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chapter six

Thirty minutes later, the five of us – plus Rover – are standing across the street from Joe’s. And my brain is just like, ‘What the huh?!’

I see ample evidence that this is not the Joe’s Pizza we’re used to . . .

– Ample Evidence –

‘Mr. Thrull, what exactly is this?’ Quint asks.

‘This is where I live,’ he says, shifting and adjusting his weight on the hockey stick. ‘Come.’

That sounds reasonable enough – but something stops me.

‘Um, one second, Mr. Thrull!’ I exclaim. ‘Quick buddy huddle!’

I grab my friends and we all dash out of hearing distance.

‘Should we go in there?’ I ask.

Dirk and June both nod. ‘I think so . . .’ June says.

‘Why not?! You know how old folks always tell you not to trust strangers? Great advice! You know what’s better advice? Don’t trust monster strangers! The dude’s wearing bone jewellery.’

Quint opens his mouth to respond, but a strange sound interrupts us. It’s like the sound of a blade, slicing between us, silencing us.

‘Do you guys hear that?’

It’s like the wind, rustling through the trees. But louder. The sound fills the air. Like a flute or a, uh – what’s that lame plastic instrument from elementary school? A recorder! It sounds a bit like that. But the sound is deeper, rougher – and the longer I listen to it, the more it begins to sound like a strange, devilish, musical scream. There’s no other way to describe the sound. It is an inhuman SHRIEKING.

But there’s no time to ponder the strange sound, because Thrull is limping toward Joe’s. If we’re going in, the time is now.

‘Come on!’ June says.

I listen to the noise a moment longer. The sound enters my ears and proceeds to march straight down my spine, twisting it, terrifying me to my core.

It’s only a noise.

Yet it scares me beyond belief.

‘Jack!’ Quint barks. I shake my head, trying to shake out the fear, and I reluctantly follow my friends. From inside Joe’s, I hear glass shatter and freakish, inhuman laughing.

But I continue following.

We all do.

Rover trots beside me. As we step up onto the sidewalk, I tell him to stay, and he flashes those puppy-dog eyes at me. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be back, buddy,’ I say. ‘I think . . .’

Continuing forward, we pass the monsters hanging out outside. I try to give them good, solid, manly nods – but they just look at me like, ‘Buddy, you are in the wrong place.’

Thrull places his hand against the door, and pushes it open, and we step inside. Inside, to the strangest sight imaginable . . .

Tentacles dance in the air! Furry beasts armwrestle! Scaled things play some strange version of darts. At the counter, insect-like monsters suck down entire pizzas in a single bite. Small flying creatures swoop through the air, delivering food. And everywhere, at tables, in booths, are HULKING MONSTERS chatting it up in some sort of monster language.

A few speak English. Bits and pieces of strange monster dialogue float over:

‘. . . ONCE POUNDED A GURLAK INTO THE MUD WITH JUST MY TAIL . . .’

‘. . . MORE SNOZZLE STEAKS, CHEF! . . .’

‘. . . TASTES BETTER WHEN IT’S STILL BREATHING, IF YOU ASK ME . . .’

A massively round monster behind the bar wings a pizza pie through the air, directly into the mouth of a heaving creature that is seemingly all mouth and nothing else.

And then there’s us.

There’s me.

The thirteen-year-old human.

The scared, confused, overconfident-but-only-overconfident-in-order-to-hide-his-crippling-fear kid.

‘My friends!’ Thrull bellows. ‘Listen!’

The grumble of monster voices grows quiet. They turn in their chairs. Some crane impossibly long necks. I can feel their eyes – some with thousands of little eyeballs, like flies – watching us.

Thrull purses his lips. He sighs through his neck-gills, then says, ‘Œŕŗūæŀ, known in this world as BLARG!’

The monsters simply stare. Silence hangs in the air like a poorly timed fart. Finally, a small, zero-armed creature, perched on a chair, laughs and leans forward. ‘This small human defeated a servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds? HA! Not likely!’ the creature says, cackling.

Hey! Are they calling me a liar?! I’m many things. I’m lazy. I’m clumsy. I’m a sucker for girls with British accents. I’m pretend-charming but not real-charming. But I’m no liar.

