Stink and the Midnight Zombie Walk (2 page)

O
n Monday after school, Webster asked Stink, “So what’s your plan?”

“Plan? What plan?”

“The super-smelly plan that’s going to make us ninety-nine gazillion dollars. So we can both buy the book? So we can go to the Midnight Zombie Walk?”

“Don’t have one.”

“But you said . . .”

“I just said that to mess with my sister.”

“We need a
not-fake
plan,” said Webster.

“Let’s think,” said Stink. “Two brains are better than one.” He slurped a brain-shaped sucker. Webster munched Zombie Zitz and Candy Scabs.

Ding!
“I know,” said Stink. “Let’s have a blowout yard sale and sell all our old stuff. Like action figures we don’t play with anymore.”

“Yeah! We can sell dinosaurs, cowboys, Mr. Spud Head, Debbie Dump Truck, my old Handy Andy, and Buzz Lightspeed. Too preschool.”

“Deal,” said Stink.

*  *  *

Webster ran home to raid his closet. He came back with a big box. In the box was one old marble, a toy lizard without a tail, and a plastic egg.

“That’s it?” asked Stink. “This is
so
not going to make us rich.”

“Giving away stuff is harder than I thought,” said Webster.

“Tell me about it,” said Stink. He pointed to the small pile on his bed. One Poky Little Puppy, a broken light saber, and a Red Robot pencil sharpener.

“Actually, I think I want to keep the pencil sharpener,” said Stink.

“Forget it,” said Webster. “Judy’s right. This plan stinks.”

“The stinkiest.” Stink sharpened pencils with his Red Robot. Pencil shavings littered the floor. They looked like moth wings. He picked them up and sniffed. They smelled good, like trees.

“Wait a second,” said Stink. “Maybe I
do
have a stinky plan after all.”

“What is it?”

“We sell smells,” said Stink.

“Shells?”

“No, smells! We get a paper cup, right? We put smelly stuff in the cup. Then we charge fifty cents for people to smell it.”

“What people?”

Stink shrugged. “Any people.”

“But who’s going to give us money just to smell stuff?”

“You’ll see. People love to smell stuff.”

“People don’t love to smell
skunks
.”

“But we can sell
good
smells, like . . . berries and dirt and stuff. No skunks. And
no
corpse flowers.”

“Who will pay us to smell dirt?”

“Riley Rottenberger. She likes anything rotten.”

“Riley Rottenberger would pay to smell putrid rotten burgers,” said Webster.

*  *  *

Stink set up a table in the yard and lined up his smell cups. Candy cane, pinecone, cinnamon, fruit gum, dirt, and dish soap.

“Dish soap?” asked Webster.

“What? It smells good. Like lemons.”

Also pencil shavings and eraser crumbs. Stink made a sign.
50¢ A SMELL.
He set a fancy dish on the table. He put one dollar in the dish.

“The secret to selling stuff is you put some of your own money out. People see it, and they’ll pay money to smell stuff, too. Plus the fancy dish makes it look like a real store. Trust me.”

“Fifty cents a sniff!” yelled Webster.

“Two for a dollar!” Stink called to anybody who came down the street. Mrs. Ling, the neighbor. Jack Frost, the mailman. But they all said, “No, thanks.”

“Fifty cents a smell,” Stink called to a kid on a bike.

“But I can smell stuff at home for free. I’m smelling free stuff right now.”

“Nah-uh,” said Stink.

“Ya-huh. Air.”

“This isn’t working,” said Webster. “Let’s give up.”

“We can’t just give up,” said Stink. “New ideas take time. It’s a known fact that it takes seventy-two hours for a human being to like a new idea.”

“It does?”

“Sure. Everybody knows that. Just like everybody knows that smell is the best out of all five senses.”

“It is?”

Sheesh.
Sometimes his best friend sure was behind the Magic 8 Ball.

“What’s all this?” Judy asked, coming outside. She picked up a cup. She took a sniff. She made a face. She took another whiff.

“One dollar,” said Stink. “Hand it over. You took two whole smells.”

“We’re selling smells,” said Webster.

“Then you owe me
two
dollars for stealing my bowling pin eraser set.” Judy held up the cup full of eraser crumbs.

“Great,” said Webster. “Now we’re in the minus instead of the plus.”

“Does Mom know you’re using her good dish?” Judy asked.

“Nothing is going to happen to Mom’s dish. I swear!”

“It’s
your
life,” said Judy, heading back inside.

Stink and Webster waited. Not one person came down the street. Not one car drove by. Not one whiff. Not one sniff.

“Has it been seventy-two hours yet?” Webster asked.

“Wait,” said Stink. “Let’s turn this into a Smellatorium!” He picked up a cup and wrote
Zombie Toe Jam
. Eraser crumbs were now
Zombie Zits
.

“Do zombies have B.O.?” Webster asked.

“The worst! Duh!” said Stink. “They’re dead!”

Webster wrote
Zombie B.O.
on a cup. Soon each cup was a zombie smell.

“Step up to the Smellatorium, if you dare,” called Stink.

“Zombie zits, farts, and B.O.!” yelled Webster.

Kids lined up at the table. In no time, the boys had a dish full of quarters.

“Two dollars,” said Stink. “Zombie Walk, here we come!”

“No way. That’s only enough to pay Judy back for the erasers,” said Webster. Just then, Stink saw Missy, the neighborhood dog walker. She had four leashes and four dogs.

“Hi, Missy!” Stink waved. “Hi, Max, Molly, Bella, and Missy!”

“I thought Missy was the person,” said Webster.

“She is. But the other Missy is that Chihuahua.”

All four dogs tugged on their leashes. They barked. They pulled Missy the Person across the street to Stink and Webster’s Table of Smells.

The dogs barked and leaped and jumped. “Down, boy,” said Missy. “Bella! Max!” She tugged on their leashes.

“Want to smell?” asked Stink. “It’s only fifty cents per sniff.”

“And it’s for a good cause,” said Webster.

“What’s the cause?” asked Missy.

“Zombies,” said Stink.

Just then, Bella and Max leaped up onto the table. They went crazy sniffing. Their leashes got all tangled.

“The dogs are smelling for free!” said Webster.

“Bella! Down, girl. Bad dog, Max!” said Missy the Person.

She pulled on their leashes and
CRASH
!
The fancy dish fell off the table and smashed to pieces on the sidewalk.

Stink’s mouth hung open. Webster’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“I’m so sorry, Stink,” said Missy the Person.

“It’s . . . that’s . . . my mom’s,” said Stink.

“I’ll pay for it, of course,” said Missy. She dug in her backpack. “How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty-five dollars and ninety-eight cents,” said Stink and Webster at the same time.

“Plus tax.” Stink grinned.

Missy held out her hand. “Will you take four dollars, a cough drop, and a purple paper clip?”