by R. L. Stine
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4197-4365-8
Signed edition ISBN 978-1-4197-5999-4
eISBN 978-1-68335-840-4
Copyright © 2021 The Topps Company, Inc.
™ & © The Topps Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Garbage Pail Kids and GPK are registered trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc. and is officially licensed by The Topps Company, Inc.
Background artwork credits: Dirty Surface: Shutterstock/garmoncheg; Notebook: Shutterstock/Pixfiction; Clipboard: Shutterstock/NWM
By R.L. Stine
Interior illustrations by Jeff Zapata, Fred Wheaton, and Chris Meeks
Cover art by Joe Simko
Book design by Brenda E. Angelilli
Published in 2021 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
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Thanks once again go to the best friends of the Garbage Pail Kids, Ira Friedman of Topps and Charlie Kochman of Abrams. I couldn’t write these books without their knowledge, advice, and good (gross and ghastly) humor.
ONE
Welcome, everyone. I’m Adam Bomb, and I think I might E-X-P-L-O-D-E with excitement. I’m warming my hands by a fire along with my nine friends. We are sitting in a circle watching the flames crackle and dance.
I don’t know what you’ve heard about us, but the stories are all true. The ten of us live in a big, old house—all by ourselves—in the town of Smellville.
We don’t know where our parents went.
We don’t know how we all arrived in the house together.
And we don’t know much of anything.
But we don’t care—because we have such a good time.
And now we’re all going to summer camp together.
We hear that Camp Lemme-Owttahere is a total blast. Someone told us that 80 percent of the campers survive the summer. That sounds like pretty good odds to us.
We are so pumped, we’ve read all about the camp. Did you know that Camp Lemme-Owttahere is the only summer camp where kids can learn meat-processing?
Awesome!
Junkfood John is so excited. He said, “Just think. By the end of summer, we’ll all be making our own bacon and sausages.”
Babbling Brooke can’t wait for the horseback riding. Sadly, the camp’s horse died last summer. But we’re still allowed to ride it.
Isn’t that something?
Brainy Janey wants to study birds at camp. “Most birds live in cages,” Janey told us. “But some birds live in the wild.”
Brainy Janey knows everything. She’s so smart, she can read in the dark.
“Did you know there are at least six different kinds of birds in the world?” she said. “Most of them are canaries. But there are other kinds, too.”
“I once saw a Philadelphia Eagle,” Wacky Jackie said. “He didn’t look like a bird at all. He was wearing a helmet and shoulder pads. I wrote it up for science class.”
You never know what Jackie will say. Most of the time, her words are well worth ignoring.
“I sewed a dress out of bird feathers once,” Handy Sandy said. She’s so handy. “But I couldn’t wear it because I’m ticklish. Also, I’m allergic to feathers.”
“Did you get a rash?” Nervous Rex asked her.
“No,” she replied. “But my whole body broke out in big red spots.”
Don’t ask.
Handy Sandy has been saving up boxes of tissues because she has big plans for camp. “I want to build my own canoe out of tissues,” she told us. “I just have to figure out how to make them waterproof.”
Even Cranky Frankie is looking forward to summer camp. Frankie is so cranky, he shouts at himself in the mirror. He complains about everything. In fact, he once complained that his nose was on too tight.
Now that’s cranky.
“I can’t wait to tell the camp chef how lousy his food is!” Frankie declared. “I’m going to start complaining about our cabin even before we see it. And why do I have to wear wet sneakers every day?”
I squinted at him. “Frankie, why will your sneakers be wet?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But just thinking about it makes me cranky.”
As you can see, we are all eager to get to Camp Lemme-Owttahere. Everyone, that is, except for Nervous Rex.
Rex doesn’t want to go to camp. “The outdoors makes me nervous,” he told us. “I was once bitten by a tree.”
So, here we are sitting around a practice campfire. Darkness all around us. Bright yellow and orange flames leaping high. The heat feels good on my cheeks.
Camp doesn’t start till next week, but I thought a practice campfire would help put us all in the mood.
I didn’t know it would go so wrong.
TWO
We wanted to build a big campfire that we could all sit around, but we couldn’t find any firewood.
“Firewood was invented in 1925,” Brainy Janey told us. “Before that, people had to burn stones. They discovered that wood was a lot easier to light—especially after matches were invented in 1955.”
Janey knows everything, but I’m not so sure everything she says is true.
We always have a lot of matches around because Cranky Frankie often threatens to set our parrot on fire.
That sounds cruel. But Ptooey, our dumb parrot, is always asking for it. Whenever Frankie comes near, Ptooey lifts one leg and squawks, “Awwwk. Come over here. I’ve got a special-delivery present to deliver to your face!”
Cranky Frankie tells the parrot to shut his yap.
“Awwwk,” Ptooey squawks. “Want to improve your looks? I’ll peck your head off!”
That’s when Frankie usually goes for the matches.
