Welcome to Smellville

by R. L. Stine

  “Try the window,” I said.

  A few seconds later, we were standing in the backyard.

  We heard the thudding footsteps coming from next door. And when we turned, we saw Big Bootus come bouncing around the side of the house.

  The piggy bank, tightly gripped in his hands, gleamed in the moonlight.

  “Stop right there!” Jonny boomed. “You’ll never get away with that piggy bank!”

  Big Bootus tossed his head back and laughed. “Jonny, your deep voice may have just given me a chill. But I’ll bet my big bootus you can’t catch me!”

  The race was on.

  “YODEL-AY-EEE-OOOO!” Jonny shouted his famous battle cry. Then he lowered his shoulder like a football running back and took off after the criminal.

  Big Bootus’s boots thudded the grass as he rocketed across the yard.

  “You’re catching up, Jonny!” I shouted. “You’re gonna get him!” But then I saw Jonny’s pants start to slip.

  Jonny made a grab for them. Too late.

  His Pants of Steel dropped down around his knees. He tripped over them, staggered, and fell face down on the driveway.

  When Jonny sat up, he had gravel in his teeth. “If I only had those suspenders,” he said sadly.

  We watched Big Bootus disappear down the street with the two-million-dollar piggy bank.

  “I’ll get you next time!” Jonny yelled. “Or my name isn’t Jonny Pantsfalldown!”

  That’s our exciting adventure for today, boys and girls. Until next time, this is the Mighty Hairball saying: “Keep your pants up—and reach for the stars!”

  ELEVEN

  It’s me again, Brainy Janey. I’ll take it from here . . .

  Adam Bomb grabbed the TV remote from Wacky Jackie’s hand and clicked off the TV.

  Jackie tried to grab it back. “Why’d you turn it off?” she demanded. “There’s another Jonny Pantsfalldown coming on after the commercial.”

  “This is the episode where his pants fall up!” Junkfood John said. “It’s a riot.”

  Adam was red in the face. “I’m trying to explain to you we have a real emergency on our hands. If Mr. and Mrs. Perfect find out we have no parents here, we’ll all be sent away. We’ll lose everything.”

  Babbling Brooke chimed in. “Do you think they’ll send us someplace nice? Like Pupick Falls?”

  “No,” I said. “They’ll split us up, Brooke. The city of Smellville will find homes for us. We’ll never see each other again.”

  “Do you promise?” Cranky Frankie said. Then he added, “Joking. Just joking. Man, everyone’s a critic.”

  We’re all used to Cranky Frankie’s jokes. They’re not funny at all.

  Junkfood John jumped up from the couch. “I’m going to the kitchen for some snacks,” he said.

  “Could you bring me the bag of Fruit Smash-Ups?” Handy Sandy asked.

  “I already smashed them and ate them,” Junkfood John replied. He then burped the alphabet.

  Adam Bomb grabbed John and pulled him back to the couch. “We don’t have time for snacks,” he said. “The Perfects will be here any minute.”

  We all turned to the door. Silence. No one was knocking.

  “Adam is right,” I said. “We need to have a meeting right now. I’m sure we can put our heads together and think of a way to stop the Perfects.”

  It got quiet, and everyone was staring at me. “Not literally,” I explained. “We need to brainstorm and come up with a plan.”

  “All this talk is making me nervous,” said Nervous Rex. He sat on the floor clinging to Pooper as if he was drowning and the dog was a life preserver.

  “You’ve got to calm down, Rex,” I said. “You even tremble and shake when you’re asleep.”

  “My dreams make me nervous,” he said.

  “What do you dream?” I asked.

  “I always dream that I’m nervous.”

  “Well, this isn’t a dream,” Adam interrupted. “The Perfects are real.”

  “I heard their dog barking this afternoon,” Babbling Brooke said.

  “No you didn’t,” Adam said. “Why do you think they named their dog Good Boy? He’s so good, he only barks if they ask him to.”

  “Adam is right,” I said. “The dog really is perfect. When they give him a dog biscuit, he says grace before he eats it.”

  The Perfects have two pets: Good Boy, the dog. And their cat, Mister Purrfect.

