda called me this morning and said she’d be dropping James off tomorrow afternoon at about four, so make sure you’re back from whatever you have planned for your last Saturday in Blue Creek.”

  Linda?

  And last Saturday? Surely Mom had miscalculated. I still had two more Saturdays, or so I thought. Mom had to be wrong.

  “Linda?” I said.

  “Oh! Ha ha. Mrs. Jenkins. You know, James’s mom. Linda.”

  I’d never known that James’s mom’s first name was Linda.

  But I’d heard or read the name “Linda” at least a hundred times in the last day or so, and it was starting to traumatize me. Still, “Linda” was a common name, right? There had to be at least four or five Lindas who’d lived in Blue Creek.

  And were approximately my dad’s age.

  Right?

  I glanced back at Karim, who was sitting alone in the backseat with the groceries. His expression showed that he was thinking the same thing I was, and sure enough, Karim, never at a loss for words or saltiness, said, “You’d think she’d change back to her maiden name after how long the Jenkinses have been divorced.”

  “I think she wanted to,” Mom said. “But it’s so hard to get used to. I mean, calling her ‘Linda Swineshead’ again after all these years. So you boys better mind yourselves and be nice if she stays for a bit. Be sure to ask her if she wants you to call her ‘Miss Swineshead.’ I bet she’d like that. It’s the polite thing to do—the Texas thing to do.”

  This was almost too much to bear.

  James Jenkins’s mother used to be my dad’s girlfriend.

  And naturally Karim, who was working on getting evicted from my room, and possibly walking home along the side of the highway, continued: “Hmm… Linda Swineshead. That name sounds familiar.”

  I whirled around and gave my friend an I’m going to kick you out and make you go back to live next door to the Purdy House with your sunburned nudist parents look, which I knew he understood.

  Mom said, “Does it?”

  Karim, as cool as ice, said, “Yeah. There’s a character in one of the books Sam and I are reading for his summer work named ‘Linda Cowspleen,’ who’s a junior high history teacher with a time travel machine, and she sends all her worst students back to ancient Greece to do battle with that one guy with the octopus growing out of his face.”

  “Ooh! That sounds good! I never read that one!” Mom said.

  “You should ask Sam about it when we get to the end,” Karim added. “It’s a real page-turner!”

  And I wanted to shout at Karim, There is NOT that one guy with an octopus growing out of his face—not anywhere in the collected literary accomplishments of mankind!

  But instead I said this: “Mom? You said this would be my last Saturday in Blue Creek. I thought we weren’t leaving for another week after that. Right? We’re not leaving that soon, are we?”

  Mom reached across and patted my knee the way you’d pat the head of a small dog who was scared of fireworks or something.

  “Well, James’s mother is going to be in Albuquerque with her sister, so we said we’d drive him along with us to New Mexico. We thought you’d enjoy having a friend along for part of the trip so it wouldn’t be so scary for you. Dad says we should leave on Monday. Won’t that be fun?”

  No, I thought, it would not be fun to leave more than an entire week early. Not fun at all.

  And now the spiders were trying to climb up through my neck.

  Karim added, “You mean Miss Swineshead is going to be in Albuquerque. Right, Mrs. Abernathy?”

  I had never punched anyone in my life, but I really wanted to sock Karim at that point.

  I said, “I think you’d better pull the car over, Mom. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

  63. That’s a really bad score.

  64. Also, I might add, just seeing books was making me feel guilty for not getting my summer reading done. Or started. And I knew there was going to be a blurry-eyed marathon of page-turning coming up for me very soon.

  SWALLOWED BY A HUNGRY CIRCUS TENT

  “Anyone who ever spent the shortest amount of time with that awful little Boris Blank is definitely going to avoid having anything to do with children for the rest of their life,” I said.

  Karim gave his cousin a serious look. “I guess this means you’re never going to be a teacher, mother, or pediatrician now,” he said.

  It was Friday afternoon, and Karim and Bahar were at my house, keeping me company while I prepared the meal I was catering for Boris and his parents. Well, Karim wasn’t keeping me company so much as he was establishing permanent legal residency in my home and getting to the point where even my parents would be unable to have him evicted. Not that they would ever want to.

  And Karim went on, “Or a clown who makes balloon sculptures at birthday parties, someone who gives Shetland pony rides at the fairgrounds, or a miniature golf course owner.”

  I rolled my eyes. I knew what Karim was getting at with his “miniature golf course” reference, but I wasn’t going to argue with him, because I did not have a crush on Bahar.

  Karim said, “Face it. That Boris kid is a ruiner of people’s lives.”

  “Boris isn’t that bad,” Bahar said.

  “He takes baths in milk and Diet Coke. You told me he almost made you cry,” Karim argued.

