Boogers from Beyond #3 Read online

“Looks like we’re having a sleepover,” Shane said as we watched the snow pile up outside the window.

  “Yeah, it should be fun,” I added, smiling at Ben, whose breathing hadn’t gotten much better. He smiled back, knowing that I was just trying to cheer him up.

  “Why don’t you sleep in the music room?” suggested Director Z, handing out candles in tarnished old candelabras. “I believe that it’s been soundproofed, so the storm might not bother you as much. I’ll have the chefs prepare hot chocolate.”

  “That sounds good for the boys,” Nabila said, “but I think it would be best if I slept in my own room.”

  “Of course,” said Director Z. “You can take the room across from the music room when it’s time to sleep.”

  “But, Nabila,” snorted Ben. “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much, habibe,” she said.

  “Do you remember what happened in that hallway?” Ben whispered with concern to Nabila. “This place is crazy haunted!”

  “So far, we only know that there was something mysterious happening with the vase,” she whispered back confidently. “I’ll be right across the hall.”

  “Ben,” said Director Z, “I’ll get one of the witches to brew an antihistamine potion. You certainly look like you could use it.”

  As Director Z left, we all turned to Nabila. Before any of us could ask her, she replied to the question that she knew was coming.

  “I lied about the vase because Director Z said that we would have to pay if we broke anything. Did you see how old that vase was? It must be extremely expensive. Plus, he’ll probably never notice. Whatever tried to kill us did us the favor of blowing the mess out into the sky.”

  “Yeah, but I’m worried whatever that was didn’t leave with the vase,” I said.

  “Well, I, for one, am glad that Nabila didn’t tell the truth,” said Shane. “I don’t get enough allowance to buy new nineteenth-century artifacts.”

  Hours later, after Nabila had gone to her room, Shane, Ben, Gordon, and I sat in the music room. The candelabras rested on the floor, making our shadows jump around the room.

  Ben was completely asleep, knocked out from Griselda’s antihistamine potion. He clutched his now-empty hot chocolate mug.

  “Hey, isn’t that the same potion that amped me up?” asked Gordon.

  “Yeah,” said Shane. “But you had just taken a six-hour nap in a sea worm.”

  “True . . . true,” replied Gordon.

  “Okay, guys,” I said, blowing out the candles. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

  We all lay down. The room was insanely dark. And insanely quiet. Too quiet. Nobody said anything for ten minutes, and then . . .

  “This place is giving me the creeps,” said Gordon. “All I can hear is my heart beating; I think I’m about to go crazy.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I dunno,” said Shane. “I think quiet is good. Relaxing. Maybe this place isn’t haunted after all.”

  There were a few more moments of silence, and then a harpsichord started to play quietly in the dark.

  “Hey, did your mother finally teach you how to play the piano?” Shane asked.

  “Noooooo . . . ,” I said.

  “It’s not me,” Gordon said.

  I tried not to screech as I fumbled for the matches. As I struck the first, I saw we were alone.

  “Whew,” said Shane, his eyes searching the dimly lit room. “I thought someone was in here.”

  “You’re not worried the harpsichord is playing itself?” Gordon asked.

  “Why would I? It’s a sweet piece. Probably French. Baroque,” Shane said.

  Gordon looked under the harpsichord. “It’s plugged in or something, right?”

  “The power’s out,” I replied. “Duh!”

  I had finally lit the three candles on my candelabra and held it high.

  “Gordon, watch out,” I yelled.

  A guitar floated past Gordon’s head—he ducked to avoid it.

  It played along with the harpsichord, and both instruments got louder and louder.

  “Okay, this isn’t so fun anymore,” Shane said. “My ears are ringing.”

  “Let’s try to stop it,” I said, and lunged toward the harpsichord.

  Gordon followed, trying to silence the guitar.

  But they got so loud that we were stopped in our tracks, it hurt so much.

  “How is Ben sleeping through this?” I asked.