“How can we build a campfire without firewood?” Babbling Brooke asked.
Of course, Handy Sandy had an answer. “We can use furniture,” she said. “Tables and chairs will burn nicely.”
She was right. A few minutes later, we had a blazing fire.
“Get the hot dogs,” I said. “It’s important to roast hot dogs around a campfire. This is an awesome practice. Like we’ll be doing at camp.”
“Uh . . . there’s just one problem, Adam,” Junkfood John said.
“Problem?” I asked.
He nodded. “I ate all the hot dogs as an after-dinner snack.”
Luke Puke swallowed loudly. “But . . . John . . . those hot dogs were raw!” he said.
John shrugged. “I thought they were a little chewy!”
Luke made an ULLLP sound. He then grabbed his belly and ran to the bathroom.
“We can send for some pizza,” Rob Slob said. “Then we can burn the boxes.” He sat across the fire from me. The bright flames danced over his face.
“I like your new shirt, Rob,” I told him. “All that green f
ringe hanging on the front looks really awesome.”
“I’m not wearing a shirt,” Rob said.
Perhaps Rob Slob needs a bath. But no one wants to be the one to tell him.
Babbling Brooke jumped to her feet. “I want to do my summer camp cheer,” she announced. Brooke wants to be a cheerleader. She writes cheers for everything. Last week, she wrote a cheer for when her shoelace tore.
Brooke clapped her hands. “Here goes!” she cried. “I haven’t quite finished it, but it’s almost ready.”
She leaped into the air and started her cheer:
“SUMMER CAMP! SUMMER CAMP!
“YOU’RE SO SOMETHING.
“YAY, CAMP. WHY DO I LOVE IT?
“BECAUSE SOMETHING
“SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING.
“YAAAAY, CAMP!”
Brooke did a high cartwheel and landed with a THUD on her head. We all heard her skull crack. But it didn’t seem to bother her.
“I know . . . my cheer still needs some work,” she said. “I’m going to finish it before camp starts.”
The bright orange flames stretched higher. The fire crackled and popped.
“At camp,” Brainy Janey said, “kids sit around the campfire at night and tell ghost stories.” She gazed around our circle. “Does anyone know a good ghost story?”
We all thought about it.
“I know a story,” Wacky Jackie said. “But it doesn’t have a ghost in it.”
“I used to know a good ghost story,” Rob Slob said. “But I forgot how it goes.”
Nervous Rex hugged himself. “I-I don’t like ghost stories,” he stammered. “You have to be dead to be a ghost—don’t you?”
“Yes, most ghosts are dead,” I told him.
“W-well, that makes me nervous,” Rex said. “Why can’t people tell stories that don’t have ghosts in them?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer that question. I suddenly noticed something, and jumped to my feet.
“Maybe,” I said, “we should have built this campfire outdoors instead of in the living room.”
“Why?” Wacky Jackie asked.
“Because the house is on fire!” I cried.
THREE
“What should we do?” Babbling Brooke asked.
“Run!” I shouted, then spun to the door and took off.
The others leaped to their feet and came running after me. Our shoes thudded on the grass as we burst out into the cool night.
As we all huddled together in the front yard, we watched the fire. Flames shot out of the front windows, like they wanted to chase after us. The crackling fire was as loud as thunder.
Junkfood John bumped me on the shoulder. His eyes were wide, and he was breathing hard. “Adam, I have to go back in,” he said.
“No way,” I said. “Why?”
John pointed to the house. “I have no choice. I left two bags of Chipotle Corn-Dog Chips and a bag of Pretzel-Covered Sesame Seeds in there!”
John lowered his head like a bull about to charge, but I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. “I know it’s a tragic loss,” I explained to him. “But you can’t go back in. Maybe your snacks will survive the fire.”
“But I don’t like them toasted!” John insisted.
“I know how badly you feel,” I told John. “But some day in the future you’ll get over your sadness.”
We stood and watched the fire spread over the whole house. No one spoke. The roar of the flames was too loud to shout over.
Cranky Frankie stepped close to me, shaking his head. “This really burns me up,” he said.
I think he was making a joke.
Or was he just being cranky?
I heard fire engine sirens in the distance. But I knew the fire trucks were already too late. The house was burning to the ground.
“We’re lucky our neighbors are away,” Babbling Brooke said. “And that we decided to camp out and light a fire in their house. Otherwise, we’d have nowhere to sleep tonight!”
Brooke always looks on the bright side.
FOUR
Hi, everyone. Brainy Janey here. I’m going to continue our exciting camp story.
A week later, we were frantically packing up. The camp bus was coming for us in an hour. But what should we bring? We were all in a total panic.
I helped Nervous Rex pack his bag, which included a pair of socks and forty cans of bug spray. “Mosquitos make me nervous,” Rex said. “Once, I thought I had an enormous mosquito bite. But it turned out to be my head.”
Last week, I gave Rex a book titled How Not to Be Nervous. But he doesn’t like to read books because he once got a paper cut.
