Boogers from Beyond #3 (8 page)

Ben and I were sitting in Mr. Bradley's social studies class when I
thought
I saw someone's face in the door window, staring right at me.

I couldn't be sure. I was still suffering from the aftereffects of being trapped in the car with the cats and dogs the day before, and was feeling a little foggy. The good news—I couldn't smell Mr. Bradley's breath today.

My nose dripped all over my Social Studies book. I was running out of tissues and I had given up trying to catch every bit of nose ooze.

“Looks like you've flooded the Great Wall of China,” Ben said, pointing at the open chapter on Chinese culture. “I thought that was impossible.”

“I can't even think straight right now,” I said.

The door to the classroom opened up, and Lunch Lady poked her head into the room.

“Meester Bradley?” she said.

“What do you want, Ms. Veracruz?” asked Mr. Bradley.

“I want those two boys,” she said, pointing at Ben and me. “They have to answer for the chicken casserole all over my cash register.”

Ben looked at me strangely, but we knew not to say anything.

“Why doesn't the principal have a word with them?” Mr. Bradley asked, confused.

“Oh, that's where I'm breengeeng them,” said Lunch Lady. “Right to thee principal.”

“All right,” said Mr. Bradley.

Lunch Lady quickly pulled us out of the classroom and rushed us down the hall into the janitor's closet.

As she closed the door behind us, I said, “You can't just pull us out of class like that.”

“Actually, you can pull us out of Mr. Bradley's class any time,” said Ben. “His breath is the worst. Though the barf water in the janitor's mop bucket comes in a close second.”

“What if Bradley checks in with Principal Prouty?” I asked.

“He's too lazy to check my story,” said Lunch Lady. “And this is
muy serio
.”

“What if the janitor shows up for a mop?” I asked.

“I gave heem some cheecken Parmesan to eat—hees favorite,” Lunch Lady sighed, and then quickly snapped back to attention. “If you're worried about thee janeetor, shut up and leesten!”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “What is it!?”

“There are more aneemals running around Gallow Manor,” said Lunch Lady. “A lot more! The Director has geeven me thees letter to geeve to you.” She held it up. “You are to get your friends, give eet to thee principal, and hope she dismeesses you early for thee day.”

“What does it say?” Ben asked and went to tear open the letter.

“Don't touch eet!” said Lunch Lady, smacking Ben's hand. “Eet has to look official.”

“Please tell me it doesn't have a glowing signature,” I said.

“Just geet your friends, and geet the letter to thee principal,” growled Lunch Lady.

It was 2:00 and we found ourselves lined up in the principal's office.

“From what I hear around school,” Nabila said, “only bad kids end up in the principal's office. I don't like this.”

Principal Prouty sat at her desk, eyeing the crusty old letter, which she had taken out of the sealed envelope. The smell of mold filled the room.

Shane sneezed. Gordon tried to stop his nose from snotting.

“Those poor creatures,” Principal Prouty mumbled as she read the letter.

She put the letter down and stared at me.

“Sooooo . . . ,” I said nervously.

“Well,” said Principal Prouty. “You have to go help them with the outbreak. Zachary says it's pretty bad.”

“Yesssss . . . ,” I said, wondering what exactly Director Z had told the principal.

“So, you know Zachary?” asked Shane. “I mean, the Director?”

“We have an ongoing business relationship, yes,” said Principal Prouty simply.

She stared at us.

We stared back.

Nabila finally broke the silence.

“All right!” she chirped. “Let's get out of here, then!”

We all stumbled awkwardly out of Principal Prouty's office, like we were spooked old monsters and she was an angry ghost.

My mother reluctantly drove us to Gallow Manor. It took a bit to convince her that Director Z had arranged some of during-school-hours volunteering with the principal.

As the sound of her car faded into the distance, we could hear strange new sounds coming from the manor.

BRRRRAAAACK.

SLLLLUUUUUURRROOONT.

HAAAAAAA-CHOOOO!

WAAAAAAAAAAA!

“They're all sick!” said Nabila.

The door swung in to reveal a very sick-looking Nurse. He sneezed in our faces with a spray of boogers and then passed out. His head hit the mat outside of the door with a thud.

“Nurse Ax?” I yelled, getting down to check on him.

“Nurse Ax?” Shane slapped his cheeks.

“Are you sure that isn't Nurse Inx?” said Ben.

“Nurse? Nurse?”

We were all bent over the Nurse when another figure appeared in the doorway. The even-gaunter, even-whiter figure of Director Z. He looked insanely sick. He stared at us with his red eyes, loosening his always-perfect tie. He swayed in the doorway, about to collapse.

“Children,” he said. “Help.”

“Director Z!” I screamed.

