by David Lubar
“No we’re not.” Keaton shrugged off his backpack and let it fall to the ground.
Bill and Sherman didn’t say anything. They just dropped their backpacks, too.
“We need to pick a direction and go straight until we reach a road,” Vince said. He remembered reading something about following a stream when you’re lost, because running water usually led to where people were. But they hadn’t seen a stream, a river, or a creek. Not even a pond. Vince didn’t want to think too much about water. He’d emptied the last drop from his canteen an hour ago, and his mouth was so dry he was afraid his tongue would crack.
“Which direction?” Keaton asked.
Vince shrugged. “I don’t know. But we need to do something. Let’s just pick a direction.” He pointed past the tree. Nobody argued, so he started walking.
The other guys sighed and picked their packs up.
An hour later, they spotted the cabin, half-hidden in a cluster of spruce trees. “Maybe someone’s home,” Vince said. He went up to the small porch and knocked on the door.
There was no answer. Vince tried the knob. It didn’t turn.
“We need to get in,” Keaton said. “They might have a phone.”
“In the woods?” Vince asked. “Yeah, right.”
“Maybe they have water,” Sherman said.
“We definitely need to get in,” Keaton said. He walked around the side of the cabin.
Vince followed him. They tried all of the windows, but they wouldn’t move.
“We gotta break in,” Keaton said when they got back to the porch. He kicked the door. It didn’t open. He kicked it harder. Something cracked. He gave it a third kick, and it swung open.
“There’s a kitchen over here,” Keaton called as he dashed inside. “I found a sink.”
Vince and the others ran to the sink. There were a dozen mugs hanging from pegs on the wall. Vince scanned them. They all looked pretty silly. One had a picture of a bear on it. Another had a rabbit. There was a snake, a crow, and a fish. They’d been hand painted. Vince spotted a blank mug and grabbed that. By then, the other guys had already filled their mugs from the sink and were chugging down water so fast it was sloshing over their chins and running down their shirts. Vince noticed Keaton’s mug had a rabbit on it. Bill had a snake and Sherman had a bear.
As they crowded around the sink, Vince joined them, drinking two full mugs of water before he stopped. “I’ve never been so thirsty.”
Feeling better, he put his mug down on the kitchen table, filled his canteen, and looked around. “No phone,” he said. “We’d better get out of here.” He felt bad about breaking the door, even though it was Keaton who’d done it. But they’d needed water.
As he turned to walk out, Sherman groaned.
“You okay?” Vince asked.
Sherman groaned again. Except it was a weird groan—more like a growl. He put his mug down on the counter.
The next groan was definitely a growl. Sherman held his arms out. Dark fur was sprouting from them. His nails grew into claws. His nose pushed out into a snout, filled with large teeth.
Vince backed away. Keaton backed away. Bill froze. Sherman turned toward Bill and took a swipe at him. Bill ducked just in time. Sherman’s paw struck the bear mug, sending it flying into the wall. It shattered.
Sherman groaned.
It was a human groan this time—not the growl of a bear. “I don’t feel good,” he said. He staggered out of the cabin.
Vince felt like he’d just been punched in the head. But he gathered his wits and looked at the other two mugs. Keaton had drunk from a rabbit and Bill from a snake. Keaton’s mug was on the counter. Bill’s was still in his hand.
As scales formed on Bill’s arms, he threw the mug to the floor, shattering it. Then he staggered outside.
Vince watched as Keaton turned into a large, stupid-looking rabbit. “Talk about a perfect choice,” Vince said. The rabbit sniffed and twitched, then tried to get up to the counter where the mug was.
Vince figured he could help Keaton out, but he wanted to take a moment to enjoy the sight of the pathetically helpless rabbit. After sniffing around for a while, Keaton used his head to push a chair toward the counter, ramming it a little bit at a time. It took him a couple minutes to move it close enough. He managed to hop up on the chair. From there, he got up on the counter. Using his head again, he pushed the mug off the edge, so it fell to the floor and shattered.
As soon as Keaton turned back into himself, he dashed for the door.
“Hey, wait for me,” Vince called. “Come on, I was going to help you if you really needed it.”
Annoyed at the others for leaving him, Vince took another look at the mug, just to reassure himself that there wasn’t an animal on it. Glad I didn’t drink from the fish, he thought. That wouldn’t have been pretty.
He saw nothing on the mug. No animal. Nothing.
He glanced at his arm. And saw nothing.
Vince held up both hands in front of his face. Nothing. He’d become nothing.
He reached out to smash the mug. His hand went right through it.
He kicked the table.
Nothing.
“Guys! Come back. You need to smash my mug,” he shouted.
The three guys walked back into the cottage.
“Thank goodness.” Vince enjoyed the feeling of relief that washed over him.
“Nope,” Keaton said. “I don’t see him here.”
“Break the mug!” Vince called.
Bill nodded. “Yeah. I guess he ran out.”
“Guys … ?”
