Camp Daze

by R. L. Stine

  I tried to hide my laughter. “Awesome!” I told myself. “It’s working!”

  Patty and Peter Perfect were frantically swimming for their lives. I don’t know what stroke they were doing, but they were crying and shrieking and screaming in fright the whole way.

  The rest of us were laughing out loud now. We were slapping high-fives in the water and grinning at one another, our thumbs up all the way.

  “Rob Slob was awesome!” Brainy Janey shouted. “Good work, Rob!”

  We were all feeling terrific. What a triumph!

  But then I turned—and saw Rob Slob standing on the shore.

  “I had to go back to the cabin and get my goggles,” he shouted. “Is it too late to scare the Perfect twins?”

  Well, I’m not exactly sure about what happened in the lake. Maybe that was a camper from last year who spent too much time in the radioactive waste. Or . . . maybe there really is a Lake Bleccch monster.

  But we were all seriously freaked.

  There was only one thing to do to calm down. Go back to the cabin—and watch another episode of Jonny Pantsfalldown.

  JONNY PANTSFALLDOWN

  Favorite TV superhero of Wacky Jackie and Junkfood John Episode 2,045

  Hold on to your pants, everyone! And keep your belt buckled tight for ADVENTURE! It’s time for another action-packed episode of JONNY PANTSFALLDOWN.

  That’s me standing beside him—the World’s Greatest Sidekick—THE MIGHTY HAIRBALL!

  It's night in the town of Pupick Falls. A time of quiet. A time of darkness. A time when the criminals come out to play. But crime doesn’t play—not when Jonny Pantsfalldown is on duty.

  With his Pants of Steel, Jonny protects the town whenever he isn’t busy with something else. When people hear his mighty battle cry . . .

  “YODEL-AY-EEE-OOO!”

  . . . it means law and order will probably be returned as best as Jonny can.

  As Jonny always says, “You can’t spell superhero without up.” And by that, he means without keeping his pants up.

  And that’s why I’m here. I graduated in the top third of my class in Sidekick School. And yes, I wear my underpants on the outside of my costume. But so does every other sidekick!

  Tonight, I found Jonny in his dressing room, preparing for crime-fighting duty. “Jonny,” I said, “what terrifying villain will we be going after tonight?”

  “ARRRRRRRGGGGH,” he replied.

  “I never heard of that one,” I said. “Is he new in town?”

  “ARRRRGGGGGHHHH,” Jonny said. “AAAARGGGGH. AAAARGGGGH.”

  It was then that I realized his toothbrush was stuck in his throat. Like all superheroes, Jonny is devoted to clean teeth. But sometimes he goes too far.

  I yanked the toothbrush from his throat—the way I was trained in Sidekick School. Jonny choked and gagged for about ten minutes. Then he turned to me and spoke in his booming voice. A voice so powerful that it turns apples into cider.

  “I forgot to rinse,” he said.

  When he returned from the sink, he was almost ready for action. I took a hand towel and dried off his chin for him.

  “Hairball,” he said, “tonight we go after one of the meanest villains we have ever pursued.”

  “How mean is he?” I asked.

  “He’s so mean,” Jonny replied, “I’ve seen him step on a ladybug. Deliberately.”

  “No!” I gasped.

  Then I accidentally burped up some of my dinner. Frog intestines don’t always agree with me.

  “Need a lozenge?” Jonny asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” I said. He’s always so thoughtful and caring. “Jonny, tell me—who is this evil criminal? What is his name?”

  “His name is . . . Billy Pantsfalldown,” Jonny said.

  “Oh no!” I gasped again. “Not your brother!”

  “Actually, he’s a second cousin,” Jonny said. “But he’s as evil as I am delightful.”

  “What does your evil Pantsfalldown cousin plan to do?” I asked.

  “Billy is so mean,” Jonny answered, “he plans to write a letter to the mayor—and misspell the mayor’s name!”

  “Huh?” I gasped again. It was a big night for gasping. My throat was starting to get dry. I popped in a throat lozenge after all. I sucked on it for a while before I realized it was actually one of my coat buttons.

