Goosebumps Most Wanted #5: Dr. Maniac Will See You Now (11 page)

The Monkey pressed his heavy body down on me. I couldn’t move.

I knew I had only one chance. One way to defeat him.

I tried to take a deep breath. I opened my mouth wide, and tried to sneeze.

No. Not happening.

Come on. Come on!
I needed a super-sneeze to blast the hulking creature off me.

I sucked in another breath. Opened my mouth. And —

No.

I groaned as the the big monkey leaned forward, pressing his paws over my shoulders. He pushed his chest into my face. The fur … the thick fur tickled my nose. The fur made my whole face tingle.

I tilted my head back — and let go with a powerful explosion, a roaring sneeze.

I felt the Monkey’s paws slide off me. I opened my mouth and sneezed again. The Monkey flew off me … staggered back … back to the edge of the platform.

Another sneeze. And the startled creature’s mask blew off his face.

I saw his chimplike face for the first time. The whole face appeared to crumble. The Masked Monkey slumped in a heap to the concrete. He lowered his head and began to cry. Loud monkey sobs.

Without his mask, the Masked Monkey was a powerless wimp.

I felt like cheering. My superpowers had defeated a classic comic book character. But I knew I didn’t have time to celebrate.

I whirled around and darted up the stairs. My shoes clomped heavily on the concrete. My chest felt about to burst.

I was halfway up the stairs when the shadow of the ceiling fell over me. I gazed up — and uttered a horrified cry.

The heavy THUD rang in my ears as the trapdoor slammed shut.

Trapped. Trapped in Comic Book World forever.

With a defeated sigh, I pulled myself to the top of the stairs. I stepped under the trapdoor and gazed up at it.

I raised my hands to the bottom of the door. The wood felt warm. I spread my hands out and pushed hard.

The trapdoor didn’t budge.

I held my breath, tightened my muscles, and pushed harder.

No. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t move it.

I stared up at it. The real world was so close — but so far away.

Something tickled my nose. A bit of monkey fur?

I sneezed so hard, I nearly fell down the stairs.

The trapdoor sprang open. It swung high, then slid back down. I held my breath as it stopped — before closing all the way. The opening was big enough for me to squeeze through.

“Whoa!” I let out a cry as I saw my parents up there. I brought my face close to the open trapdoor. I could hear them.

“This is your fault, Barry,” my mother shouted at my dad. “Why didn’t you go down there and pull him up?”

“How could it be my fault?” Dad protested. “Why is everything always my fault?”

“Because it’s always your fault?” Mom shouted back. “Because you’re a total loser?”

“Sure, I’m a loser,” Dad said. “I’m married to
you
!”

Didn’t they see me down here? Couldn’t they stop arguing for one minute, even when I was in major trouble?

And then I saw Bree. Yes! She had found the staircase, too! She was safe and sound up there. She gazed down into the opening of the trapdoor — and saw me.

She scowled at me and shook a fist above my head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for this, Richard. I’ll get revenge.”

And then my parents finally stopped arguing and spotted me.

They both bent down and reached out their hands to me. “There you are,” Mom said. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“You’re going to be grounded for
life
,” Dad said.

“Hurry, Richard!” Mom cried. “The door — it’s closing again. Hurry!”

Yes. The door was creaking shut. I reached up my hands to them. I started to climb out. The opening was just wide enough. I could slide through easily.

But then I stopped.

I pulled back my hands. I gazed up at the closing door.

My heart was thumping. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.

I’d made a big decision.

Can you guess what I decided?

“So long, everyone!” I shouted. “Have a nice life!”

I watched the trapdoor slam shut.

Then I let out a cry of joy. “Yes! Yesssss!” I pumped my fists above my head.

I leaped off the stairs. I felt so happy I could explode. I darted past the Masked Monkey and flew down the rest of the stairs.

Comic Book World was so much fun. I knew I’d have a great life here. After all, I was a superhero in Comic Book World — not a loser kid with allergies and a bad-news family.

I was CAPTAIN SNEEZE! Or should I call myself THE NOSE? Or maybe BLASTER? How about BLASTER MASTER?

I thought of name after name as I trotted down the street. All around me, comic characters were fighting, flying, leaping after one another, having an
awesome
time.

“This is where I belong!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “This is where I want to live!”

Then I saw the three costumed figures marching down the street with their eyes trained on me. Dr. Maniac, the Purple Rage, and Dr. Root. They stood tensed, their bodies stiff, fists ready for a fight.

“Come on!” I shouted. “Bring it on! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

I rubbed my nose, getting it ready for battle. This is what I always had dreamed of.

I took off, running toward the three villains. But after a few steps, I stopped short — and uttered a cry of horror. “What are
you
doing here?” I cried.