“Yeah, he’s gone. Nothing could hide in here,” Sherman picked up the blank mug, looked at both sides, then shrugged and put it back down.
The three of them turned and walked out. Vince followed them, shouting and screaming, but they heard nothing.
FORGOTTEN MONSTERS
Things grow dull in the Hall of Forgotten Monsters. I can tell that I am close to fading completely away. Nobody believes in me and, even worse, nobody fears me anymore. There was a time—ah, what a time it was—when the very thought of me sent shivers of terror down the spines of even the bravest children.
We are a sad and miserable group, here in the Hall of Forgotten Monsters. Across the way, I can see the Stegalith. What a fine creation he was, unstoppable, crushing everything beneath his terrible stone body. How folks must have trembled at the thought of him. And the Dracae, huddled together in that corner. There was a time when mothers could make their children behave by scaring them with tales of the Dracae.
No more.
We are forgotten. We are unfeared.
There must be a way to return. Once, every child knew of me. It was I who rode the moonlight through their closed windows and carried them away if their minds held even one thought of me. The name of the Wanderban was whispered from child to child. “Don’t think about him,” they warned. “If you think about him when he’s near, he’ll get you. He’ll snatch you right from your bed. It’s best to never think his name.”
That was me. Those were the glory times.
They said I had a thousand heads, each with a thousand teeth.
This is true.
They said those I stole suffered a lifetime of terror during each instant I held them in my grasp.
This, too, is true.
They have forgotten me. My place has been taken by other terrors—the vampire and the zombie, the mummy, the boogeyman. But I have a plan.
There is a way to return.
It might not seem possible. I know that the Stegalith and the Dracae would say it can’t be done. No one has ever returned once belief began to fade.
But I have a plan.
I will find a teller of tales. I will search for one whose mind I can enter. I will slip my story into his mind and have him tell it to the world. Then they will fear me and I will no longer fade. I will grow strong again.
I have found the one. He is ready. It is easy. I am in his mind. I will beg
in with words that will draw the reader into the tale. He is used to ideas coming to him from out of nowhere. He will not question this gift—he will just tell my story. And the children will read about the Wanderban. They will whisper my name and fear me, and I will be real again. I know the perfect words. I have been thinking of them for many centuries. I will whisper the words now, and he will write them: “Things grow dull in the Hall of Forgotten Monsters. I can tell that I am close to fading completely away.”
Good. He is writing the story. Soon, you will read it. Fear me. Think of me. Whisper my name. I will return.
STARSCAPE BOOKS BY DAVID LUBAR
Novels
Flip
Hidden Talents
True Talents
Story Collections
In the Land of the Lawn Weenies
and Other Warped and Creepy Tales
Invasion of the Road Weenies
and Other Warped and Creepy Tales
A WORD OR TWO ABOUT THESE STORIES
Every writer gets asked, “Where do you get your ideas?” As with the first two collections, I’ll end things here by answering that question.
Mr. HooHaa!
A lot of people feel that clowns are scary. I was thinking about this one day and decided to explore the issue. I guess I could have come up with some sort of story about why clowns are scary, but the idea that hit me was “what if they are even scarier under their makeup?” As you’ll see in these notes, one of my main tools is asking “what if” questions.
You Are What You Eat
Back when I was in high school, someone I knew told me he’d tried baby food. He claimed he’d done this just out of curiosity, but I suspect some sort of dare might have been involved. That incident bubbled up into my mind a while back, and I figured it would make a good scene with which to start a story. Memories make a good launching pad for stories. The nice thing is that you don’t have to stick with what really happened.
Spin
I think this is one of my favorite stories in the collection. I try to start each writing day by jotting down a “what if” question. Most of these questions lie around for weeks or months before they get used. But one day, I wrote: “What if you could make sand spin?” The idea instantly grabbed me, and I wrote the first draft of the story that same day.
The Tunnel of Terror
I was at Knoebels Grove, a very cool amusement park in Pennsylvania with a great classic coaster, when I saw an old funhouse ride. (It was in much better shape than the ride I describe in the story.) That led me to think about whether it is worse to go through a scary ride with your eyes open or shut. And that thought, of course, led me to this story.
A Nice Clean Place
I started out with the idea that pigeons were some sort of cleaning device (yup, another entry from the “what if” files). The rest grew from that. I guess there’s a bit of a message here, too. But that’s not my main goal. The people who litter aren’t going to stop what they’re doing because they read a story.
Tied Up
If you aren’t a baseball fan, a game can seem endless. If you are a fan, you might wish a game went on forever. If you’re a writer, you might just get interested in setting a story in an endless game. In this case, I stepped up to the plate with nothing in mind other than an endless game.
Predators
There’s been a lot in the news recently about the dangers of chat rooms and other online places. When I hear about any kind of danger, I like to think of a way to twist the threat into a story.
