Fartsunami Read online

  Fartsunami

  by M. D. Payne

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Text copyright © 2013 by M. D. Payne. Illustrations © 2013 by Amanda Dockery. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York,

  New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Cover illustrated by Amanda Dockery

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN: 978-0-698-15996-9

  To Major Payne and Mummy,

  for all their love and farts

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Dirty Work

  This Could Get Hairy

  We Gotta Get Outta This Place

  Strange Visitors

  Excuse Me

  Three, Two, One, LIFTOFF!

  Intruder Alert!

  Wild Life

  Fart Machines

  Something’s Fishy

  Good-Smellin’ Guts

  Beach Bums

  Vacations Make Me Sick

  Trouble in Paradise

  Security Measures

  SeaMonsterWorld

  Romantically Rotten Dinners

  I’ve Got You Under My Skin

  Free Shark Rides for th e Kids!

  Date Night Re-do

  Ripped from the Deep!

  With a Little Help from an Enemy

  Calling All Farters! Calling All Farters!

  RUN!!!

  SWIM!!!

  FAAAAART!!!

  The Sweet Stench of Success

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  The fat man in the suit fell to the floor, writhing and drooling.

  “Der Schmerz!” he moaned in his native tongue. “Nein! Ich kann es nicht kämpfen…”

  His assistants—even larger, almost identical men—rushed into the man’s office. They were dressed in casual tropical clothes.

  He kicked wildly as he fought his invisible attacker. His huge figure shimmied and shook. He knocked over a lamp that smashed into his aquarium, spilling piranhas onto the plush carpet. They flopped around wildly, splashing in the thin layer of water that was left. The fish bounced over to the writhing man, and bit his twitching body.

  CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

  But the crunch wasn’t the sound of the man’s flesh—it was the sound of the piranhas’ teeth shattering!

  The assistants kicked the piranhas off of their boss and bent down to help him up. Sweat poured down his contorted face.

  “Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!” he moaned.

  It was hot in the room—as if the air-conditioning had failed.

  “The window,” said one of his assistants, “is open.”

  “Close it,” said the other. “Now!”

  He jumped up to do so, when a large sucking noise stopped him in his tracks.

  The sound came from the man.

  SLLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPP!

  The suited man twitched a few more times…

  SLLLLUUUUUPPP!

  Gave one final yawp…

  ZLIP!

  And then he farted an intensely long, loud fart. After it stopped, he coughed violently, and then passed out, his head bonking onto the floor.

  The two assistants quickly moved to cover their noses and waited for a great stench.

  It never came.

  The suited man snored with a look of contentment on his face.

  The two assistants stared at each other, not sure what to do.

  The one near the window slammed it down forcefully, locking out the hot, salty air.

  Then, both assistants carefully picked up their boss and brought him to the infirmary.

  Once he was placed on the table, the ancient witch doctor looked him over carefully from head to toe. He burned incense. He applied jungle leeches. He mumbled spells. He shook his staff angrily.

  The boss-man’s assistants wrung their hands, not knowing how to help.

  “Is he okay?” asked one.

  “Do you know what’s happened to him?” asked the other.

  The witch doctor scratched his head.

  “A thing like this, I have never seen,” he said in a deep and otherworldly voice. “He seems normal—healthy, even—but, alas, my leeches cannot dine upon his blood.” He lifted one of the slimy black slugs to his ear. “They say that it’s as if something has enveloped his body, but I see nothing. Very, very distressed I am. I will raise a few spirits tonight to see what they have to say about this.”

  “What can we do?” one assistant asked.

  “Rest, he must,” said the witch doctor. “Take him to his bed and keep your eyes on him.”

  The two assistants carried out the witch doctor’s orders. Despite the fact that neither leeches nor piranhas could make a mark on their boss’s skin, they made sure to close his netting. No vampire mosquitoes or zombie frogs could dine on him in the night.

  They stood watch, but all their boss did was snore, and occasionally giggle. Outside, the jungle seethed with the sound of mysterious creatures.

  In the morning, as the first light crept in through the window, their boss awoke, refreshed and renewed.

  “Gentlemen,” he chortled with glee. “Vhy are you in my bedroom? Are you afraid ze mermaids vill call you out to sea again?”

  “Boss,” one asked, “don’t you remember what happened last night?”

  “Vell,” he said as he scratched his head, “I vas reading ze latest numbers on ze residents’ lebensplasm…”

  “And?” the other assistant asked, leaning in.

  “Vell…” the boss said, “I can’t remember. Ze next sing I do remember is vaking up here.”

  “How do you feel?” asked one assistant.

  “Amazing!” he said. “Und I’ve had ze most vonderful idea!”

  “What’s that?” they asked in unison.

  He jumped out of bed, his suit still perfectly crisp, his leather shoes shining. The room shook and his huge jowls jiggled as he landed on the floor.

  “I haff to make a very important phone call,” he said.

  “Boss?”

  “BOSS!?!”