  “Billy Pantsfalldown is going to misspell the mayor’s name—deliberately?” I finally choked out. “That’s horrible!”

  “We have to hurry,” Jonny said. “He must be stopped.”

  “We can’t allow his letter to reach Mayor Firtbaghovermeisterlizbergerling,” I said. “He will be terribly upset if his name is misspelled. What do you plan to do, Jonny?”

  “Take away Billy’s pen,” the great and mighty superhero boomed. His voice was so deep and powerful, my teeth loosened.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” Jonny said. “Don’t bother with the door. Let’s fly out the window.”

  “Good idea,” I said, and took off.

  I leaped into the air and heard a deafening crash as the window glass shattered. Startled, I fell to the floor. “I’m okay!” I cried.

  I glanced in the mirror. I had a few cuts, but this was no time for injuries.

  “It’s the sidekick’s job to open the window before we fly through it,” Jonny scolded.

  “My bad,” I said.

  JONNY PANTSFALLDOWN, CONTINUED . . .

  We flew through the night sky. The moon was full, and the light hurt my eyes. I held my breath as we flew over the town. I always forget how airsick I get.

  I was glad when Jonny signaled for us to land on the front lawn of a small house. A light was on in the front window. “That’s him inside,” Jonny said. “See? He just got up from his desk.”

  “Thank goodness we’re in time,” I said.

  “YODEL-AY-EEE-OOO!”

  Jonny shouted out his famous battle cry.

  A few seconds later, Billy Pantsfalldown stepped out of his house. In the silvery moonlight, I could see he was holding an envelope in one hand.

  “Stop right there, Billy!” Jonny shouted. “Don’t move!”

  “You’re too late, Cousin Jonny,” Billy said. “The letter is already written, and I’m going to mail it now. And I misspelled Mayor Firtbaghovermeisterlizbergerling’s name, just as I promised.”

  “You evil fiend! How did you spell it?” Jonny demanded.

  “I spelled it with a Q!” Billy exclaimed, and he tossed back his head and laughed an evil laugh.

  “You’ll never get away with it!” Jonny shouted.

  “Yes, I will! I’m on my way to the mailbox on the corner,” Billy said. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” He then took off running across the front lawn.

  Jonny leaned into the wind and bolted after his evil cousin. No one is faster than Jonny Pantsfalldown. The race wasn’t even close. Jonny was catching up to Billy—when he suddenly turned back to me.

  “Hey, Hairball—” he called. “We forgot the Velcro belt to hold up my Pants of Steel!”

  “My bad,” I said again.

  Just then Jonny’s pants slipped down and fell to his ankles. Jonny tripped over his pants and fell face-forward into a pile of mud.

  “Hahahahaha!” Billy’s laugh rang to the sky as he ran full speed toward the corner mailbox. And then his pants fell down, and he fell into the gutter beside the curb.

  Jonny raised his face from the mud. And we both watched as the wind caught Billy’s envelope and carried it higher and higher . . . into the woods.

  “Another victory for the good guys!” Jonny cried, waving his muddy fists in the air. “Hairball, did you by any chance bring a towel?”

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

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Brainy Janey here. And it’s my turn again to continue telling you about our adventure at
summer camp.

  “Food fight!” Rob Slob shouted. And he heaved his plate of beans at the kids at the next table. “Food fight, everybody! Come on! Anybody? Anybody?”

  The kids ignored Rob and kept eating and talking to one another.

  No one else joined in, so Rob slammed his fists on the table. “What kind of camp is this? No one wants to throw food?”

  Everyone continued to ignore him.

  “Hey, can someone gather up those beans and send them back to me?” Rob asked. “I’m still hungry.”

  “I’ll tell you something interesting, Rob,” I said. “Beans aren’t really beans. They’re legumes.”

  Rob muttered a rude word that I won’t repeat.

  We were all eager to finish lunch because a big meeting was scheduled. Head Counselor Mama was about to tell us the plans for the big Lemme Talent Show. And after the talent show, the winner of the Camp Champ Award will be announced.

  It was our last chance to stop the Perfect twins from winning this year. But how?

  They were already practicing—riding on unicycles and juggling fire batons at the back of the mess hall.