Shane and I rushed up to him to make sure he didn't fall.

“Don't forget about me,” said the Nurse, but his face was smashed on the welcome mat, so it came out, “Don forgt ba me.”

“Yes, yes,” said Director Z, “I'm fine. I just got dizzy. Help Nurse Ax out.”

Gordon and Shane bent to pick up Nurse Ax, and with a huge grunt from all three of them, he was back on his feet again.

“What's going on?” asked Nabila.

Director Z opened the door wider, and presented the foyer with a flourish.

Inside, dozens of puppies and kittens were running around like crazy. Up to the North Wing. From the West Wing.

In the East Wing, Lucinda B. Smythe screeched, “Oh, heavens, there's just so many of them!”

“There are
too
many of them,” said Director Z. “Just when we think we've cornered them all in one room, a monster screams from another part of the manor.”

“Scream?” Gordon asked. “Why would the monsters be afraid of them?”

“I think the sheer numbers,” said Director Z, “and the fact that they're multiplying so fast may have something to do with it. Not to mention, I've never been more allergic to a creature in my life.”

Director Z sneezed so hard that snot flew through the fingers of the hand he had placed over his mouth.

“I hear that,” I said, and my nose started to twitch. “This place is swarming with fur.”

“I have something to show you,” he said, and beckoned us down the West Wing hallway.

“They're everywhere,” said Ben as we made our way to the werewolves' room.

“Kittens swatting at each other,” Shane said. “Puppies rolling over one another. Normally I love this stuff—when the puppies and kittens aren't multiplying like freaky amoebas.”

“Clearly something unnatural is happening,” said Nabila as we entered the bedroom.

“Clearly,” said Director Z, pointing at a curled-up old dog on a chewed-up mattress.

“Who is it?” I gasped.

“It's Howie,” said Director Z sadly. “And he's suffered a severe monster juice drainage. He passed out here after peeing all over the harpsichord. Did you know that before he played accordion, he played the harpsichord? It must have been the only thing he recognized in this place. So sad.”

Director Z looked tired and zoned out.

“The puppies and kittens did this to him?” asked Gordon.

Howie's leg twitched, and Nabila bent down to stroke it.

“It's okay,” she said. “It's just a bad dream.”

A banshee screamed past the open door to Howie's room, chased by a half dozen dogs.

“This is no dream,” Director Z snapped, regaining some of his energy. “The puppies and kittens did do this to him, and I'm still trying to figure out how. But a few of the residents and I have come up with a theory.

“These animals give off toxic allergens—that much we know. Even for us, the living, they have an effect.”

“AAAAACHOO,” Gordon sneezed. “Yep.”

Gordon turned to Ben.

“Dude, I'm sorry I made fun of you for your allergies,” Gordon said. “This totally bites.”

“But I believe that, with the residents, the allergies are actually something worse,” continued Director Z. “Something far, far worse. I believe that the puppies and kittens are absorbing monster juice. They get their victims ill, and then, when their monster juice escapes, they're there to absorb it. Not by biting, or eating, just by . . . being in the area.”

“Little monster juice sponges,” said Shane.

“Once they have too much monster juice to handle, they split in two—or three or four, who knows—and they absorb even more. My guess is there were a few more kittens and puppies in the manor last night when you took the first four away with your mother. There are so many places to hide in this massive manor. The dungeon alone . . .”

“Let's talk with the ghosts,” I said. “They'd probably be able to float easily through the house and see into places where we can't see. We'll need their help to get all of them out of here.”

“No, we have to keep them here,” said Director Z. “They're too ordinary-looking. If we turned them out into the wild, they might find owners, and who knows what else they're capable of.”

“Oh no!” Nabila said. “What about the kittens and puppies at the animal shelter?”

“I don't think we need to worry about that for the moment,” said Director Z. “They barely had any exposure to the monster juice here, and there's no monster juice present at the shelter—at least none that I know of—so they should remain weak. We must first focus on the issue at hand.”

“What if we just . . . ,” Gordon said, and motioned cutting his throat with his thumb.

“Gordon!” Shane gasped.

“I thought about that,” said Director Z, “but again, they might not die if killed. They might grow stronger. No. We need to gather them all into one room. And, Shane, you have to stop seeing them as cute little cuddly-wuddlies and realize that they are the new threat to monsterdom!”

“Man, this is just so sad,” said Shane.

“We need to work quickly!” said Director Z. “Luckily, we aren't filled with monster juice to drain, but we can get sick, and if we have severe allergic reactions, we could all die. The Nurses and I have already been exposed too much. I need you gentlemen and lady to set things in motion while my staff and I walk the grounds and try to air out our sinuses. First things first. Talk with the ghosts.”