nightmare!
A headache-inducing, stomach-churning, gut-gurgling nightmare!
Ah, poor Damien. He could handle thugs and thieves and devious businessmen.
Backstabbers and double-crossers (and even politicians!).
But children?
They were simply too much for him.
And so it was that Damien had made a mad, belly-jiggling dash for the exit when the dismissal bell rang at Geronimo Middle School. “Out of my way! Out of my way!” he’d shouted (in a curiously masculine voice), shoving through the teeming crowds of teens. And after continuing his mad dash over to his car (which was parked a cautious four blocks from school), he’d fired up his trio of ultra-bad Rochester carburetors and put the pedal to the Eldorado’s metal (which, in this case, meant just that).
So, as you can see, Sticky’s order to
“Ándale!”
was a wise one, indeed. Dave had, after all, stopped at the thrift store, pedaled up to RavenRidge (which, even for an experienced biker like Dave, was quite a trek), and been harassed and waylaid by bwaa-ha-cawing ravens.
Can you say tick-tock?
So without further delay, Dave eeeeeased through the donkey door, tiiiiippy-toed across the worn black-and-white flooring tiles, and sneeeeeaky-peeked a look around the pantry shelving into the kitchen.
There was no sign of Ms. Veronica Krockle.
Only Pablo and Angelo dousing each other with maple syrup.
“Stop that!” Pablo cried.
“You stop first!” Angelo shouted back.
“What are they
doing
?” Dave whispered, for even in his most heated fights with Evie, he had never, not ever, poured syrup on her head.
Pablo doused Angelo with another glug of syrup as he yelled, “I’m not taking her food up, you hairy dog!”
“Yes, you are, you chintzy cheater!” Angelo shouted, glugging back.
“I think they’re fighting about that scary
señorita!”
Sticky whispered.
Pablo suddenly lowered his syrup jug and looked around. “Hey … where’s Tito?”
Angelo looked around, too. “I don’t know, but the tray’s gone.”
Pablo snorted through his little ratty nose. “Well, good. He needs the exercise.”
Angelo laughed. “Yeah. Ninety-nine steps. It’ll take him all day.”
Pablo plopped down in a tattered vinyl kitchen-table chair. “I hate those creepy masks in that tunnel. The eyes.” He shuddered. “Do you think they’re really alive?”
Angelo plopped down across from him and started wiping the syrup off his face and arms. “Don’t be stupid. How could they be alive, huh?”
“Hey!” Pablo said, sitting up straighter. “I’m not stupid, you’re stupid!”
“Shut up! You’re stupider than the stupidest stupid ever!”
And so they were off again, outdoing each other’s insult, oblivious to the fact that they’d just given away Ms. Veronica Krockle’s location.
“She’s in the tower!” Sticky whispered into Dave’s ear.
“How do we get there?” Dave whispered back.
“Up ninety-nine rickety steps and through a creepy tunnel of masks.
Oooor”
—he tapped hislittle gecko chin thoughtfully—“we could use the stinky socks chute.”
“The stinky socks chute?” Dave pulled a face. “I’ll take the ninety-nine steps.”
Sticky arched a hairless eyebrow. “I don’t think so,
señor.”
“Why?”
Sticky peeked around the corner at Pablo and Angelo (whose argument had ramped up to “Well, you’re stupider than the stupidest stupid sauce
inside
the dumbest dumb bomb ever, and every time you explode, stupid sauce splats all over the wall!”). He eyed Dave. “Because to get to the ninety-nine steps, you first have to get past those two. And what if Tito is on his way down?”
“Can’t we just go up the outside of the house?”
Sticky shook his head. “No windows in the tower.”
“So where’s the laundry chute?” Dave whispered(for he’d figured out that’s what the stinky socks chute must be).
Sticky pointed to an open room located across a wide common area. “In there.”
It was clear that
A headache-inducing, stomach-churning, gut-gurgling nightmare!
Ah, poor Damien. He could handle thugs and thieves and devious businessmen.
Backstabbers and double-crossers (and even politicians!).
But children?
They were simply too much for him.
And so it was that Damien had made a mad, belly-jiggling dash for the exit when the dismissal bell rang at Geronimo Middle School. “Out of my way! Out of my way!” he’d shouted (in a curiously masculine voice), shoving through the teeming crowds of teens. And after continuing his mad dash over to his car (which was parked a cautious four blocks from school), he’d fired up his trio of ultra-bad Rochester carburetors and put the pedal to the Eldorado’s metal (which, in this case, meant just that).
So, as you can see, Sticky’s order to
“Ándale!”
was a wise one, indeed. Dave had, after all, stopped at the thrift store, pedaled up to RavenRidge (which, even for an experienced biker like Dave, was quite a trek), and been harassed and waylaid by bwaa-ha-cawing ravens.
Can you say tick-tock?
So without further delay, Dave eeeeeased through the donkey door, tiiiiippy-toed across the worn black-and-white flooring tiles, and sneeeeeaky-peeked a look around the pantry shelving into the kitchen.
There was no sign of Ms. Veronica Krockle.
Only Pablo and Angelo dousing each other with maple syrup.
“Stop that!” Pablo cried.
“You stop first!” Angelo shouted back.
“What are they
doing
?” Dave whispered, for even in his most heated fights with Evie, he had never, not ever, poured syrup on her head.
Pablo doused Angelo with another glug of syrup as he yelled, “I’m not taking her food up, you hairy dog!”
“Yes, you are, you chintzy cheater!” Angelo shouted, glugging back.
“I think they’re fighting about that scary
señorita!”
Sticky whispered.
Pablo suddenly lowered his syrup jug and looked around. “Hey … where’s Tito?”
Angelo looked around, too. “I don’t know, but the tray’s gone.”
Pablo snorted through his little ratty nose. “Well, good. He needs the exercise.”
Angelo laughed. “Yeah. Ninety-nine steps. It’ll take him all day.”
Pablo plopped down in a tattered vinyl kitchen-table chair. “I hate those creepy masks in that tunnel. The eyes.” He shuddered. “Do you think they’re really alive?”
Angelo plopped down across from him and started wiping the syrup off his face and arms. “Don’t be stupid. How could they be alive, huh?”
“Hey!” Pablo said, sitting up straighter. “I’m not stupid, you’re stupid!”
“Shut up! You’re stupider than the stupidest stupid ever!”
And so they were off again, outdoing each other’s insult, oblivious to the fact that they’d just given away Ms. Veronica Krockle’s location.
“She’s in the tower!” Sticky whispered into Dave’s ear.
“How do we get there?” Dave whispered back.
“Up ninety-nine rickety steps and through a creepy tunnel of masks.
Oooor”
—he tapped hislittle gecko chin thoughtfully—“we could use the stinky socks chute.”
“The stinky socks chute?” Dave pulled a face. “I’ll take the ninety-nine steps.”
Sticky arched a hairless eyebrow. “I don’t think so,
señor.”
“Why?”
Sticky peeked around the corner at Pablo and Angelo (whose argument had ramped up to “Well, you’re stupider than the stupidest stupid sauce
inside
the dumbest dumb bomb ever, and every time you explode, stupid sauce splats all over the wall!”). He eyed Dave. “Because to get to the ninety-nine steps, you first have to get past those two. And what if Tito is on his way down?”
“Can’t we just go up the outside of the house?”
Sticky shook his head. “No windows in the tower.”
“So where’s the laundry chute?” Dave whispered(for he’d figured out that’s what the stinky socks chute must be).
Sticky pointed to an open room located across a wide common area. “In there.”
It was clear that
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