  The rest of us finished our lunch—cream of buffalo soup, stewed beans, and breaded fish parts—and gathered in front of the stage for the meeting.

  “That was the best lunch we ever had,” Rob Slob said. “Too bad I tossed my beans across the room.”

  Luke Puke made a disgusted face. “I barf up better food than that,” he said.

  “And what was up with the mashed seaweed we had last night?” Cranky Frankie said. “I thought it was overcooked.”

  “Your brain is overcooked!” Nasty Nancy said. It didn’t make any sense, but it was nasty.

  Junkfood John held up a large bag. “Would anyone like a Chocolate-Covered Meat Chip? They’re chewy but good.”

  No one wanted one. So John stuffed his mouth, chewing hard.

  Finally, Uncle Cousin stepped on the stage. He took a little bow even though no one clapped.

  “Booyah, everyone!” he shouted. “Booyah!”

  “Booyah!” a few of the other kids shouted back.

  “Ricky ticky! Booyah!” he cried. “I love to see your enthusiasm! That’s the camp spirit! Booyah!”

  We all stared back at Uncle Cousin in silence.

  “Get on with it!” Head Counselor Mama snapped from the side of the room. She banged her cane on the floor.

  Uncle Cousin cleared his throat. He took a deep breath, and his face slowly turned red. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, campers,” he said, shaking his head.

  He took another breath. I thought I saw a teardrop slide down his round cheeks.

  “I’m sorry to say we must close Camp Lemme-Owttahere after tomorrow,” he said, and a sob escaped his throat.

  We all gasped in surprise. Close the camp?

  “But we just got here!” Cranky Frankie called out. “Why are you closing the camp?”

  Uncle Cousin cleared his throat again. “We are being shut down by the State Health Department,” he replied. “It seems that the beef stew Chef Indy served for dinner last night was actually sewage from the chemical-treatment plant down the street.”

  “GAAAACK!” Luke Puke jumped to his feet and ran for the bathroom.

  “I scolded the chef for that,” Cousin continued. “And he promised it probably wouldn’t happen again.” He sighed. “But the state is closing us down anyway.

  “Does this mean we won’t be able to go air horseback riding again?” Wacky Jackie asked.

  “I’m afraid it does. We will just have time for our annual talent show,” the camp headmaster replied. “And, of course, we will name the Camp Champ Award winner after the show.”

  Patty Perfect jumped to her feet. “Peter and I want to thank you in advance for our award,” she said. “We will be thrilled to be named Camp Champs tomorrow, in what will be our last and most glorious day here at Camp Lemme-Owttahere. Thank you all so very much!”

  Peter Perfect stood up, and they both clapped for each other.

  Adam Bomb leaned toward me and whispered, “We can still win the show tomorrow. One of us has to have talent—right?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Head Counselor Mama climbed onto the stage, tapping her cane in front of her. She had forgotten to brush her purple hair, and it stood out in all directions. It looked like her head was on fire.

  Mama gazed down at us from the stage. “I know you cluck-clucks don’t have any talent,” she said. “But let’s pretend.”

  She raised a notepad and a pen. “I’m sure you’ll do your best tomorrow, which is pitiful and sad. But I say that out of love.”

  She reached out and smacked Pat Splat on the shoulder with her cane.

  SMAAACK.

  “Don’t sit so close to the stage,” she scolded.

  Pat rubbed his shoulder. “OWW. Why did you do that?”

  “Because I care,” Mama said. “Now, listen up, you dit-dits.”

  “Booyah!” Uncle Cousin called from against the wall. “Plum pudding! Camp spirit, people! At least for one more day.”

  Mama raised her clipboard. “We need to plan the show. I’ll go around the room. You tell me what your talent is.”

  Peter and Patty Perfect jumped to their feet again. “We have about a hundred talents,” Patty said. “So we’re going to perform them all.”

  “We’re going to sing, dance, juggle, twirl batons, do a ventriloquist act, and perform magic tricks—all at the same time,” Peter said.

  They clapped for each other again.

  “That sounds promising,” Mama said.