  But, in a flash, the boss had swung the door open and run down the hall.

  Dirty Work

  My friends and I survived another very long day of helping out at Raven Hill Retirement Home. I sluggishly pushed my way past a few residents and out of the Great Room. Shane, Ben, and Gordon stumbled out after me. We had just cleaned up after a huge—and messy—Sunday dinner.

  “It’s really, really hard to feed the old monsters now that they’re stronger,” I said.

  “Nobody got bit today, did they?” asked Ben.

  “The Nurses are definitely getting bit more often,” I said as we stopped in front of a room of zombies who refused to go upstairs to bed.

  “Why don’t the Nurses ever become monsters?” asked Gordon.

  We all shrugged, too tir
ed to care.

  Three identical Nurses—huge, bulky gentlemen in one-size-too-small uniforms—struggled to get the residents out of the room and upstairs to bed.

  “Hey!” one of the Nurses yelled as a wrinkled old zombie knocked him over.

  The zombie playfully chewed on the small hat perched on top of the Nurse’s swollen, red head. The other old zombies giggled.

  “Not funny!” warned the Nurse, who jumped back up to his feet with a THUD.

  The three Nurses were finally able to wrangle the residents out of the room and past us.

  Once the zombies were out of the way, we shuffled past the room of old witches, who were, as always, cackling away over a special bedtime brew. We dragged our tired legs down the hallway, over the holey, moth-eaten rug.

  “I was wondering how the holes got so huge,” Ben said, and pointed at a figure hidden in the alcove.

  Shane smiled and waved at the figure.

  Moth Man, cheerily picking carpet fibers from his blackened, slimy teeth, waved back.

  “Hurry up and eat the dusty old thing,” said Ben. “It’s giving me allergies!”

  We slunk into the lobby and past the portrait of Lucinda B. Smythe. Even she looked happy tonight as she watched us walk past.

  Everyone was happy at Raven Hill. Everyone but us.

  “I think I might be officially done with Raven Hill,” huffed Gordon. “This has stopped being a good time.”

  “I feel like they don’t need our help anymore,” I said as I opened the door and headed for freedom.

  “Oh, but I can assure you that they do, Mr. Taylor,” came a voice from behind us that stopped us in our tracks.

  We turned. Director Z, the man in charge of Raven Hill, stood in the center of the foyer with his hands behind his back. His crisp and perfectly pressed suit gleamed from the dull light of the old, cobwebby chandelier above him. He took a few steps toward us.

  “If it weren’t for you gentlemen,” Director Z said, “this facility and its residents would most certainly have been obliterated from the face of the Earth.”

  “Well, thanks for reminding us,” said Gordon as he turned back to the door. “Those were some great times. Some real roach-killin’ times. But, I’ve got practice at five a.m., and I need to get some sleep.”

  Gordon slipped out into the cold December air and slammed the door behind him. The creaky old house shook for a few seconds.

  “If the rest of you gentlemen could spare just one more moment,” Director Z pleaded, “there’s a lot to take care of before you leave for your big trip.”

  “Director Z!” I pleaded back. “We’re exhausted! We’ve been here all day. We’ve been working so hard.”

  “And that is precisely the reason that everyone is doing so well!” he said. He paused for a moment and looked me straight in the eye. “Those poor old souls need you. I really wish you weren’t leaving on Tuesday.”

  “Allll riiiight,” I said, caving in once again. “What is it?”

  He brought his hands out from behind his back.

  He held a plunger, liquid clog remover, and a shiny metallic bag.

  “We really need your help with the werewolves’ bathroom,” he said.

  “Yeah, maybe I have practice, too,” said Ben. “I’m not sure if I can smell that much wet dog without barfing.”

  I looked at Shane. He nodded. Ben headed home.

  “All right, we’re on it,” I said.

  Can you believe this?” I hissed as we entered the werewolves’ room. “They’re totally taking advantage of us! After we saved them from the sussuroblats, they should be waiting on us!”

  “Oh come on, they’re just a bunch of helpless old people,” said Shane. “Remember what kind of mess this place was before we got here.”

  “They seem strong enough to be on their own,” I said. “I mean, what did they do before we came along?”

  “Before we got here, bugs were guzzling their juices…and who knows what’s out there now, just waiting to suck it all up,” Shane said.

  “Well, they’re gonna have to get along without us,” I said. “I don’t care if Director Z begs and pleads for us to stay, I’m not missing the science-class field trip. Not for anything.”

  “Ah, sunny Florida,” Shane said with a smile. “A little sun. Palm trees. Sand between my toes. Florida’s still really warm this time of year.”

  “Dude!” I yelled, “This isn’t spring break. We’re not going to waste our time on the beach! This trip is all about Kennedy Space Center. The astronaut training program. Getting to touch a moon rock. Meeting a real-life astronaut! The only sun I get will be on the Gemini launchpad. I’m soaking up every bit of cosmic information I can.”

