The Creature Department

by Robert Paul Weston

  Rising higher, they saw the citizens of Bickleburgh gathering outside the company gates, staring in horror and fascination at the commotion within. When they saw Elliot and Leslie, the people cheered. Every finger pointed up in amazement at the two children, ascending skyward on nothing but honest-to-goodness rocket boots.

  Setting down on the roof of the building, they saw the antenna was much larger up close than it appeared from the ground. At the bottom they found an enormous control box full of fuses and wires. It took a long time to find something that fit the plug in the back of the helmet.

  Elliot leaned over the edge of the building. He could see all of Bickleburgh.

  “What if we make the whole city sad?”

  “Concentrate straight down,” Leslie suggested. “Just on the ghorks.”

  “I’ll try.” But Elliot was worried. The antenna was huge.

  Elliot stared down at the courtyard, where the ghorks were rounding up their prisoners. He focused all his attention on them.

  He felt a strange wave of energy, like an intense case of pins and needles. The feeling began at the back of his neck and swept down to his feet and up again. It washed out through an invisible hole in his forehead, and he could almost see a funnel of sadness spreading out to the courtyard below.

  All of a sudden, the chaos on the ground eased. The ghorks stopped taunting their prisoners and bickering among themselves. Even the crowd out by the gates stopped shouting. Then, all at once, everyone down there began to cry.

  The ghorks gave up tightening their nets, and several prisoners were able to slip free.

  Leslie jumped up and down. “It’s working!”

  It was working! Unable to figure out what was making them so sad, some of the ghorks were even running away.

  SPLOOSH!

  Something wet, warm, and slimy hit Elliot on the back of his head. A sizzle of orange sparks erupted from the helmet. Elliot just managed to pull it off and throw it to the ground before it short-circuited and burst into flames.

  He felt a dollop of the slime drip down the back of his neck, and when he wiped it away, he knew what it was. A massive glob of snot.

  CHAPTER 30

  In which the Five Ghorks compare recipes and Elliot revises his to-do list

  We’ve got a nose to pick with you,” said a nasally voice from behind them.

  Leslie and Elliot looked up from the ruins of the tele-pathetic helmet and saw they were surrounded by the Five Ghorks.

  SPLOOSH-SPLISH-SPLOSH-SPLASH!

  Adenoid Jack, the ghork with the enormous nose, shot four more snot globs aimed perfectly at Leslie and Elliot’s feet. When they tried to take off, nothing happened. Like the helmet, the rocket boots were ruined.

  “He means a bone to pick, by the way,” said Iris, rolling her enormous eyes. “He always gets that mixed up.”

  “Are you sure?” Adenoid Jack wiggled a finger inside one cavernous nostril. “Doesn’t a nose to pick make more sense?”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Wingnut. “If it were up to me, I’d say, ‘I’ve got an ear to pick with you.’”

  “You would,” said Iris.

  “At least you can.” Digits put down his net and held up his enormous hands. “If I wanna pick my nose or my ear, I gotta use little spoons. My fingers don’t fit.”

  Meanwhile, Adenoid Jack was still thinking. “So which is it? Nose or bone?”

  “Or ear?” asked Wingnut.

  “That’s enough!” said Grinner, gnashing his countless teeth. “We’re not here to discuss the etymology of certain idioms that may or may not be applicable to our present situation!”

  “Huh?” asked Wingnut.

  “I mean, we’re not here to talk,” Grinner clarified. “We’re here for revenge.”

  “Exactly,” said Adenoid Jack. “Revenge. It’s like I said: We got a nose to pick with these guys.”

  “Or an ear,” said Wingnut.

  Grinner stomped his foot. “Quit it! Just get ’em already!”

  On the roof of a building, with no way down and only slimy, defunct rocket boots on their feet, there was no escape. Even if there was somewhere to run, they couldn’t, because Adenoid Jack’s snot globs had hardened.

  “Disgusting!” cried Leslie. “It’s booger glue!”

  A moment later, Digits was throwing a net over each of them.