  Patty reached out her hands. “If you’d like to give us the Camp Champ trophy in advance, we’ll be happy to accept it,” she said.

  “Let’s wait,” Mama said. “We’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

  She then turned to the rest of us. “Any of you nut-whuts have a talent? Tell me what you can do so I can put it in the program.”

  Wacky Jackie raised her hand. “I can play the xylophone with my head,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Mama said. “The camp doesn’t have a xylophone.” She squinted at Wacky Jackie. “Is there any other instrument you can play with your head?”

  Jackie lowered her eyes to the floor. “No. Only the xylophone.”

  “Anyone else?” Mama asked, holding her pen over the notepad.

  Rob Slob raised his hand. “I can burp a song I heard on WhoTube,” he said.

  Mama scribbled on her pad. “Excellent. That sounds like good entertainment.” She raised her eyes to Rob. “What key do you burp in?”

  “The key of B,” Rob answered. “B for BURRRRRRRP.”

  “Anyone else?” Mama asked.

  I raised my hand. “Here’s my talent,” I said. “I’d like to give a lecture on the history of nature.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mama said. “Next?”

  Junkfood John raised his hand. “I can perform hip-hop beats,” he said, “by chewing tortilla chips in a very loud rhythm.”

  “I didn’t know you were musical,” Mama said. She wrote it down on her notepad.

  “I come from a musical family,” John said. “My father wore a piano around the house.”

  Mama squinted at him. “He wore a piano? Why did he wear a piano?”

  “The accordion didn’t fit,” John replied.

  Mama turned to Nasty Nancy. “How about you?”

  “What about me?” Nancy snapped.

  “What’s your talent?”

  “I can do a stand-up comedy routine,” Nancy said. “Here. I’ll give you a sample of my jokes . . .”

  She stepped onto the stage. “Good evening, ladies and jerks,” she started. “What’s green and purple and makes a frog look pretty? Your face! Hahaha. What’s squishy like a rotten tomato and hard to look at? Your face! Ha ha. “What’s yellow and wrinkled and shriveled up like a two-month-old lemon? Your face! Ha ha. What is—”

  Mama raised
her hand. “Hold it, hold it,” she said. “Do all of your jokes end with your face?”

  Nasty Nancy nodded. “You bet. I’ve got a million of them! What’s red and sore and . . .”

  “Not funny!” Mama exclaimed. “Your jokes aren’t funny.”

  “Not as funny as your face!” Nancy exclaimed. “Hahaha.”

  “Where did you get those jokes?” Mama asked.

  “From your face,” Nancy replied.

  Mama frowned at her. “What makes you think your jokes are funny?”

  “Funny as your face?”

  “I think you’d better rethink your jokes,” Mama told her.

  “You mean . . . rethink your face? Hahaha.”

  Mama let out a frustrated groan, smashed her cane over her knee, and broke it in half.

  “Does that mean I’m not in the talent show?” Nasty Nancy asked.

  Mama turned back to the rest of us. “Do any of you other nuk-nuks want to be in the show?”

  Babbling Brooke raised her hand. “I’d like to perform a special camp cheer.” She then jumped in the air, clapped her hands over her head, and began to cheer:

  “GIVE ME AN L!

  “GIVE ME AN E!

  “GIVE ME AN M!

  “GIVE ME ANOTHER M!

  “GIVE ME AN E!

  “GIVE ME AN O!

  “GIVE ME A W!

  “GIVE ME A T!

  “GIVE ME ANOTHER T!

  “GIVE ME . . . SOMETHING ELSE.

  “GIVE ME ANOTHER LETTER.

  “I LOST MY PLACE.

  “I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SPELL THE NAME OF THIS CAMP.

  “YAAAAY!”

  Brooke clapped again. Then she did a high somersault in the air—

  SPLAAAAAT.

  —and landed on her head and didn’t move.

  “Someone carry this cheerleader to the nurse’s cabin,” Mama said. “I think we've had enough talent for one night. We'll figure out the show tomorrow.”

  Adam Bomb and Cranky Frankie carried Brooke away as Handy Sandy walked over to me. “Shhh, listen,” she whispered. “I have a plan. I think one of us is going to win the talent show.”