The Trouble with Squids
Page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE - THE CHANDELIER
CHAPTER TWO - THE VISITOR
CHAPTER THREE - THE SPECIMEN
CHAPTER FOUR - THE TENTACLE
CHAPTER FIVE - THE TEACHER
CHAPTER SIX - THE PIPES
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE POOL
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE SQUID
CHAPTER NINE - THE CAVE
CHAPTER TEN - THE MUTANT
CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE HAT
CHAPTER TWELVE - THE MOVIE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THE TUBE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - THE SUB
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - THE TORPEDO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - THE BUTTON
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - THE EEL
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
GROSSET & DUNLAP
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To our sister Jane, who could never resist a critter.
—J.G.B.& S.F.G.
A Word of Warning to All Disruptive Boys
If my past warnings haven’t made you steer clear of Splurch Academy, what can I say here that will make a difference? By now you know the sorry truth. You know that no boy unlucky enough to be sent to Splurch Academy ever returns. You know that the teachers are monsters, and the headmaster, Dr. Archibald Farley, is the worst of the bunch—a cruel and conniving vampire. You know that Dr. Farley will stop at nothing to gain final control over the boys, once and for all. He’ll suck their brains out their ear canals and swap them with the brains of trained rats. He’ll summon evil Egyptian gods to grant him cosmic power over the boys. He’ll even use the powdered bones of his own dead relatives to resurrect long-dead monsters, in hopes that the monsters will eat the boys and rid Farley of their pesky presence.
This is the kind of deranged personality Cody Mack and his fifth-grade friends are up against. I’d say their odds are pretty pathetic, wouldn’t you?
One of these days Dr. Farley and his creepy crew are bound to win and destroy Cody and his friends forever. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Maybe it’ll happen in the very book you’re holding.
Don’t blame me when you start having nightmares. Go ahead and tell yourself, “It’s only a book. It isn’t real. There’s no such place as Splurch Academy.”
We all have our little delusions.
If yours help you sleep at night, I won’t try to talk you out of them.
I will tell you this, though.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this particular episode of Cody Mack’s adventures. Something’s not right. There’s a foul stench in the air at Splurch Academy. Something fishy is brewing in Archibald Farley’s evil laboratory. Hideous creatures lurk in underground channels, seething in the bubbling murk beneath the building’s foundations. Cody and his friends are up a creek without a paddle. This story will not go well for them.
And I expect you still plan on reading all about it, don’t you?
Well then, dive in.
Grade Five
Possibly the most disruptive bunch of boys Splurch Academy has ever seen.
Cody Mack, age 11
The Master of Disruption. The Sultan of Schemes. The Prince of Plots. The Demigod of Dastardly Deeds. A pint-size Lord of Chaos. The ringleader of the fifth-grade band of brothers, and every teacher’s worst nightmare.
Carlos Ferrari, age 10
Cody Mack’s best friend. Give him a rubber band, a paper clip, and a can of shaving cream, and he’ll turn them into a weapon of mass disruption. It’s not his fault things tend to blow up when he’s around.
Mugsy, aka Percival Porsein, age 11
This kid will eat anything as long as it has ketchup on it. Don’t tease him about his teddy bear or he’ll sit on you. He has a habit of accidentally breaking things, like other people’s ribs, but really, he means well.
Ratface, aka Rufus Larsen, age 10
The one kid at Splurch Academy who felt perfectly at home in a rat’s body. He’s whiny; he’s annoying; he has weird ideas. Nothing is safe from this light-fingered little thief.
Sully, aka Sullivan Sanders, age 10
Brave as an earthworm. Athletic as cooked spaghetti. Minus his glasses he’s as blind as a mole. Still, being a genius has its advantages. This bookworm won’t speak to adults. Period.
Victor Schmitz, age 11
Anger issues got him sent to Splurch, and nothing’s changed so far. A good pick for a tug-of-war team, but you don’t want to challenge him to an arm-wrestling match. If you do, it’s safer if you lose.
The Teachers
Dr.. Archibald Farley, Headmaster
The egotistical mastermind behind the torture of innocent disruptive boys. With his vampire strength and his mad science cunning, this evil headmaster is never without a plan to make Cody and his friends suffer.