  “You know,” said Grinner, smiling malevolently, “in the varied and multitudinous realms of creaturedom, we ghorks fall somewhere in between trolls and ogres.” His grin widened. “But we’re way worse than either of them.”

  “We are?” asked Wingnut.

  Grinner nodded. “See, even in creaturedom, these are enlightened times. Those trolls and ogres? Naw, they gave up eating children a long time ago. But we ghorks, especially ones like me, if we get reeeally hungry . . .” He opened his mouth so wide it seemed like his whole head was hinged at the back of his neck. His breath smelled of sewage and sulfur and he had teeth growing upon teeth. There were rows of them, puncturing the soft flesh of his gullet all the way down into the darkness of his throat. “So the only real question,” he said, “is which one of you do we eat first?”

  “Ooh, ooh!” cried Wingnut. “The boy. They’re salty! Save the girl for dessert.”

  “I’ve always preferred girls as an appetizer myself,” said Iris.

  Adenoid Jack flared his nostrils. “If you wanna do it right, you gotta break them into pieces. That’s the only way to really bring out the scent.”

  “Ugh!” Grinner scoffed. “I swear, I’m surrounded by philistines. I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna drag ’em back to the lair and slather ’em in ketchup. That’s how you do it in style!”

  Digits clapped his huge hands. “Ketchup, yeah! We’ll deep-fry ’em! Then we’ll have finger food!”

  Elliot couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was the worst coincidence he could possibly imagine! After so many years of lying in bed each morning, listening to his parents tell him he would soon be cooked and eaten, that was exactly what was going to happen!

  To make the unthinkable prospect all the more terrifying, the ghorks’ argument over how to properly roast (or braise, or poach, or curry) a child went on and on. It might have been a good opportunity for Leslie and Elliot to escape, but how could they? Making a run for it wasn’t exactly a viable option when they were tangled up in nets and super-booger-glued to the roof of a building. Meanwhile, down below them, they could see that the ghorks had regained their advantage. All the creatures and staff of DENKi-3000 were prisoners once again.

  If Elliot had felt merely hopeless before, now he felt right on the verge of despair. He thought about all the things he would never get to do, all the goals he had set for himself. To grow up and be an inventor like his uncle, for instance. To drive a car. To travel the world. To vote. He would have liked to have tried fishing. Just once. He certainly had the wardrobe for it. Now, however, none of those things would happen. It just didn’t seem fair.

  “Hey,” he whispered to Leslie. “I guess this isn’t going the way we planned, huh?”

  “Not really, no.” She smiled sadly at him. “But I’m still glad my mom moved us to Bickleburgh. I’m glad I met you, and your uncle, and everyone else too. I’m glad I got to find out all these weird creatures were real before . . .” She stole a quick glance at the quarreling ghorks. “Before you-know-what.”

  “We’re eaten by ghorks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was just thinking about that myself.” Elliot paused. He wasn’t quite sure how to say what he was thinking. “Anyway, I thought maybe . . . well, maybe we should kiss.”

  “WHAT?!”

  The ghorks looked over at them.

  “Pipe down,” said Grinner. “We’re still trying to decide how to cook you.”

  Leslie was looki
ng at Elliot as if he was crazy (and Elliot was inclined to believe her).

  “Trust me,” he said, “it’s not like ‘kissing a girl’ is at the top of my list of things to do before I die. In fact, I’m pretty sure it never made the list. But since it looks like I might never get to do the things that are on the list, and since you’re a girl and you’re right here, I just thought we might try it.”

  Leslie thought about this for a moment. “Well, since we’re gonna get eaten by ghorks anyway . . .”

  They leaned closer together, but it was difficult for them to reach each other without moving their feet. Their lips, puckering awkwardly through the mesh of the net, were just about to touch when they heard something. It sounded like thunder, but the sky was completely clear.

  “You guys hear something?” Wingnut asked the other ghorks.

  “What is that?” asked Digits, looking up at the empty sky.

