by R. L. Stine
“It’s a bear.”
I let out a loud gasp. “We’ve been following a bear?!” I cried.
Janey raised her finger to her lips again. “Shhhh,” she hissed. “Listen to me. The bear won’t bother you unless you show fear.”
Janey paused for a moment, then added, “But I could be wrong about that.”
There was only one thing to do. Make that two:
We all (1) screamed and (2) ran for our lives.
SIXTEEN
I’m Wacky Jackie, and I’ll continue this horror story.
Sure, we all ran for our lives. But it seemed like the right thing to do with a large brown bear lumbering after us.
I heard a long, loud growl behind me that didn’t sound at all friendly. As I ran over the dead leaves and fallen twigs and low shrubs, I knew what the bear was thinking. He was thinking we were meat!
We had been totally silent as we tracked the bear. But now, with him tracking us, we were all screaming our heads off. He growled and howled, and we screamed.
Even Brainy Janey, who is so smart she can tell a bear from a dog, was shrieking and wailing as she ran toward the camp. And Nasty Nancy kept turning back and yelling at the bear, “Go home! Go home!”
But I don’t think it understood English, because it followed us right into camp.
Patty and Peter Perfect waved to us from their tent as we ran screaming by. Adam Bomb and Junkfood John saw us coming and ducked behind a cabin.
I ran to the mess hall. My idea was to burst inside and shut the doors behind me. But I wasn’t fast enough.
I stumbled on the wooden stairs. And when I turned around, the bear had me trapped against the wall.
It let out a victory roar and stood up on its hind legs, snarling and drooling hungrily. Its shadow washed over me, and then it raised itself high and started to wrap its heavy paws around me.
I screamed.
The bear’s eyes went wide. And to my surprise, it lifted its paws and took a step back.
The bear tilted his head from side to side, as if he were confused. He retreated another step. Then he raised his snout and sniffed the air noisily.
SNIFF SNIFF SNIFFFFF.
I stood frozen against the wall, too frightened to move.
The bear did some more sniffing. And then he curled his lips and made a whimpering sound. I swear he had a sick look on his face.
What was going on?
I turned and saw Rob Slob standing nearby.
The bear whimpered like a hurt puppy. He sniffed again and took another step back.
It took me a few seconds to realize that Rob Slob was a hero.
The bear couldn’t stand Rob’s smell!
The bear raised his head to the sky and let out a long howl. Then he dropped to all fours, turned, and went galloping off to the woods.
“What’s up?” Rob Slob asked me.
I said, “Rob, whatever you do, don’t take a bath this summer.”
“I won’t,” he replied. “Actually, I don’t remember how.”
SEVENTEEN
Adam Bomb here. I was getting ready to go into the woods with the other guys and hunt for our dinner, so I’ll continue the story.
Everyone was set to go, except for Nervous Rex. He said he’d wait for us in the cabin, and he wished us all good luck.
We passed around a can of bug spray, and we sprayed it over our faces, hands, arms, and legs. Then Cranky Frankie looked at the can and groaned. “This isn’t bug spray,” he said. “It’s Liquid Grease.”
I took the can from him and read the label. He was right. We had sprayed ourselves with cooking grease.
“Why do we have a spray can of grease in the cabin?” I asked.
No one answered. But then Junkfood John raised his hand. “I brought a couple of cans,” he confessed. “It isn’t bad if you get really thirsty.”
“John, why don’t you just drink water instead?” Luke Puke asked.
Junkfood John rubbed his jaw. “Water. Oh yeah. Water. I didn’t think of that.”
Luke Puke made a disgusted face. “Now we all smell like cooking grease. Hope it doesn’t make me puke.”
Cranky Frankie rolled his eyes. “Waking up in the morning makes you puke,” he said.
We stepped out into the sunlight. It was a beautiful day, and the sun felt warm on my face as it started to heat up the cooking grease. The girls’ cabins were empty, which meant they must already be in the woods.