Nurse Bilgewater
Strong as an ox and as kind-hearted as a feeding shark, Beulah Bilgewater is Splurch Academy’s medical specialist. Whatever you do, don’t get sick. Once this evil nurse gets her tentacles on you, there’s no escape.
Mr.. Fronk
A lumbering carcass of a fifth-grade teacher who sleeps like a corpse through every class. His two fears: fire and boys who prefer comic books.
Griselda, the Cafeteria Lady
The only thing worse than her cooking is her complaining about her aches and pains. Wait. Never mind. Her cooking’s worse.
Mr. Howell
Go ahead. Try to run away from Splurch Academy. This mangy fleabag will even give you a head start. He sprints like a wolf and gnaws on bones for lunch. Better steer clear when the moon comes out . . .
Ivanov, the Hall Monitor
This jack-
of-all-trades does the dirty work of keeping the Academy clean. Sort of. He’d rather do the dirty work of tattling on kids.
Librarian
Does she have a name? Does she ever speak? Whose side is she on? No one is sure. But don’t raise your voice in her library. Not if you want to own your own tongue.
Miss Threadbare
This bony, spindly, scraggly bag o’ knuckles and teeth is Headmaster Farley’s secretary by day—a bat-winged hawk-monster by night. Don’t be slow when she tells you to stand for the pledge.
CHAPTER ONE
THE CHANDELIER
“Why are we doing this again?” Mugsy moaned, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around a chandelier post. “I hate heights!”
“Quiet!” Carlos warned. His hair was full of spiderwebs, and his hands were full of wires. “Just another minute, and we’ll be done.”
They were stringing wire round and round the iron frame of the massive chandelier that hung in the teachers’ lounge. It had been so long since anyone dusted it that sheets of cobwebs draped across each metal spoke.
From outside the Academy building they heard the rumble and roar of an engine. They turned to watch through the tall windows as Priscilla Prim’s biplane sailed off into the sunset, carrying with it her five girl students. The girls lived at Splurch Academy now, but were off to celebrate the winter holidays in Greece on the shore of the sunny Mediterranean Sea. While the boys stayed stuck at Splurch Academy, the girls were exploring ancient ruins and searching for archaeological treasures. Nothing at Splurch was fair.
“Good riddance to stupid girls,” Victor grumbled. “I don’t care a bit that they’re gone.”
“Yeah,” Ratface said. “Spending their vacation at the beach, building sand castles . . . who cares?”
“Even getting a vacation, period,” Carlos said. “Nope. I’m not jealous.”
“You’re all pathetic liars, you know that?” Sully said.
“Keep still and stand guard!” Carlos ordered.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Mugsy asked. “I get a little woozy from extreme heights. Makes me forget stuff.”
“How ’bout if you forget to whine all the time?” Victor snapped. “There. Am I doing it right, ’Los?”
Carlos nodded. “Perfect.”
“Hey, quit swinging the lamp!” Mugsy wailed. “I’m getting seasick!”
“We’re doing this, Mugsy,” Cody explained, “because the faculty lounge chandelier is just the right size and made of the right stuff for Carlos to turn it into a satellite communicator. Once he’s done, we can send a message to our parents and tell them what it’s really like here. Once they know how we’ve suffered, they’ll come rescue us!”
Ratface fed a length of wire to Victor. “Send them a message? How?”
“His communicator thingy sends the message by bouncing it off the moon,” Victor said. “Or something.”
“Off the satellites orbiting the earth through space,” Carlos corrected.
The door opened, and in came Mr. Fronk, the fifth-grade teacher and reanimated corpse. He peered this way and that, behind the door, being supersneaky. Cody held his breath. If he wanted to, Mr. Fronk could rip the boys’ arms out of their sockets without even breaking a sweat. Fortunately it never occurred to their homeroom teacher that he should look up.
Fronk closed the door, flopped down on the couch, pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket, flipped it open, and punched some numbers. His massive fingers could barely hit the tiny buttons correctly, and he muttered to himself every time he had to start over. Finally he succeeded in dialing and held the tiny phone up to his ear.
In the stillness of the room, Cody could hear the faraway ringing of the phone. Fronk leaned back, his face pointing up toward the ceiling. The boys in the chandelier gazed at one another with panic in their eyes.
But Mr. Fronk didn’t see them. His thoughts were elsewhere.
A woman’s voice answered the phone.
“Each minute that I sit trapped in a classroom of sauerkraut-brained boys only makes me long for you more, my lovely little buttered artichoke.”