  I know, yucky name, right?

  “So let’s all think,” I said. “How can we keep the Perfects from finding out we don’t have any parents?”

  TWELVE

  The room grew quiet as everyone tried to think.

  “We could blindfold the Perfects when they come over?” Wacky Jackie suggested.

  “That would work!” Babbling Brooke babbled.

  “Please don’t make me say that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Cranky Frankie said.

  “Go ahead . . . say it,” I replied.

  Frankie took a breath. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

  “If we all stood on our heads,” Wacky Jackie said, “they’d be so confused, they wouldn’t know if we had parents or not.”

  “Please don’t make me say that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Cranky Frankie repeated.

  “It’s easy to criticize,” Jackie sneered.

  “Let me put my brainiac brain to work,” I said. “I know I can come up with a good plan.”

  I shut my eyes. I gritted my teeth. I held my breath. And I let my brain go to work.

  A few minutes later, I opened my eyes. “I’ve got it,” I said.

  Adam Bomb settled down on the couch next to Wacky Jackie and Junkfood John. “I knew brainiac here would save us,” he said. “What’s your plan?”

  “Easy,” I said. “We go to the costume store. And two of us will dress as grown-ups.”

  A hush fell over the room. Everyone was squinting at me.

  “There is no costume store in Smellville,” Adam said finally.

  “And we’re all too short,” Brooke added. “We’re kid-size.”

  “A grown-up costume wouldn’t fit any of us. It would just fall off,’” Jackie said.

  I shrugged. “Okay, okay. I admit it. There are a few flaws to my plan.”

  “We have to surrender,” Nervous Rex said, biting his fingernails. “We have to give up. We don’t stand a chance.”

  “Take a breath, Rex,” Adam said.

  “We’re doomed!” Rex cried. “We’re doomed!”

  “Ptooey! Ptooey!” The parrot suddenly woke up on his perch against the window. “I’ll peck your guts out! Come over here! I’ll peck your guts!”

  “Why do we keep that parrot?” Cranky Frankie moaned.

  “Because he’s so cute,” Babbling Brooke gushed. “So cute and lovable. Look how he tilts his head from side to side. So adorable!”

  “Come over here!” the parrot squawked. “I’ll give you a new nostril!”

  Suddenly, Junkfood John jumped to his feet. “I have it!” he shouted. “I have it!”

  “What do you have?” I asked.

  “I have a major stomachache!” he cried. “ULLLLLP. I shouldn’t have eaten that whole bag of Fruit Smash-Ups!” Holding his belly, John went running to the bathroom.

  “I think I have an idea.” We all turned to Handy Sandy, who sat at the table, twirling a screwdriver between her hands.

  “You know how to keep the Perfects away?” I asked.

  Sandy nodded. “I’ve been experimenting with electricity,” she said. “Trying a few things out. See this?” She held up a device with tangled wires and several large batteries.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “For shocking people,” Sandy said. “See this electrode? I was going to attach it to Wacky Jackie. She’s my lab partner in science class.”

  Jackie leaned forward on the couch. “You were going to attach that to me?”

  Sandy nodded. “I wanted to do
a test. You know. See how much electricity I could shoot into Jackie before she screamed and fell unconscious.”

  “Cool! That experiment would probably get us extra credit!” Jackie exclaimed.

  “But, wait!” Handy Sandy exclaimed. She sucked on the screwdriver blade for a few moments. She’s always putting tools in her mouth. It’s pretty gross.

  “What if . . .” Sandy started. “We used this little gadget to electrify the front doorknob?”

  We all stared at her. We weren’t sure what she meant to do.

  “Anyone who touches the door knob gets zapped,” Sandy said, a grin spreading over her face. “And I mean zapped. I’ll fix it so a powerful jolt of electricity shocks whoever touches the knob. One shock and the Perfects will go running off—and they’ll vibrate for a week.”

  “Brilliant!” I said. “That’s the perfect way to treat our perfectly nosy neighbors, the Perfects.”

  Everyone agreed. So Handy Sandy went to work.

  She spent hours wiring the doorknob. Attaching electrodes. Getting the power just right. Hiding the wires so no one could see them.