Well, that’s not totally true, either. I mean, I’ve lied plenty. Who hasn’t?

But I’m not lying about this!

I cough into my fist, take a deep breath, and step forward. ‘Um. Ah. No. It’s true. I did. For real. With this,’ I say as I pull the Louisville Slicer from its sheath.

The way the monsters react, you’d think I’d just pulled a severed donkey head from my back pocket. Some gasp like humans. Others make sounds that I can only assume are monster versions of gasps.

They begin to sniff the air and then start to smile. It’s like they can smell Blarg on the blade.

Thrull looks at me with a grin that’s all teeth. He rests one massive paw on my shoulder. I can’t help but feel all warm inside . . .

And then –

‘And these are my friends!’ I say, shouting to be heard over the roar. ‘I didn’t do it alone! They helped! Like, a whole bunch!’

The crowd cheers louder. June and Quint beam. Dirk gives me a slap on the back. And that is how we’re welcomed into the strange new world of Joe’s Pizza.

Soon, monsters are surrounding us, asking questions, telling stories, offering us food. A dozen monsters crowd around me as I recount the tale of how I battled Blarg. They keep pouring me flat Joe’s soda and I keep talking.

Later on, I spot Thrull, off in a dim corner, sitting at a table. He’s talking with another creature – this one thin, with spindly limbs and a rough, jagged beard.

Thrull catches my eye and beckons me over. I pull Quint, Dirk, and June with me.

‘Please sit,’ Thrull says, then indicates the other monster. ‘This is ßàŗġťŀ – pronounced “Bardle” in your tongue.’

Bardle smiles – an act that seems to take him great effort. His face scrunches up, revealing deep scars slashing this way and that.

‘Bardle is aged,’ Thrull says. ‘For many lifetimes, he was a conjurer in our dimension.’

‘Dimension?’ Quint asks, leaning forward.

chapter seven

‘How ancient is he? Older than you?’ June asks.

Bardle chuckles. ‘Oh yes. Much. Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient comes from the time before time, when great battles were fought in our lands. After an age, Ŗeżżőcħ was defeated. And for millennia, he was gone. We lived in peace.

‘But he returned. Throughout the ages, there have been rare, evil creatures who strive to bring about the return of Ŗeżżőcħ. One of these servants of Ŗeżżőcħ awakened his spirit. And Ŗeżżőcħ came like a summer storm, hard and fast, wielding magic more powerful than we had ever known. In his sleep, his hunger had grown strong.’

‘I know the feeling,’ I say. ‘Sometimes when I wake up, I’m just craving a Mars Bar, like –’

‘Jack!’ Quint whispers.

‘Oh. Right. Story time.’

Bardle chuckles. ‘Ŗeżżőcħ did not crave “Mars Bars”. Ŗeżżőcħ craved death. He is the destructor.’

I gulp. That sounds bad.

‘Ŗeżżőcħ’s magic had grown strong,’ Bardle continues. ‘And then, at the peak of his power – it happened. In an instant, our world turned dark. The skies clouded. The atmosphere crackled. Doors opened – portals of energy. I do not know how. I do not know if it was Ŗeżżőcħ himself who opened the doors – or something else . . .’

Quint shoots me a nervous look. None of this is sounding good.

Bardle continues, ‘But I know that next, we were sucked through those doors. All of us: the wild vines, the undead who carry and spread the zombie plague, my friends whom you see here – all of us, in an instant, propelled through a thousand doors, into your world.’

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘And then this bad guy, Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient – he came through these energy door portal gate things? HE’S HERE?!’

Bardle shakes his head. ‘No. The doors closed before Ŗeżżőcħ could come through. Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient was left behind. For us, it is a relief – we suffered under his rule. But now we are here, in a new, strange world.’

‘Oh,’ I say softly. ‘But, so – are we safe from this Ŗeżżőcħ fella?’

Bardle nods. ‘It seems that way. For now. He was left behind in our world. We are now in yours.’

Phew.