A skinny gray squirrel darted past us. “Catch it!” Rob Slob cried. “We can skin it and roast it over the campfire.”
Luke Puke grabbed his stomach. “ULLLP. First chipmunk salad. Now squirrels?”
Junkfood John smiled. “I had squirrel-on-a-stick once at a carnival,” he said.
“What did it taste like?” Luke Puke asked him.
John shrugged. “It was okay, but the stick was better.”
As we walked into the woods, Junkfood John continued. “I once had fish sticks on a stick.”
“What did it taste like?” I asked.
“Chicken,” he said. He turned to me. “Do you notice that everything always tastes like chicken? No matter what you cook, it tastes exactly like chicken.”
“That’s deep,” Cranky Frankie said.
“Duck!” Luke Puke said.
“Yes. Duck can be very tasty,” Junkfood John said.
“No, duck!” Luke Puke cried.
“In fact, I even had duck-on-a-stick once,” Junkfood John said.
“NOOO!” Luke Puke screamed, pointing. “Duck! Duck!”
I heard a loud CRAACK overhead and looked up in time to see a big branch break off a tree and come crashing down.
It landed on top of Pat Splat.
He hit the ground and didn’t get up.
“Funny,” Junkfood John said, “duck-on-a-stick tastes a lot like chicken, too.”
EIGHTEEN
It took a long time to revive Pat Splat.
I thought maybe he’d wake up if we tickled him.
Luke Puke thought we should give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but no one wanted to do that.
“Maybe we should pull the tree branch off him first,” Cranky Frankie suggested.
We tugged the branch away and, sure enough, Pat sat up and seemed to be okay. Well . . . almost okay.
“Is my head on backward?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “But it will probably turn back around.”
“You can always just put your clothes on backward,” Rob Slob said.
“Isn’t that furry green shirt of yours on backward?” I asked Rob Slob.
“I’m still not wearing a shirt,” Rob said.
He’s the only dude I know who looks good in mold.
I gazed up, and my eye caught something in another tree branch. “Hey, guys, check it out,” I said pointing.
They all followed my gaze. “Is that a bird’s nest?” Junkfood John asked.
I nodded. “Yes, it’s a nest. A very big bird’s nest. Maybe there are eggs in there. Then Chef Indy can make us an omelet!”
My stomach growled. I was hungrier than I thought. I imagined a big, tasty omelet on my plate with potatoes and bacon. “Who wants to climb up and check it out?” I asked.
No one volunteered.
“Tree bark makes me nauseous,” Luke Puke said, holding his stomach.
“You have to get over that problem, Luke,” I said. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time this summer in the woods. Now go on. This will be good for you.” I gave him a push toward the tree.
“I . . . don’t . . . think . . . so,” Luke said.
I gave him another push. Then I took his hands and wrapped them around the tree trunk. “Go ahead. Climb up and see what’s in the nest. You want to be Camp Champ—don’t you?”
I didn’t give him a chance to answer. I gave Luke a hard boost to get him started up the tree.
The other guys all clapped. “Go, Luke! Go, Luke!”
I wished Babbling
Brooke was here. She could do a cheer to encourage him to climb. It would probably go something like this . . .
“GO, LUKE!
“GO, LUKE!
“LUKE, DON’T PUKE!”
Maybe I should write cheers, too.
We all stood around the tree and watched as Luke climbed the trunk. He scrabbled up in a total panic. He was so frantic, his sneakers kicked sheets of bark off the tree. We had to back away to keep from getting hit.
Finally, Luke made it up to the limb that held the bird’s nest. Gripping the limb with both hands, he raised himself over the nest and peered down into it.
“I see eggs!” he shouted down. “But they’re moving!”
“Huh?” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “What do you mean, the eggs are moving?”
“They’re walking around the nest,” Luke reported. “I guess you wouldn’t call them eggs. They’re chicks. Baby birds.”
Beside me, Junkfood John started to drool. “Baby birds. Yum.”