  And wouldn’t you know it? A few hours after Sandy finished, Mr. and Mrs. Perfect showed up.

  We watched from the window as they approached our house.

  We hid where they couldn’t see us.

  And we held our breath and waited for one of them to touch . . . THE DOORKNOB OF DOOM.

  THIRTEEN

  Adam Bomb again. Allow me to continue the story from here . . .

  I felt so tense, I nearly exploded.

  The Perfect twins, Peter and Patty, are bad news. But their parents, Parker and Penny Perfect, are a lot worse. They demand that Peter and Patty be perfect in every way.

  Their pets have to be perfect, too. They even trained Mister Purrfect to stand up, salute, and purr “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

  We knew the Perfects didn’t like being our neighbors. I’ll be the first to admit it. We aren’t exactly perfect.

  We are noisy sometimes. We laugh a lot. We scream just for the fun of it.

  Sometimes Wacky Jackie plays the bagpipes late at night when she can’t sleep. Our house band, the Bleeding Scabs, often practices in the backyard at night.

  For some reason, Pooper, our big lovable mutt, thinks the Perfects’ front yard is a bathroom.

  But that doesn’t make us bad neighbors—does it?

  And now here they were, snooping on us. Eager to see if we had any parents. Ready to have us thrown out of our own home just because we are on our own.

  It wasn’t fair.

  And so, here I was, holding my breath along with everyone else. Waiting to hear the delightful BUZZZZZZZZZZ that meant one of them had grabbed the doorknob and was receiving the shock of their life.

  “Is anyone home?” I heard Parker Perfect shout from the front stoop.

  “The door is open. Come on in!” I shouted back.

  Here it comes . . . ! Here it comes . . . !

  The front door swung open. And Penny Perfect stepped into the house, followed by her husband.

  They had smiles on their tanned faces. But we knew the smiles were pasted on. And as they sniffed the air, their smiles faded quickly.

  “Hello, everyone,” Parker Perfect said.

  We were all too stunned to answer.

  The doorknob . . . I stared hard at it. The doorknob . . . It was a major fail.

  Handy Sandy’s face was bright red. She started to sputter and choke, then ran to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  “How is everyone today?” Penny Perfect asked cheerily.

  No one answered. We were all thinking the same thing. Why weren’t they running for their lives, shrieking in pain?

  “We came to speak to your parents,” Parker Perfect said. “Are they home?”

  “Ptooey! Come over here. I’ll peck your eyes! I’ll eat your eyeballs like olives!”

  Both Perfects gasped and turned toward Ptooey.

  Mr. Perfect pointed at the bird. “Is that your parrot? Did you teach him to say that?”

  “We didn’t teach him,” I said. “He kinda learned it on his own.”

  “Ptooey!” The fat parrot lifted one scrawny bird leg and—PLOP—he pooped on the floor. We keep forgetting to put newspaper down.

  “Could we speak to your mother or father?” Penny Perfect asked. I could see she was tense and didn’t know what to do with her hands. She tried to shove them into her pockets, but she didn’t have pockets.

  “Would you like a snack?” Junkfood John asked. “I have a bag of oat balls I could bring out.”

  Mr. Perfect squinted up his face. “Oat balls?”

  John nodded. “Yeah. They’re awesome if you dip them in pork and beans.”

  “No, thank you,” Parker Perfect said.

  “I have clam bellies, too,” Junkfood John said. “They’re cold and a little slimy, but they still slide down your throat real good.”

  Mrs. Perfect covered her mouth with one hand. She had gone pale. Well, actually, her skin had become pale green.

  “Your mother or father?” she asked, her voice suddenly weak.

  “They’re not home,” Brainy Janey said. I could see Janey’s brain had gone into high gear.

  “Where are they?” Penny Perfect asked.

  “They . . . had to go to the dentist,” Janey said.

  “The dentist? Both of them?” Mr. Perfect asked.

  “Yes,” Janey replied. “They had to have all their teeth pulled.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Perfect cried. “That’s horrible. Parker and I have perfect teeth. We go to the dentist once a week to have them checked. And they’re always perfect.”