  Every once in a while, but not too often, Karim was right. I’d talked to Bahar about babysitting for Boris, and it was true that she had nearly cried, which is something Bahar never does. But here I was now, actually putting the finishing touches on a delicious meal for Boris and his parents. And I dreaded the thought of stepping foot inside the Purdy House, so I couldn’t stop asking my brain what my mouth had gotten me into.

  “All I can say is, they must pay you pretty good for just sitting there with him, trying to keep him entertained when all he does is make you feel inadequate as he’s contemplating eating you, which is exactly what Little Charlie would have done,” Karim said.

  “I don’t think there was any such thing as babysitters in the 1800s,” I pointed out.

  “Any kid who’s been raised by wolves probably doesn’t need a babysitter, anyway,” Bahar said.

  And Karim said, “All I can say is, you’re both crazy for agreeing to go inside that house.”

  “If you were a true friend, you’d come along and help
with dinner so we could both keep Bahar company. You could be a server with me,” I said. “And you never know. Maybe you’ll end up being the only human on the planet that Boris actually likes.”

  Bahar added, “Or doesn’t want to eat.”

  “Sorry, but I’ve made other plans for tonight,” Karim said.

  “What plans are those?” Bahar asked.

  “Um. I’m reading a book. It’s about a guy with an octopus growing out of his face,” Karim said.

  “That sounds like a great book,” Bahar said unenthusiastically. Then she added, “You know who’d probably like to help out, Sam? Brenden Saltarello. He told me he’d give anything to have a look inside the actual Purdy House.”

  I couldn’t tell if Bahar was teasing or not, but Karim gave me a look like he’d just been stabbed in the heart by his cousin. But Brenden Saltarello must have been crazy if he actually wanted to go inside the Purdy House for no reason outside of just seeing what it was like.

  “Well, he’s not afraid of mayonnaise, so I’d bet he’s not afraid of cannibalistic wolf boy ghosts, either. Does he have a white button-up shirt?” I asked.

  When you’re a professional caterer, the outfit counts.

  Karim looked genuinely stung when Bahar said, “I’ll text him and ask.”

  The chicken-tarragon potpie was nearly finished; the blood orange upside-down cake was cooling, and I was just about to put my herbed Persian Salad-e Shirazi in the refrigerator to chill.

  And while Bahar texted (or pretended to text) Brenden, Karim leaned closer to me and whispered, “She wouldn’t really do that to me, would she?”

  I didn’t honestly know if Bahar would do something like try to make Karim jealous, but, as she’d said, someone definitely had a crush on someone, so I just shrugged and gave Karim a palms-up I don’t know look.

  Anyway, Karim deserved it. He’d been taking every opportunity to torment me and Bahar about anything he could.

  I said, “Hey! Just think, Bahar—if it’s me, you, and Brenden in the Purdy House tonight, it’ll be just like my dad; James’s mom, Mrs. Jenkins… er, Miss Swineshead; and Oscar Padilla on a night from twenty-something years ago.”

  And then I immediately regretted saying it because my dad and Linda Swineshead had been boyfriend and girlfriend (and I did not have a crush on Bahar). Plus I was terrified that something like what had happened to those three kids so many years ago might actually happen to us. But I didn’t like teasing Karim about things like that, so I felt bad for my friend, and also terrified for me and Bahar (and possibly for Brenden Saltarello if Bahar actually was talking—or texting—him into coming along). And I especially didn’t want to end up being arrested and going to jail, like my dad had.

  Bahar said, “Brenden does have a white shirt. He said he’d love to go there with us tonight and he’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  Karim looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.

  A few months ago, when I’d first posted my catering and dining jobs flyer in the library’s Teen Zone, I’d bought a white chef’s jacket and some houndstooth-patterned pants, with money I’d saved up from working at Lily Putt’s. And although the outfit was too big for me, I was thrilled for any opportunity that came along where I’d get to dress like a real chef.

  The sleeves on my double-breasted jacket were rolled up to my elbows, and my pants were cuffed at least five times because they just didn’t make chef uniforms in boys’ size M. I’d have to change that, I thought. There were enough square yards of clothes fabric around my body to easily contain two or three Sam Abernathy–size chefs.

  “That chef’s outfit makes you look fat, Sam,” Karim thoughtfully pointed out. He was pouting about Brenden.

  “It looks like he’s been swallowed by a hungry circus tent,” Bahar said.

  We heard the sound of slamming car doors, and then the ring of the doorbell. Brenden Saltarello, looking like a professional waiter, dressed in a white, tucked-in collared shirt and the kind of shoes you’d wear to a wedding, was at the front door.

  And Karim dashed away down the hall to hide in my (his) bedroom.

  PART FOUR BYE-BYE, BLUE CREEK

  WHAT EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW ABOUT THE MONSTER PEOPLE (PART 6)

  What Everyone Needs to Know about the Monster People:

  Have not been seen in daylight. May be vampires.

  Have a lamp made out of a dead raccoon.

  Have a hideous black flying beast that is bulletproof and comes out of their house at night during all the screaming.