“Come on down,” I shouted to Luke. “Leave them alone and—”
I stopped because I saw a big shadow in the sky. The shadow grew larger as it flew nearer. And when it came into focus, I recognized it—a huge eagle.
“Hey, Luke—” I shouted. But I knew he couldn’t hear me because the eagle was squawking and screaming too loud.
The big bird raised its wings and dove down to the nest. And then it made a horrible racket as it angrily shrieked at Luke, smacking him with its wide wings.
SMACK SMACK SMACKSMACKSMACK!
“It’s the mama eagle!” Pat Splat cried. “Guess she doesn’t like Luke checking out her babies.”
“You think? Look out, Luke!” I cried.
The nest fell from the tree limb and landed on Pat Splat’s head. He fell to the ground, but shrugged it off and got right back up. He sure is impressive in that regard.
Above our heads, the eagle was bleating like an angry goat and tearing at Luke’s T-shirt with her talons.
“Oh noooo,” I moaned.
The eagle dug her talons into Luke’s shoulders, flapped her wings, lifted him off the tree—and flew away with him.
We could still hear Luke’s cries when he was a tiny speck in the distance.
We stood there in silence for a while, looking up at the sky. And then Junkfood John turned to me. “I wonder what eagle tastes like?” he asked.
Already a mile away, the high-flying eagle flapped its wide wings and probably wondered a similar question: What does this kid taste like?
NINETEEN
Brainy Janey here. I’m going to use my enormous brain to figure out how we girls can find some food in the woods. We were all disappointed that we didn’t find any meat. But I knew we could do better.
We were huddled in our cabin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sharing our ideas. Leaky Lindsay was against the wall, using her blanket for a tissue.
“I read in a magazine that there are several types of edible rocks,” I told them. “The only problem is, you have to leave them in hot water for a long time to soften them up. Otherwise, you’ll break your teeth.”
Nasty Nancy frowned at me. “Do they really call you Brainy Janey?” she said with a sneer.
“I don’t like to brag,” I said. “But I’m the smartest student at Smellville Middle School.”
“I believe it,” Nasty Nancy replied.
What did she mean by that?
“I don’t like to brag,” I continued, “but I’m so smart, I can spell my name backward and forward and inside-out.”
Nasty Nancy rolled her eyes. “Wow. Remind me to be impressed.”
“I have a new animal trap,” Handy Sandy said. “I know this one will work. It’s big enough to trap a deer.” She held up a large metal contraption shaped like a bow from a bow and arrow.
I studied the trap. “It sure looks dangerous, Sandy,” I said. “How do you know it won’t snap while you are holding it, like your last one did?”
“I solved that problem,” Handy Sandy said. She held up the trap and pointed to a little metal lock on the side. “See? I put a safety catch on this one. It can’t snap shut unless I spring the catch. Like this.”
SSSNNNAAAAAAAAAAP
“YOWWWWWWWW!” Sandy let out a cry that could be heard across the lake. She grabbed her arm and pulled the trap off, then hopped around the cabin, screaming.
That was pretty much all we heard until Leaky Lindsay let out a loud, wet sneeze. And then another. And another.
I turned to her. “Have a cold?”
“No thanks,” she said. “I think I already have one.”
TWENTY
We decided to look for nuts and berries in the woods.
“How do we find nuts and berries?” Wacky Jackie asked me. She knows I’ve read several books on the subject.
“Well, to start, most nuts come in a jar or a can,” I told her. “But you can sometimes find them in the wild.”
“We should look for squirrels,” Jackie said. “Because squirrels always know where to find the best nuts.”
“If we were at a ball game, we could find peanuts easily,” Babbling Brooke said.
“Yea, but remember, we’re not at a ball game,” I said. “We’re in the woods.”
“I love peanuts,” Brooke said. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. How do they get the nuts inside those little shells?
“You’re both nuts,” Nasty Nancy said. “Don’t you know that nuts grow on trees? And I don’t see any nut trees here in these woods.”
“Nuts are actually roots,” I explained to her. “You have to dig them up from the bottom of the tree.” If you read as many books as I do, you’d be an expert, too.