The Curse of the Campfire Weenies
I’d originally planned for the title story to be about bike weenies. (You know who they are—those far-too-serious riders with their funny shorts and high-tech helmets.) But then my editor, Susan Chang, suggested campfire weenies. I loved that idea. Thinking about campfires made me think about people who like to tell scary stories and about people who think they are experts but really aren’t.
Cat Napped
My cats catch stuff once in a while. They’re very proud about this. It wasn’t a big leap in my mind to go from mice to leprechauns. (You can get lots of good story ideas by taking something ordinary and changing just one small part of it.) I started out with the opening scene and let the story go where it wanted. Had I been in a different mood, I guess it could have ended badly for the leprechaun.
The Unforgiving Tree
This began as a title. (An interesting title can inspire a whole story. Usually, the title leads to some sort of “how” or “what if” thought.) The Giving Tree is a picture book by Shel Silverstein. Some people love that book. Others hate it. Ask your favorite librarian to explain this to you. My mind twisted the title, and I knew I had to write a story to match. How could a tree be unforgiving? The answers are endless.
Bobbing for Dummies
I just started out with a couple kids trashing a party. It was interesting seeing how bad they could be. I didn’t like the story all that much when I first wrote it, because the ending seemed too disconnected with the rest of it. Then I got the idea to add the “make a wish” part with the kid in the turkey costume. That’s why revision is my favorite part of writing.
Eat a Bug
I was thinking about loneliness and friendship when this idea showed up. Why are some kids so popular while others don’t have any friends? Instead of writing about the lowest outcast on the playground, I though it would be interesting to start with someone just above that level. I had no idea it would lead me in such a tasty direction.
Throwaways
Yet another tale that sprang from a “what if” question. This is probably my most absurd story. Sadly, kids do get tossed out in various ways. I think what makes this story work is the contrast between the strangeness of what is happening and the matter-of-fact voice of the narrator. He takes everything in stride.
Touch the Bottom
If you’ve ever fished on a lake, you know that the depth can vary a lot from point to point. It’s fun to imagine that a spot is bottomless. I think most kids enjoy seeing how far, how deep, or how fast they can go. This story was an attempt to see where that drive would lead.
The Genie of the Necklace
I thought it would be interesting to let a girl discover a genie and be able to get whatever she wanted. I knew right off that if she was a nice girl who was generous to her friends it wouldn’t be that interesting a story.
Alexander Watches a Play
I got this from my “what if” file. The basic concept was, “What if a kid went to a movie and saw himself in it?” The fun part, for me, is finding a way to bring the “what if” to life. I switched the idea from a movie to a play and made the main concept a bit weirder than a kid just seeing himself in it.
Mrs. Barunki
I had this idea in the back of my mind for a long time. I’ve always been fascinated by the thought of someone teaching misinformation. For example, imagine a pair of parents who speak nothing except Latin around their kid. Just think what his first day of school would be like.
Murgopana
This story hit me when I was thinking about linguistics. Languages are pretty fascinating. Some of them have structures that are very different from English. There are many languages that, like the one in the story, change a noun by adding a prefix or suffix. (If someone tells you to put down this silly book, let that person know you’re learning about linguistics. That will silence most critics.)
Eat Your Veggies
Life seems to be overflowing with rules. I love to take a rule and think about what will happen if someone breaks it. Unfortunately for my characters, whatever happens usually isn’t very pleasant.
Inquire Within
Even though this isn’t a Halloween story, I’m not surprised at all that it popped into my mind right around the end of October. That, after all, is when you can count on seeing some lighthearted segments about witches on the news. I was watching one when I started thinking about witch hunts, which led me, first of all, to the
idea for the ending.
Three
When I first became a parent, I promised myself I’d never do any of that typical parent stuff like counting to three. That promise didn’t last long. (Being a parent is a whole lot harder than it looks.) But, to be honest, I had no idea what I’d do if I ever reached three. And, to tell the truth, I still don’t know.
Fat Face
This is one of those rare cases where I started off with a character. I wanted to write about a kid who was taunted for being overweight. I was a fat kid in elementary school, so it wasn’t hard to dream up a suitable opening scene, though nothing as extreme as that ever happened to me.
The Soda Fountain
I’ve written some stories based on unpleasant childhood memories (most notably, “A Little Off the Top,” from In the Land of the Lawn Weenies, which grew from my dislike of visiting the barber when I was little). This one started with a pleasant memory—getting a fresh-mixed soda at a soda fountain. I had no idea what would happen after Ben walked through that door. But as I wrote the opening scenes, the idea came to me.
Sniffles
I was thinking about the term “allergy shot,” and I realized it could have more than one meaning. This is another nice way to get ideas. There are all sorts of words and phrases that can be given fun meanings. I’m sure you can think up lots of examples that are just as interesting as “allergy shot.”
Sidewalk Chalk
This actually happened to me. Okay—not the dinosaur part. But I did pick up a piece of sidewalk chalk in my garage and try to figure out what it was. When I started writing this story, I had no idea where it would go. Maybe I was influenced by the fact that I don’t draw very well.