  “Let’s get Director Z,” said Shane. “He’ll know how to handle this.”

  We filed out into the hallway.

  “Should someone stay with Ben?” I asked.

  SLAM!

  The door closed, and all we could hear was the storm, which raged on.

  “I guess not,” I said.

  We rushed down the hall to Director Z’s room, but before we could open his door, there was a scream from the foyer.

  “That sounds like Nabila,” said Gordon.

  Forgetting Director Z for the moment, we rushed into the foyer, but didn’t see Nabila. We kept moving, jogging into the East Wing, only to find the portrait of Lucinda B. Smythe in a tizzy.

  “No matter what I do,” she said, “those other portraits keep staring at me!”

  She pointed across the hall to the portraits that hung on the wall. They really did stare at you, no matter which way you moved.

  “I had a Nurse move me today, but it’s no use,” she said. “This place is haunted with wicked spirits! They taunt me so!”

  “That was you screaming?” I asked Lucinda. “You haven’t seen Nabila around, have you?”

  “I’m right here,” she said, wiping the sleep out of her eyes with one hand and holding her candelabra with the other. “What’s going on?”

  “Were you sleeping?” Shane asked. “Because our room is a little too haunted for such activities.”

  “Yeah, can we please sleep in your room?” asked Gordon. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where’s Ben?” she asked.

  “In the music room,” I said. “Griselda’s potion knocked him out.”

  “Let’s drag him into my room, too,” she said.

  Before we could head back, a low moan and metallic rattling filled the hall. We looked in the direction of the foyer and saw a suit of armor shake centuries of dust out of its joints and turn toward us.

  Someone or SOMETHING was inside the armor.

  “Grigore?” asked Shane. “Pietro? Is that you?”

  “Waaarrrggghhh,” came the garbled reply.

  “Really funny,” laughed Shane. “Well done.”

  Gordon, Nabila, and I backed down the hall toward the banquet hall.

  With a loud CREAK the armor raised the huge ax that it held.

  “Uh, Shane,” I said. “I don’t think this is a joke.”

  “Yeah, maybe not,” gasped Shane, and we started running.

  Behind us, we heard the sound of groaning, clanking metal as the armor pulled its feet off of the pedestal it was nailed to and clanged down the hallway, ax raised high.

  “Hurry, Shane!” I yelled. “It’s right behind you!”

  “GWAAAAAHHHH!” yelled the armor.

  Gordon, Nabila, and I ran into the banquet hall and grabbed the two heavy doors, ready to slam them shut.

  Shane dashed through and we pushed with all of our might. The doors crashed to a close just as the ax sliced into the wood.

  Eventually, there was a clanking of metal as the suit of armor walked away. All we could hear was our heavy breathing and the storm raging outside until . . .

  “I told you so,” screeched Lucinda from the other side of the door.

  We sat huddled in the middle of the banquet hall around the candelab
ra, trying to figure out our next move.

  “Are we sure there’s not another way out of this room?” asked a frustrated Gordon.

  “We could climb out of a window,” said Nabila.

  I peered out of a window and gritted my teeth.

  “It looks like the windows are almost covered in snow,” I said. “You might freeze before you get to the front door.”

  “Maybe we can just run past him. His ax is in the door,” said Shane.

  “Wasn’t there an arsenal of weapons hanging next to him?” asked Nabila.

  “Right,” I said. “But I think we have to try anyway.”

  Shane walked stealthily to the door, and tried to open it.

  “It won’t budge. It’s either locked or the ax has jammed it, or both,” he said.

  “Drat,” I said, and fell back onto the cold floor.

  It was three in the morning, and the snow had completely covered the windows. I huddled in front of a single candle. We were lighting them one at a time in hopes of making them last until daybreak. The others were asleep, and it was my turn to stand guard. I’d begun to nod off when I heard a terrible roar in the hallway. It woke me up fast, and I skittered over to Shane.

  “Hey,” I said. “Pssst! Wake up. There’s something at the door.”