  Have a coffin buried fifty feet below the ground to keep the Wolf Boy from digging it up again.

  Have a kid named Boris.

  May be transforming Bahar into a mindless thrall with no will of her own.

  Boris absorbs nutrients through his skin in his bathwater.

  They have now begun an indoctrination spell on Sam.

  SAM IS NOT ALLOWED TO TELL JOKES TO BRENDEN SALTARELLO EVER AGAIN!!!

  Their last name is BLANK.

  What is Sam thinking, going over there and inviting Brenden Saltarello along???

  If Sam, Bahar, and Brenden never come back after tonight, I’m moving into Sam’s room for good.

  AS MUTE AS A MECHANICAL LLAMA

  “One thing to remember: if that horrible child asks you to tell him the ingredients in the chicken potpie, or what kind of dressing is on the salad, or what a blood orange is, just smile and nod like you can’t understand English or something,” I said.

  Brenden, Bahar, and I stood outside the intimidating, spike-studded iron gates of the Purdy House with a wheeled cart containing all the food and settings for my latest professionally catered event. But it was almost like none of us wanted to be the person initially responsible for actually touching and then opening the portal to the most haunted house in Texas.

  Karim was nowhere to be found. He’d been hiding in my room ever since Brenden had showed up at my house, probably inside my closet looking for clean clothes or something. I don’t know if he was more afraid of the Purdy House or of having to be face-to-face with Brenden Saltarello.

  I went on, “And Bahar will back me up on this: the only reason Boris ever wants to talk to you is to make you feel bad, or to tell you how much he hates things, so trust me, you’re better off just not saying anything at all to him, not one word, because once he tricks you into answering a question, it’s almost like he can take control of your mind or something.”

  Brenden Saltarello looked at Bahar and then shifted his eyes to me.

  He said, “He’s six years old, right? You’re messing with me, Sam.”

  Bahar shook her head. “No. That pretty much describes Boris exactly.”

  “Well, I’ve got to see this,” Brenden said.

  Then Brenden Saltarello reached out and lifted the latch on the old iron gate and pushed the gate open.

  The giant gate made a sound like a super-screechy cat being stepped on by a super-big foot in super-slow motion. For some reason all three of us inhaled at the same time.

  And before I knew what was happening, I was inside the grounds of the Purdy House. I felt a little dizzy—not claustrophobia dizzy, just dizzy. I wheeled the cart up to the front steps, and Brenden helped me lift it up onto the porch. Now my actual feet65 were touching the wooden planks of the actual Purdy House’s front porch. I glanced back over my shoulder in the direction of the woods—where Sam’s Well would be—and past that, in the direction of the normal and not-haunted part of Blue Creek.

  There was no turning back now.

  “Okay. This place is really creepy,” Brenden whispered.

  And we weren’t even inside the house yet.

  We didn’t get a chance to knock, or to ring whatever horrifying-sounding bell might be installed on the house, because the door swung open with an enthusiastic swish that made us all jump slightly. And standing there was the Blank family—Timmy, Beth, and behind them in the dim shadows of the house’s interior lurked little unpleasant Boris.<
br />
  “Well, well, well! Thank you for being here on time,” Timmy Blank said. Then he looked at Brenden as though he was trying to remember if he’d been expecting him or not.

  I cleared my throat. “Ahem. This is Brenden. He’s part of the waitstaff for Catering by Sam,” I said, suddenly lying as effortlessly as Karim ever did, since Catering by Sam had never existed before the words had come out of my mouth, and there definitely were no employees besides myself, which meant I’d probably need to pay Brenden some of the money I made from the Blanks.

  “Nice to meet you, Brenden!” Beth Blank said. “Don’t you boys look like perfect culinary artists!”

  Maybe I was just nervous, but the way she said it made it sound like we were the meal and not the servers of it.

  “Come in! Come in!” Timmy Blank said, and he stood at the open doorway and held an arm extended back into the depths of the Purdy House. That was when Boris walked right up to Brenden, put his face just about three inches in front of the third button on Brenden’s shirt, and said, “What did you guys make us for dinner?”

  But I was too fast for Boris. I intercepted his torpedo before it could get anywhere near to sinking the SS Saltarello.

  I waved my hand between Boris and Brenden and said, “Oh. He never talks. Not at all. It is seen as unprofessional in the fine catering business, so you may as well not say anything to Brenden for the rest of the night. He’s as mute as the mechanical llama at Lily Putt’s!”

  “So impressive!” Beth Blank said. Then she added, “Here, let me show you boys where to go.”

  And just like that I stepped forward, pulling the cart behind me, crossing over the threshold and into the musty and cool interior of the Purdy House.

  65. Well, my shoes, with my feet inside them.

  HUNDREDS OF EYES

  Someone—anyone—should have given Timmy and Beth Blank a few pointers on how to effectively decorate a home so that it feels welcoming and inviting, as opposed to ghastly and horrifying.