  “Over there, look!” Iris pointed to the buildings of Bickle-burgh. A brownish-gray cloud of dust was rumbling through the streets. The crowd at the gates heard it too. They parted just in time to avoid being trampled because that was when—

  BAROOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

  A deep baritone trumpeting sound split the air as an army of bombastadons riding high on the backs of countless arachnimammoths came galloping through the gates of DENKi-3000.

  Leading the charge (of course) was Colonel-Admiral Reginald T. Pusslegut, and for the people of Bickleburgh, it was a deeply surprisingly turn of events. For the creatures of the Creature Department, however, the most astonishing thing of all was the fact that seated triumphantly on Reggie’s magnificent epaulettes was a pair of hobmongrels!

  CHAPTER 31

  In which Elliot’s parents have a change of heart, Leslie’s mother proves she’s been paying attention, and Leslie can’t believe what she smells

  With a battalion of bombastadons on your side, it’s difficult to lose in a fight, but the sheer number of ghorks did a good job of bucking the trend. Their ropes and nets were surprisingly handy against the arachnimammoths, whose many appendages (trunks, tusks, and eight thunderous legs) made for easy targets. Plus, the great woolly creatures were slower in the summer heat of Bickleburgh, far from the cold of their native land.

  The Quazicom security bots were equally adept (though much more polite) in their fight alongside the ghorks. Bursts of blue light dazzled and flared across the courtyard. The flashes froze the scene into moments of bizarre, split-second tableaus: strange creatures locked in strange battles, their strange faces twisted into strange expressions (needless to say, it was all quite strange).

  In the end, however, even struggling together, the ghorks and the Quazicom robots were no match for the Creature Department—not when supported by Her Royal Majesty’s Antarctic Brigadiers. Most of all, the disorganized ghorks were hopeless against the tactical shrewdness of Colonel-Admiral Reginald T. Pusslegut, who conducted his forces with all the pluck and daring of a true hero.

  Eventually, the ghorks were repelled, hounded back into the tunnels whence they came. A phalanx of mounted bombastadons pursued them deep under the ground, where the arachnimammoths hefted huge boulders over the entrance to their lair, sealing them inside.

  On the surface, the robots were reduced to cracked moldings and disembodied circuit boards. Their shattered remains hissed with static, occasionally belching up distorted (but polite) phrases like, “AH-FuLL-eEEeee sOR-EEEeeeeee . . .”

  The bombastadons returned to the surface, where Reggie’s puffy, pontifical manner suddenly seemed entirely appropriate as he rode a snuffling, eight-legged, elephantine steed. The creatures even cheered when at last he swung gallantly down to the ground.

  The first thing he did was wander over to the topiary rocket ship. The professor lay beneath it in the shade, still zonked out from his second zapping of the day. Reggie stooped to examine the poor man’s feet.

  “Just as I suspected. Super-galoshes.”

  Next, he strode up to Gügor and the others. “My dear friends,” he said, shaking their hands enthusiastically. “That chair you designed is extraordinary! I’ve never slept better in all my life! There is that rather unfortunate teleportation problem, of course, but I’m sure we can iron that out.”

  Now that the gates were smashed, Bickleburgh’s citizens wandered, utterly gobsmacked, into the courtyard. They ogled the creatures with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. A similar response was elicited from DENKi-3000’s human employees, who had had no idea the creatures existed.

  When they saw Elliot and Leslie, however, freshly rescued from the roof of the North Tower and obviously friends of these peculiar beings, they relaxed. The manager of DENKi-3000’s Human (and only human!) Resources Department was heard to say, “I always knew there was something fishy about this place, but I never would’ve guessed it was this fishy!”

  “You talkin’ about me?” asked Patti Mudmeyer, a bit miffed.

  “I’m talking about the whole lot of you,” the manager replied.

  “Get over it,” Harrumphrey harrumphed. “We’re an odd bunch. That’s creaturedom for you.”

  Sir William (after being untangled from his net) predicted that a workable model of the rocket boots would easily fend off the Quazicom takeover. “But only,” he said, looking to the shareholders, “if all of you vote against it.”