  “But my mom just bought me new swim trunks,” Shane added as I stormed into the bathroom. “They have surfing sharks on them.”

  This Could Get Hairy

  Ben was right. The room smelled like wet dog. The funkiest, moldiest wet dog ever. There were other smells too, but I didn’t want to think about where they’d come from.

  “Next time, I’m not giving them any extra doggie treats,” Shane grumbled.

  Every surface was covered in hair. On the sink. On the floor. In the bathtub. Probably the ceiling, too. I didn’t dare look up. The worst of all was the toilet. It was completely clogged. Wads of hair and shaving cream floated in the gloopy water. A razor and a bottle of shaving cream sat on the rim of the toilet. Both were completely covered in hair.

  “Wow,” I said, “I guess they shave with toilet water.”

  Shane peeked into the sink. “Nope,” he said. “They clogged the sink, too. I guess they just switched to the toilet after that, those dirty dogs.”

  “I’ll never figure out why they bother to shave,” I said. “I mean, it’s gonna grow back!”

  “I think they like to look fresh for the ladies,” said Shane. “Pietro told me he had the hots for Clarice, the banshee.”

  “A werewolf and a banshee?” I asked. “Can they do that?”

  Shane turned from the sink. “Who are you to say that two people—or geriatric monsters—can’t fall in love?”

  “You have a point, but we should still show Clarice this bathroom and save her some trouble,” I snickered.

  Shane shook his head. “Where should we start?” he asked.

  After cleaning the hair off the floor and around the sink, we stuffed it all in the bag that the Director had given us. It was going pretty quickly.

  Then we started on the toilet.

  Shane was plunging like a madman as the moon rose and shone through the bathroom window.

  “I think I’m getting it,” he said. “The water’s going down!”

  “Dude,” I said. “That’s only because you’re getting it all over our shoes.”

  “Ugh!” he yelled.

  He let the plunger go.

  But it kept plunging.

  “Huh?” Shane gasped, and he turned to me.

  It bounced and splashed around, and a growling sound bubbled up from the toilet.

  Gurrble, Grrrble, Burrbble!

  “Grab the plunger!” I screamed. “Plunge whatever it is out of here.”

  Shane and I grasped for the handle, but I couldn’t hang on. It bounced around and…

  FWACK!

  The handle hit me right on the head. I stumbled back and hit the cold tiles with an “OOF.”

  Shane still had a good grip. He plunged with all his might. Pulling back, the plunger came out of the toilet with a FLOOP. Shane hit the floor, butt-first, right next to me.

  “Is the water going down?” I croaked.

  “Let me see,” Shane said. He fumbled back up on his feet, and peered into the toilet.

  The toilet started to shake and vibrate.

  GURRRBLE, GRRRRR, BURRBBLE!

  “I can’t tell if the water is going down, but something is definitely coming up!” he said, and started to back away from the bowl.

  Before we could skitter out of the room,
the toilet exploded all over Shane. He was completely covered in wet brown goo.

  He turned to me, his eyes squeezed shut, and said, while trying to keep his mouth closed, “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

  “Most of it isn’t,” I replied, trying to sound encouraging.

  Shane stood frozen in disgust as the brown goo dripped down his body and piled up on his feet.

  It formed the largest, nastiest wad of goopy hair I’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Open your eyes,” I said. “You have to see this.”

  “What!?” Shane yelled as he pried open his eyes.

  We stared at the wet werewolf hair wad growing on the floor.

  “Well, this is something new,” he said. “It’s a furwad!”

  “Hairwad,” I insisted. “Unless they were shaving in werewolf form.”

  “Are you sure,” Shane continued. “I think—”

  The hairwad shook violently and growled a low, angry growl.

  “Forget it! The liquid clog remover!” I yelled.

  Shane bent over quick, grabbed the liquid clog remover, and poured it all over the hairwad.

  There was a whimper and squeal as the hair broke up and got sucked down the drain on the floor.

  “Whew!” I said, and high-fived Shane. “Well done, man!”

  That’s when we noticed something crawling out of the sink.

  “GRRRRRRRR!”

  “Um, Shane?” I asked, “Did you happen to save any of that clog remover?”

  “Sadly,” said Shane, “no.”

  The hairwad slowly crept out of the sink. It flopped onto the cold, hard bathroom floor. It headed toward us, leaving behind a slimy, watery trail.

  “Any bright ideas?” asked Shane.

  “Um…uh…” My brain froze as the hairwad inched closer, growling all the way.

  And then the hairwad pounced. It jumped amazingly high—right toward my face.

  “Ah!” I yelled, and grabbed the hairwad.

  It writhed and spat and growled. It smelled terrible. I couldn’t see any claws, teeth, or even a mouth, but I had little doubt that it could hurt me. I struggled to hold it as far away from my face as possible.

  “Hold on!” said Shane, and he waved the mysterious metallic bag in front of me. “Can you get it in here? It doesn’t seem like the hair we put in earlier is doing anything.”