Bardle smiles. ‘And we owe you a great deal of thanks for defeating Blarg. He was a servant of Ŗeżżőcħ. One who worshipped him. One who would do his best to bring Ŗeżżőcħ into this world.’

Thrull takes a break from chomping on something that looks like fried rat tail. ‘You are building a bestiary?’ he grunts.

‘How did you know?’ I ask.

‘I see your friend writing and writing. And you have a device for image capture, correct?’

I look down to the camera around my neck. Before the Monster Apocalypse, I took photos for the school paper. I wasn’t half-bad, either. Photography is kinda my thing – photography and monster-slaying. ‘Yes,’ I say.

‘May I see this bestiary?’ Thrull asks. Bardle cocks a sharp eyebrow at Thrull, but Quint shrugs and hands over his notebook.

I watch as Thrull feels the weight of it in his massive hands. He opens it up and examines the three-ring binder like an infant touching something for the first time. At last, he shakes his head and says, ‘No, no – this won’t do at all.’

Quint and I frown. He’s bad-mouthing our bestiary?

Thrull reaches into one of the bags draped over his shoulder and removes a thick, dusty tome. He holds it out.

As I reach for this new book, I feel something like energy leap into my fingertips. My hands are tingly. Sound seems to fade, like someone is turning down the volume. My breaths come short and quick.

My hand trembles as I lift open the heavy cover.

And immediately sneeze.

‘Uh, sorry,’ I say, feeling really doofy.

No one says anything. My friends stare, eyes wide, at the book. The cover is made of something hard, like old monster skin. The pages are yellow and thick and textured. Each one is covered with creepy sketches of strange, terrifying creatures. Words scrawled in monster writing.

And stuff.

Things.

Teeth and fingernails and hair and – eww – a flattened eyeball.

‘Um . . . what is this disgusting but awesome book?’ I ask.

Thrull grins proudly. ‘THAT is a bestiary. A true bestiary. From our world.’

Bardle looks at Thrull. I sense anger from Bardle, though I don’t know why.

I continue flipping through the pages. Every page past the twentieth or so is blank. No entries.

I look up, confused.

‘It is a gift,’ Thrull says. ‘For defeating Blarg, Servant of Ŗeżżőcħ. For helping me back to my home. It is an unfinished bestiary. Much better than your flimsy notebook. Two hundred and thirty-two blank pages. They are yours to fill.’

I look to Quint. He’s practically giddy. ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’

‘Hold up . . . Do you expect us to go around, like, plucking monsters’ eyeballs out?’ June asks. ‘’Cause we’re not really eyeball pluckers.’

Thrull erupts with laughter. I guess he gets a kick out of eyeball-plucking imagery. ‘No, no,’ he says at last. ‘But if you want to be makers of a bestiary, you should capture the “essence” of each creature. Proof. A single hair. A drop of sweat. A bestiary scholar who does not, in fact, encounter the monster – in our dimension he might be described as, well, a coward.’

‘We’re no cowards,’ Dirk says.

Thrull chuckles. ‘I thought not.’

Bardle remains silent. He seems to watch the whole conversation suspiciously. I feel less than welcome.

Suddenly, June yanks my camera over my head and exclaims, ‘Photo time! Everyone say monster apocalypse!’

It’s past midnight when we finally excuse ourselves and head home, promising to return soon.

As we walk out, I look to Quint, grinning. ‘We’ve got a real-deal bestiary now. We’re going to search high and low for strange creatures. This is the best quest ever!’

chapter eight

We all agree: we’ve seen our friends turned to zombies, we’ve seen giant monsters devour those zombies, we’ve seen Quint without pants – but today was the strangest day of our lives.

A few blocks from Joe’s, Quint stops. He pulls the bestiary from his bag and sets it on the bonnet of a banged-up Wakefield police cruiser. He pulls a pen from his pocket and starts writing.

‘Whatcha doing, buddy?’ I ask.

‘I’m adding our first entry to the new bestiary. The Wormungulous.’

‘But we don’t have its “essence”. You know, proof, like Thrull said.’

Quint smiles slyly. ‘Yes, we do. Hand me the Louisville Slicer.’