“I can’t find my stomach medicine,” Luke Puke wailed. “Has anyone seen my stomach medicine? I really need it.”
“Does it actually help you?” I asked.
Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. Every time I take it, I puke.”
“Hey, what’s that pounding noise?” Adam Bomb shouted.
We all listened. Handy Sandy had put a big wooden camp trunk in the center of the floor earlier. The pounding was coming from inside the trunk.
Rob Slob popped the latch and lifted the trunk lid. Handy Sandy was lying down inside the trunk.
“Thanks,” she said, climbing out.
“What were you doing in there?” Rob asked.
“I was putting a lamp inside the trunk so I could see my clothes in the dark,” Sandy said. “But I couldn’t think of a way to keep the lid open while I was inside.”
Isn’t she clever?
Meanwhile, Adam Bomb crossed the room to help Cranky Frankie with his camp bag. Adam struggled and strained to lift the bag, but he finally gave up. “Too heavy,” he groaned.
Frankie scowled at Adam. “Are you telling me I can’t bring my bowling ball to camp?”
As Adam thought about the question, I asked Junkfood John, “Did you pack a lot of snacks for camp?”
“Not a lot,” he said.
I looked down and saw that he had packed twelve suitcases.
“Know what I’m going to do at camp?” Wacky Jackie asked. “I’m going to start a bug collection.” She reached out and pulled a few large bugs from Rob Slob’s hair. “Where’s my collecting jar? These will get me started.”
“Hey, those are mine!” Rob Slob cried. “Give ’em back!”
Babbling Brooke skipped in front of the living room window. “I’m going to do a new cheer for Camp Lemme-Owttahere!” she announced. Then she clapped her hands, leaped into the air, and cheered:
“GIVE ME A C!
“GIVE ME AN A!
“GIVE ME AN M!
“GIVE ME ANOTHER M!
“GIVE ME A P!
“WHAT DOES THAT SPELL?
“I SAID, WHAT DOES THAT SPELL?
“CAMMP!
“WE LOVE CAMMP!
“YAAAAY, CAMMP!”
Brooke is a terrible speller. But she has a lot of enthusiasm.
She ended her cheer with a backward somersault and kicked out the living room window. Glass shattered everywhere, but she didn’t seem to notice.
We started to clap. But we stopped when we heard a loud knock on the front door.
Who was it? The camp bus driver? Was it time to go?
I pulled open the front door—and gasped.
“You?” I cried. “What are you doing here?!”
FIVE
I stared in surprise at Patty and Peter, the Perfect twins.
The Perfects live across the street from us with their parents, Parker and Penny Perfect. The family is perfect in every way. Name anything—they’re perfect at it.
Patty and Peter flashed their perfect smiles, and I could see their gleaming white perfect teeth. They wore matching white Polo shirts and dark, straight-legged jeans. Their perfect white sneakers glowed so brightly, I thought their feet were on fire.
Three guesses about how my friends and I feel about Patty and Peter Perfect. You are right. We think they are perfectly awful.
But here they were, marching into our house, sweeping back their perfect hair, and gazing around the room at us with their sparkling blue eyes.
“We are going to Camp Lemme-Owttahere, too,” Peter said. He stared at the bags and suitcases scattered over the floor. “We packed last year,” he said. “Just so we’d be ready.”
Patty frowned at me. “Your bags don’t match. How can you go to camp without matching bags?”
I just stared back at Patty. I didn’t know how to answer her. And I’m the brainy one in this house.
Cranky Frankie squinted at the Perfects. “Are you sure you want to go on the bus with us?”
“We’re not taking the bus,” Patty said. “Our parents are driving Peter and me to camp because they’re perfect parents.”
“The camp bus has vinyl seats,” Peter added. “And we don’t like to have vinyl against our perfect skin. You know how irritating vinyl can be.”
“No, no we don’t,” Frankie muttered.
“Are you going to be in our cabin?” Babbling Brooke asked Patty.
Patty stuck a finger down her throat and pretended to gag.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Brooke asked.
“We won’t be staying in some cabin like you guys,” Patty told her. “Peter and I are bringing our own two-room tent.” She sneered at Brooke. “A cabin doesn’t have enough closet space for my summer wardrobe.”
“And we’re bringing our own hot tub so we’ll be able to unwind at the end of the day,” Peter said.
Peter glanced across the room. “Can I help you take that pile of garbage off the couch?”
“That isn’t a pile of garbage,” Adam Bomb said. “It’s Rob Slob.”
Adam’s face was bright red. He looked about to explode. We all hate it when Adam explodes. It’s so messy.
“Sorry,” Peter said. “The smell is so gross, I just thought—”
“We’re used to it,” Adam said. He then took a few steps toward the Perfect twins. “So why did you two come over here?” he demanded. “Just to insult us?”
“We came over because you are our friends and we wanted to help you,” Patty said.