  “Why did they have all their teeth pulled?” Mr. Perfect asked.

  Janey shrugged. “They just wanted to. For looks, I guess. They were having their piercings removed from their tongues, too.”

  Both Perfects looked sick now. Penny’s chin was trembling. Parker kept swallowing hard.

  “Well . . . we’ll come back,” Penny said, turning away. “We’ll come visit them when they’re over their . . . dental problems.”

  “Yes. Tell them we came by to say hi,” Parker added.

  The Perfects stumbled to the front of the house and quickly disappeared outside. The door closed hard behind them.

  “Whew! That was close!” I cried.

  “Way to go!” Babbling Brooke cried, and slapped Janey on the back. Janey and Junkfood John did a fist bump. “Go, Janey! Go, Janey!”

  “I’m still shaking,” Nervous Rex stammered. “Look at me. I can’t stop sh-shaking.” He shook so hard, he rolled out of his chair and lay trembling on the floor.

  “They’re gone. They couldn’t wait to get out of here,” I said. “Did you see the looks on their faces? Sick. They were sick!”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Cranky Frankie said. “They’ll be back.”

  Then we all turned to Handy Sandy.

  “What happened?” I asked. “The doorknob? The great electrical shock that was supposed to send them away screaming?”

  Sandy scratched her head. “Let me check.”

  She reached under the table and pulled up the control box. “Hmmmm hmmmm.” Sandy hummed as she lowered her face close and examined it.

  Finally, she looked up. “Wouldn’t you know it?” she muttered. “I forgot to turn it on.”

  “You what?” I cried.

  “I forgot to turn it on.” She threw the switch and it made a loud click. “Now it’s on. Watch,” Sandy said.

  She walked to the front door. Then wrapped her hand around the doorknob.

  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAPP!

  “YEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

  FOURTEEN

  Nervous Rex here. I guess it’s my turn to take over the story.

  A week later, we were in school getting ready for art class.

  Art class makes me nervous because I never know what to draw or paint or what to make. And I always think everyone else is be
tter than me.

  One day after class, I went up to Mrs. Hooping-Koff and told her how I felt. “I always think everyone is better than me,” I said.

  “Yes, everyone is better than you,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do your best.”

  Those encouraging words meant a lot to me.

  We were all sitting on wooden stools around a long table, waiting for Mrs. Hooping-Koff to hand out art supplies. Wacky Jackie stuck two paintbrushes in her nose. “Check it out. I’m a walrus,” she said.

  Cranky Frankie frowned at her. “Jackie, did anyone ever tell you you’re a riot?” he asked.

  Jackie shook her head. “No.”

  “Well, there’s a reason,” Frankie said. “Why don’t you shut your yap?

  Rob Slob had a runny nose. He always has a runny nose. “Does anyone have a tissue?” he asked. He had already dripped a big puddle of snot on the table in front of him.

  “Just use the back of your hand,” Wacky Jackie said. “That’s what I do.” She held up her hand, and it had a huge glob of green drippy stuff hanging from it.

  “No one has a tissue? No problem,” Rob Slob said, and wiped a glob of snot onto the front of Luke Puke’s T-shirt.

  Wacky Jackie turned to Babbling Brooke, who was sitting across the table from her. “Brooke, do you eat spaghetti with your right hand or your left hand?” she asked.

  “My right hand,” Brooke said. “Why?”

  Jackie giggled. “That’s funny. I use a fork!”

  Everyone laughed. That was a pretty good joke.

  Jokes make me nervous. I never know if they are funny or not. And then I don’t know how long I should laugh.

  I tried to tell a joke once. But I got too nervous to finish it and I had to run away.

  Rob Slob made a disgusted face. “Where is that horrible smell coming from?”

  “Can you spell Y-O-U?” Cranky Frankie said.

  Rob sniffed both armpits. “No . . . it’s not me.”

  He’s so lucky. He can’t smell his own odor.

  “Get real! You stink!” Luke Puke cried.

  Just then Mrs. Hooping-Koff came into the room. “You need to broaden your vocabulary, Luke,” she said. “Rob doesn’t stink. He has a putrid aroma.”