Ernie hurried up to me, shaking his head. “Guess I wandered away,” he said. “I got lost. I didn’t find the stairs in time.”

I gasped. “You mean —”

He kicked me hard in the leg. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Get me some food. And I’m tired. Where are we going to sleep? Hurry up, Richard. I’m really starving.”

He kicked me again. “I need my game-player. How can I get my game-player back? Where are we going to live? I need a double cheeseburger. Are you going to get me a double cheeseburger?”

Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow.

I shut my eyes and pictured the trapdoor. Closed tight. Closed forever.

My brother and I were trapped together.

And just think, we’re NEVER going to get a day older.

My name is Tommy Farrelly. I’m twelve, and I wanted to hang around home with my friends this summer. But that’s not happening.

My parents are forcing me to go to Winner Island Camp. What kind of camp is that? Well, let me tell you the camp slogan. It’s:
Winners Are Always Winners
.

That’s right. It’s a camp where they teach you how to be a winner.

Now, I’m a totally normal guy. I’m happy most of the time. I do okay in school, mostly As and Bs. And I’ve got some good friends. So, I don’t mean to brag or anything. But I think I’m
already
a winner.

But that isn’t enough for my family. In my family, you have to be a
WINNER
. In my family, you have to be the fastest, or the luckiest, or the smartest, or the funniest, or the
best
, day and night.

My dad is a big, strong dude, about a mile wide. He played middle linebacker on his college football team, and they went to the national championship. Now he’s a football coach at a junior college. All he cares about is
winning
.

My mom is a vice president at a bank. And she’s into long-distance bike racing. Sometimes she gets up at four in the morning and rides for sixty miles before breakfast.

Even Darleen, my six-year-old sister, is a superstar. She was reading huge books when she was four. Last year, she won the National Spelling Bee in Washington, DC, against a bunch of high school kids.

Get the picture? I like to chill with my friends and take it easy. How did I get in this family?

And now, here we were pulling up to the dock. In about an hour, the boat was going to come to take me to Winner Island. I saw a little white restaurant near the end of the dock. Above the door, a wooden sign carved like a fish read:
Andy’s Fish Shack
.

The lake sparkled blue and gold. The water rippled gently under bright sunlight. But my parents never take any time to enjoy a beautiful view.

We piled out of the car, and Dad cried, “Race you to the restaurant.”

Mom, Dad, and Darleen took off, running as fast as they could. Their shoes slapped the wooden dock. I took one last look at the shimmery lake. Then I trotted after them.

Darleen reached the restaurant door first. “I call the window!” she shouted. She pulled the door open and disappeared inside.

“First one to the table gets the biggest breakfast,” Dad said.

Do you see? Everything is a competition in my family.

Andy’s Fish Shack was small with only a few tables. They had red-and-white checkered tablecloths. It was morning, but the restaurant smelled of chowder and fried fish.

A skinny old guy in a sailor’s cap and a long white apron was wiping glasses behind the bar. I guessed he was Andy. “Take any table, folks,” he called. The place was empty.

Darleen grabbed a seat by the window. I stopped to gaze at the long, silvery swordfish mounted over the bar.

“Last again, Tommy,” Mom said, shaking her head.

Darleen giggled. “Tommy is always last.”

“That’s why we’re sending him to Winner Island Camp,” Dad said. “When he comes back in two weeks, you’d better watch out, Darleen. He’ll beat you to the table every time.”

She rolled her blue eyes. “No way.” My sister has a round face and crinkly blond hair. My parents say she looks like a little doll.

That makes her a winner again since I’m kind of short and chubby, and I wear glasses.

The waiter took our breakfast order. Dad ordered three eggs and an extra helping of bacon to make sure he got the biggest breakfast. Mom competes by eating the
least
. “Could I just have the egg whites, please?” she asked. “And no potatoes.”

Wind off the lake rattled the window by our table. Outside, I saw a seagull dive into the water.

I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t understand why I have to go to this camp,” I said. “I mean, seriously.”

“It’s only two weeks, dummy,” Darleen said.

“Don’t call me dummy,” I snapped.

Mom and Dad like it when Darleen and I fight. They say it shows we both want to win. It shows good competitive spirit.

My parents are weird — right?

“Your sister is right,” Dad said. “The camp is only two weeks, but it’s really going to toughen you up. You’re going to come back a different kid.”

Mom pulled the camp brochure from her bag. “Tommy, look what it says. This is Uncle Felix talking. He’s the camp director.”

She read from the brochure. “‘When you arrive, you are a LOSER. But losers NEVER leave Winner Island.’”

Those words gave me a chill. I mean, what does that
mean
— losers never leave? Where do they go? What happens to them?

Guess what? I soon found out. And it wasn’t pretty.