  BLLLUUUURRG!

  Another roar floated into the room from the hallway.

  “SHANE! WAKE UP!”

  Shane jumped up and swayed on his feet. “Whaytuh?”

  “There’s something at the door,” I said.

  Gordon and Nabila were slowly waking up as well.

  At the door, the strange creature gave another BLLLUUUURRG and the ax was pulled out of the wood.

  “It sounds like a sussuroblat,” said Shane.

  “Oh, man,” said Gordon, his teeth chattering. “I hope not.”

  The doorknob started to turn.

  “Do sussuroblats know how to open a door?” Shane asked.

  Gordon jumped over to one of the folding chairs that had been set up for tomorrow’s PTA meeting and ran back to the door with it over his head.

  “Whhhhhaaaa!” he yelled.

  “BLLLLUUURRRGGGHH!” yelled the creature as it opened the door.

  Gordon brought the chair down as hard as he could, and—

  “Wait!” Nabila yelled. “It’s Ben! Habibe!”

  Gordon threw the chair to the right at the last minute, where it hit the wall with a CRASH.

  “Hey, ggggguuysssss,” gurgled Ben. “I woke up with a massssssiifff sneeeezzzz, and spent an hour looking for you. Nabila, can I have a handkerchief? I’m dying over here. BLUUUUURGGH!”

  Ben walked into the room, and the doors swung shut behind him with a click.

  Gordon ran up to the door and grabbed the handles.

  “Nooooooo!” he screamed. “It’s locked! I gotta peeeeeee!!!”

  “Welcome to the party,” Shane said to Ben.

  PTA Come and Play

  The sun rose on a new day at Gallow Manor. We had survived the night, but in the banquet hall, Gordon was struggling.

  “Man, if someone doesn’t show up soon, I’m gonna have to pee all over this place,” he said.

  “You could just blame it on the werewolves,” said Shane.

  “They stopped doing that,” I said.

  Gordon rushed to a wall and unzipped his fly.

  “Gross,” said Nabila.

  “I have no choice!” Gordon sounded desperate.

  There was a click at the door, and it slowly creaked open. Gordon swiftly zipped back up.

  Director Z walked in with a scowl on his face.

  “What are you doing fooling around?” asked Director Z. “The PTA meeting is in less than two hours.”

  “How are they even going to get here?” I asked. “There’s four feet of snow out there.”

  “Take a look outside,” said Director Z.

  Shane and I ran up to the window. The snow had melted enough to look out the very top. Shane gave me a boost so I could have a peek.

  “WHOA,” I said.

  “What?” asked Shane, looking up.

  “Dude,” I replied. “The snow ends ten feet past the manor. Even the parking area is completely clear.”

  “I’ve never seen snow so localized,” said Director Z, “and I have a theory about what has caused this. But we don’t have time for that now. I must check in with Lunch Lady and make sure the proper preparations are being made.”

  I opened my mouth to tell Director Z what had happened to us the night before, but he cut me off.

  “I suggest you all take showers,” said Director Z. “But you’ll need to unclog the drains and clean up the bathroom first. Gil decided to take another three-hour-long swamp shower to keep warm last night. There’s swamp muck and vegetation everywhere, and we can’t let our guests see such a mess.”

  Frederick, the old stitched-together monster, came in holding a bizarre-looking metal cylinder with rubber on the tips.

  “Here you go, Boss,” he said, and handed the cylinder to Director Z.

  “Thank you,” said Director Z. “Frederick and I have been laboring over this particular piece of plumbing equipment for quite some time, and it should help you out greatly with unclogging the drains. Simply insert the front end into the drain, make sure to hold on to the rubber at the top, and press the red button. It utilizes a quite powerful type of electricity, so please make sure you’re not actually in the water when using it.”

  “Got it,” said Shane, snatching the electro de-clogger. “Should we expect any alligators?”

  “Not this time,” said Director Z, and he turned to leave.