  “You can count on it,” said the shareholder spokesman, dusting off the sleeves of his suit. “We want nothing to do with Quazicom and that creepy chief of theirs. Anyway, hiring ogres—or whatever those things were—”

  “Ghorks,” said the professor.

  “Yes, well, hiring them to kidnap an entire company is definitely a violation of corporate responsibility guidelines.”

  “Elliot! Elliot, what’s going on?! Look at this mess!” It was Elliot’s mother. His parents were pushing through the crowd.

  “Where’s your uncle Archie?” asked his father sternly. “I’d like to give that man a piece of my mind.”

  Elliot pointed to the professor’s feet, jutting out from under the topiary rocket ship.

  “Oh, I see,” said Elliot’s father, a little disappointed. “What are those shoes he’s wearing?”

  “Not shoes,” said Elliot. “Rocket boots.”

  “Of course they are,” said Elliot’s mother, shaking her head. “Sounds quite dangerous to me.”

  “What is going on here?” asked his father. He leaned down to his son. “And what are all these . . . these . . .”

  “Creatures,” said Elliot.

  His mother frowned. “That’s what I thought they were. I hope you realize that if you insist on fraternizing with creatures like this, they’ll never let you into Foodie School. They’ll assume you’re contaminated!”

  “Actually,” said Leslie, stepping forward in Elliot’s defense, “these creatures have impeccable taste in food.”

  “They do?” Elliot’s parents didn’t look convinced.

  “Besides,” said Sir William. He placed two hands protectively on Elliot’s shoulders. “If Elliot wishes, I’d say the boy has a bright future here at DENKi-3000.”

  “Really?” asked Elliot.

  “If your parents see fit to permit it.”

  Elliot’s mother and father, however, had nothing to say on the subject. They were too busy glowering at the creatures, at the wreckage of the courtyard, at the unconscious form of Elliot’s uncle.

  “And speaking of a bright future at DENKi-3000 . . .” Sir William hobbled over to the big red cycloptosaurus in the midst of the creatures. “I could really use an experienced corporate creature with insider knowledge of Quazicom.”

  “Really?” asked Charlton.

  “I think it’s time we got you creatures involved in other areas of the company, and besides—I’m definitely going to need a new VP.”

  “Hey!” cried Monica Burken
krantz. She lay on the ground beside Elliot’s uncle because no one had bothered to untangle her. “Does this mean I’m fired?”

  “If you were in my shoes,” asked Sir William, “what would you do?”

  Monica sighed. “I’d fire me.”

  “Precisely.”

  Monica looked ready to complain, but she was interrupted by a loud BANG! It was the sound of a car backfiring. A rusty red Volkswagen bounced erratically into the courtyard and Leslie’s mother leapt out, still dressed in her black-and-white uniform.

  “Leslie! What’s going on?! Someone told me the whole city was under attack from—” She stopped suddenly because she saw she was standing in the midst of a bunch of: “CREATURES!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Leslie. “These are the nice ones.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “They’re my new friends.”

  “These things?!”

  “And the one behind your head.”

  Leslie’s mother spun around and came face-to-face with Jean-Remy Chevalier.

  “Enchanté, madam.” He floated down to the woman and, just as he had done when he first met Leslie, kissed the tip of her finger. “What a pleasure to meet ze mother of so remarkable a child.”

  Leslie’s mother, however, was immune to Jean-Remy’s charm. She pulled her hand away, turning back to her daughter. “Just because your friend is a handsome little man with wings, it doesn’t mean he can sweet-talk me into forgetting you’ve been hanging around with . . . with . . .”

  “Creatures,” said Leslie. She took a deep breath. “I guess this means you wanna move somewhere new, huh?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “’Cuz that’s what you always wanna do.”

  Leslie’s mother nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just my—”

  “Wanderlust. I know. It’s powerful stuff.”

  “But you don’t have to worry,” said her mother. “In spite of all this . . .” She scanned her eyes across the courtyard. “I’ve decided to stick it out.”