From behind the couch, Sully shifted slightly. He must be getting toasty, so close to the fire, Cody thought.
The door opened, and Cody sucked in his breath. Fronk snapped his cell phone shut and dropped it into his shirt pocket.
It was Headmaster Archibald Farley at the door, glaring at Fronk from underneath his bushy eyebrows. He carried a bucket of water, which he set down at his feet.
“There you are, Prometheus,” he said.
“Er . . . yes,” Fronk said. He wiped sweat off his brow. “I just, um, came in here to rest for a moment.”
“You missed a good deal of our faculty meeting. I was waiting to tell you all about my latest research,” Farley said.
Fronk looked guilty. He tried to change the subject. “What’s the water for?”
Farley shrugged. “Just something I need to prepare for my experiment.”
A movement caught Cody’s eye. From up in the chandelier, Ratface pulled a bit of wire from his pocket and twisted it into a hook. He threaded a long string through the hook. Ratface, an accomplished thief, always had pockets full of this and that. Slowly, Ratface lowered his improvised fishing line down over Fronk’s head.
Cody could only hope Farley wouldn’t notice the dangling fishhook.
“While you were resting,” Farley was saying, “the other faculty members drew straws to see which of them would be lucky enough to test my new procedure first. And can you believe it? You won the drawing.”
Fronk frowned. “Oh, I can believe it, all right,” he muttered.
Lower, lower went Ratface’s fishhook.
“Everything I need for my experiment will be in place tomorrow,” Farley went on. “The procedure won’t take more than a moment. Just nip down to my laboratory before breakfast. It’s completely painless.”
“Now see here,” Fronk protested. “My job description doesn’t say anything about this kind of stuff. I’m not your guinea pig.”
The fishhook was inches away from Fronk’s shoulder. It swayed slightly. Cody held his breath. He was sure it was going to hook Fronk on the earlobe.
“Why me?” Fronk continued. “Why test your experiment on a teacher? Why not experiment on the kids and leave me out of it?”
Cody and the other boys exchanged nervous glances. Experimenting on the kids was an all-too-familiar strategy on the part of Dr. Archibald Farley, mad scientist and psychopath.
“You’re already a monster,” Dr. Farley said. “If anything goes wrong, no harm done. I get only one chance with the lads. I have to be sure of success.”
“What do you mean, if anything goes wrong?” Fronk demanded. “I insist on knowing the risks beforehand.” Then he stopped and sniffed the air. By now the smell of smoke was unmistakable.
“Of course, if you really don’t want to assist in my research . . .” Farley inspected his fingernails. “There’s a new position open here at Splurch. Perhaps I’ll transfer you into it. Dorm Mom to the fifth-grade boys.”
“What?” Fronk yelped. “You can’t!”
“You get to put bandages on their boo-boos, read them stories, and tuck them in at night. It pays half of what a teacher makes, but money isn’t everything.”
“The fifth grade,” Farley observed. “Always the fifth grade. This is your class, Prometheus. I expect you to keep them under better control.”
Fronk gathered up the boys in his huge, stitched-on arms. “Come on, vermin. It’s off to detention for you.”
“Just don’t forget our little appointment in the laboratory, Prometheus,” Farley said. “Sunrise. Don’t be late.” He handed a squirming Sully to the Frankenteacher.
“Fronk and his girlfriend, sitting in a tree,” Cody sang as loud as he could. “K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage—”
Fronk’s face flushed puce with rage. “Stuff it, you twerp!”
“Th
en comes a zombie in a baby carriage!” Cody screamed.
“Shut your mouth!” Fronk hissed. “I’ve had enough. Detention’s too good for you. I know what’ll clean up your dirty minds. Right this way, boys.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE VISITOR
“Detention in chains would have been better than this,” Victor said. He chiseled hard, stinky gunk off a tile floor.
“I don’t know,” Ratface said, making a face. “I actually enjoy being made to clean the faculty men’s bathroom with my bare hands. It’s refreshing.”
“How long would you say it’s been since this bathroom’s been scrubbed, Cody?” Carlos asked. He dumped more scrubbing powder in the sink.
“A thousand years,” Cody said. “Give or take.”
“I don’t know about you guys,” Mugsy said, “but after this, I’ll never be able to look the same way at a urinal again.”