  “Aw, man,” said Shane as we followed Director Z.

  We quickly showered and then put on the same clothes we had worn the day before. Ben did his best to clean off the puke and orange boogers.

  “Did you find any shampoo?” Ben asked as Shane walked into the room drying his hair. “I couldn’t use anything because of my allergies.”

  “The only thing I found was the werewolves’ flea and tick shampoo,” said Shane. “Which is good, because I think they might have given me fleas a few months back, and I’d been meaning to do something about that.”

  Gordon squirmed on the bench in front of the harpsichord.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

  “I can’t STAND wearing the same underwear two days in a row,” Gordon shouted. “It just feels wrong.”

  “Hey,” Ben said, squinting. “Is that something green poking out of your butt crack?”

  “What?!” Gordon reached back and pulled a huge wad of swamp vegetation out of his pants. “Awwwww, man!”

  Nabila walked into the room, looking fresh and clean.

  “That’s why I always carry an extra pair of underwear in my fanny pack,” she said. “You never know. Next time I’ll carry a second extra pair for you, Gordon.”

  “Umm . . .” Gordon looked confused. “Thanks?”

  When we got back to the banquet hall, Lunch Lady and a few chefs—men who looked like Nurses, but with chefs’ hats instead of nurses’ caps—started to bring out the food that Lunch Lady had prepared.

  One chef came into the room with a huge bowl of whitefish to spread on the bagels.

  “Hey,” said Ben, grabbing the bowl, “this is regular fish, right? It’s not zombie piranha salad . . . right?”

  “Just don’t geet any snot in eet,” said Lunch Lady. “You really should just lie down, my darleeng.”

  She grabbed the bowl and put it in the center of the table. Jane the zombie shuffled into the room and was about to grab a handful of the whitefish for a snack when Nabila pulled a bit of vegetable brain out of her fanny pack and jumped in front of her.

  “Hungry?” she asked, as she w
aved the vegetable brain in front of Jane.

  The zombie swiped the brain and gulped it down as she shuffled off.

  “Hey,” said Shane, “you’re getting better at handling the zombies than me these days.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’m sure it helps that Ben has got so much snot in his brain that he’s part zombie,” Gordon said, chuckling.

  We shuffled the last of the zombies out of the room just in time for the first parents and teachers to arrive, escorted by Nurses.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” Director Z said as each one arrived. “I hope you don’t mind being escorted to this room, but our new facility is quite large, and I’d hate for you to get lost.”

  The parents and teachers were very impressed with the facilities.

  “Wow,” said one, “this is massive!”

  “Hey,” said another. “Ms. Veracruz, what are you doing here?”

  “Where are the old folks?” asked another.

  “Oh,” said Director Z, “we didn’t feel the need to bother them with your activities, nor you with theirs. They’re most likely in their common area, or their rooms.”

  I stood next to Shane and Gordon, handing out the agendas that my mother had printed up. Nabila was tending to Ben, who was still super snotty.

  My mother arrived, took one look at the setup, and gave me a big thumbs-up!

  “Chrissy,” she said, “I can’t believe the snow. We didn’t get one bit. It’s like it just all dumped on the retirement home. Until I saw it with my own eyes, I thought you’d made it up.”

  “Totally weird, right?” I replied. “It was a crazy night.”

  “The food looks great,” she said. “How does the lunch lady know Director Z?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “I’ll tell it to you sometime.”

  Once everyone had grabbed a little breakfast and settled in, my mother stood up and headed for the podium.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she said. “It’s so great to have you all here. Please refer to the agenda you were handed, and let’s get started.”

  The meeting began, and everything seemed okay. I even started to relax. The five of us sat in the back of the banquet hall in a circle of chairs we had gathered. We played the game of pretending to squeeze the tiny heads of teachers we didn’t like between our fingers. Then we saw Mr. Stewart’s bushy head of hair and had a fun time squishing his head even though we liked him so much.