“I’d love a big, juicy hamburger,” Wacky Jackie said. “Is hamburger a fruit or a vegetable?”
“Hamburger is actually a legume,” I said. “I think—”
I stopped. My eyes landed on something on the ground.
Berries.
I pointed. “Let’s check out these dark berries,” I said. “They look delicious.”
Handy Sandy picked up a bunch of the little round berries and examined them. “These are awesome,” she said. “I’ll bet Chef Indy can bake us a berry pie.”
My stomach was rumbling and grumbling. I pictured a warm berry pie, and it brought a smile to my face.
“I brought a basket this time,” Handy Sandy said. “Let’s fill it up with these berries.”
And that’s exactly what we did. We plucked at least a hundred berries off the ground and piled them into the basket.
“Mission accomplished!” Babbling Brooke cried.
We proudly carried them back to camp. When we found Chef Indy in the mess hall, we handed him the basket of berries.
“Look what we found!” Brooke gushed. “Awesome?”
Chef Indy gazed at the berries for a long while. Then he brought the basket close to his face and sniffed them. Then he gazed at the berries some more. Then he sniffed them again.
Then he turned to us. “Why did you bring me a basket of rabbit poop?” he asked.
TWENTY-ONE
Well, that was a major fail.
I guess it was partly my fault. I’ve read many books about nuts and berries. But I haven’t read any books about rabbit poop.
We were all very disappointed—and hungry.
I noticed Leaky Lindsay was eating tissues one by one from a pack she had found. And Wacky Jackie had eaten the buttons off her tennis shorts.
“The boys haven’t come back yet,” Chef Indy said. “Maybe they will have better luck.”
I went outside to wait for them, and the others followed. We all sat down on the steps of the mess hall.
While we were waiting, Patty and Peter Perfect strolled by. They were carrying bowls of tree leaves in their hands and eating them as they walked.
“How can you stand to eat tree leaves?” I asked.
“We brought our own salad
dressing from home,” Patty replied. “It’s a strawberry vinaigrette. Organic, of course.”
“It’s sweet and tangy without being cloying,” Peter Perfect said. “Makes a perfect salad. You should try it.” He then shoved a couple more leaves into his mouth.
“We may have to try it,” Nasty Nancy muttered.
“I ground up some birch tree bark and sprinkled it over the salad,” Patty added. “It gives it such a nice birch flavor.”
My stomach growled. “We’re not hungry enough to eat that,” I said. “But we’re pretty hungry.”
“We’re hoping the boys will bring back something good from the woods,” Handy Sandy said.
And just as she said that, I heard shouts and cheers. The boys appeared at the edge of the woods and were striding into camp.
Uncle Cousin came out of the mess hall and stepped up beside us girls on the steps. “Rah-rah! Booyah!” he cried. “Looks like we won’t have to starve after all!”
Adam Bomb led the way, and he had a big smile on his face. As he and the other boys came closer, we could see that they were carrying something at their sides.
Shopping bags!
Uncle Cousin stepped forward to greet them. “Ricky ticky! What did you guys trap in the woods?” He asked.
Adam Bomb reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a package. “We found lamb chops!” he exclaimed.
Uncle Cousin’s eyes went wide. He stared as Adam pulled out more packages. “Lamb chops?” Cousin said. “You butchered a sheep?”
“No way,” Adam replied. “We found a supermarket on the highway just past the woods. They were all out of deer chops.”
“We got hot dogs, too—with sauerkraut!” Junkfood John exclaimed. “And a bunch of frozen pizzas.”
“YAAAAAY!” We girls jumped up and cheered.
And of course Babbling Brooke broke into a cheer . . .
“GIVE ME AN S!
“GIVE ME A U!
“GIVE ME AN I-DON’T-KNOW-WHAT!
“HOW DO YOU SPELL SUPERMARKET?
“I DON’T CARE!
“DON’T MAKE ME SPELL IT.
“LET’S EAT! YAAAAY!”