I unsheathe the blade. Quint holds it up, turning and examining it in the moonlight. Finally, he seems satisfied. Gripping the blade in one hand and holding the bestiary with the other, Quint wipes the edge of the bat on the page.

We all inch closer. A gob of almost-dried Wormungulous blood and gunk rubs off. Quint writes for a few moments, then looks up proudly. ‘One down, two hundred and thirty-one to go . . .’

Nearing our tree house, I smile. We’re home. Feels good to be home after the weirdest day ever.

And what a home it is. See, I was an orphan before the Monster Apocalypse. My foster family, the Robinsons, were real jerks. But they built their kid – my foster brother – a ridic tree house. The Robinsons hightailed it as soon as the Monster Apocalypse hit – I have no idea where they are now. But that’s fine: Quint and I moved into the tree house and spent a lot of time tricking it out. It is serious.

Quint places the bestiary in our reinforced snack lockbox. It’s where we keep all our most valuable possessions: Twinkies, burp-contest scorecard (no one ever beats June), my spare nunchucks – all the good stuff.

Quint locks it, and my friends head to bed.

But I don’t doze off.

I worry.

I spent a lifetime – well, like thirteen years; actually less, ’cause for a while I was a baby and then a toddler and y’know – but I’ve spent a LONG time wanting buddies. A family.

And now that I’ve got it – I’m scared to total extreme death of losing that family.

With everything quiet, I replay the day’s events in my head. One image haunts me.

Not Joe’s Pizza.

Not the image of Wormungulous.

It’s the Wormungulous slamming into my friends. It’s that feeling in my stomach when I thought they were gone for good. It won’t go away.

I can’t shake it.

After two hours of kicking and turning and tossing (is there anything worse than trying to go to sleep and not being able to?), I finally give up. I climb out of bed, squinting in the darkness, and shuffle out to the deck.

Rover scampers over and wiggles into the pulley basket. I flip the hydraulic lift switch, and his huge hide is hoisted up onto the deck.

I fix us some cocktails – I like Coke mixed with Dr Pepper, and Rover is a fan of Fanta Orange and grass, topped with acorns. I pour some into his monster food bowl, which is actually a hollowed-out Dozer skull. Rover slurps from the eyeball socket.

I kick back and stare out at the moonlit destruction. The world is changing. Strange vines crawl up and over everything. The decomposing body of the monster Blarg is still draped across my foster parents’ house. His evil odour hangs in the air. The monsters at Joe’s Pizza, though – they don’t have that smell. They just generally smell like a gym locker.

I knock back half the soda in one gulp. I anxiously tap the bottle against my knee. ‘Can I tell you a secret, Rover?’

‘Purr.’

‘I wasn’t scared before. Not like this. At the mall, watching all my friends almost get crushed by that worm, I was petrified. If it wasn’t for Thrull, they’d be gone. Dead.’

‘Purrr.’

‘I’m Jack Sullivan, Post-Apocalyptic Action Hero. But they’re not.’

‘Purrr.’

I sigh. ‘I wish I could just, I don’t know, just like, lock everyone up in this tree house so no one could ever, ever leave, no matter what.’

Rover lowers his head and places his jaw on the back of his paws. It’s impossibly cute. I think he does that when he knows I’m a stressed mess.

‘I just . . . I don’t know. It’s like I’m supposed to protect these people now. But what do I know about that? Nothing except for nothing!’

‘You know a lot,’ a voice says.

I practically jump out of my skin and whirl around. It’s Quint. He’s in his mad-scientist bathrobe. That’s right – Quint has a bathrobe that looks like a lab coat. He actually owns that.

‘Sorry, friend,’ he says. ‘Did I scare you?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Drink?’

Quint shrugs and takes a swig. He plops down on the seat beside me. ‘I couldn’t sleep, either.’

‘Oh,’ I say, softly.

‘You know, you’re not alone, Jack,’ he says. ‘We’re all Post-Apocalyptic Action Heroes now.’

I sigh. ‘I know, but it’s just, I don’t want to – ’

‘Lose anyone else?’ Quint asks. ‘We all feel the same way.’

We sit in silence. I hear crickets chirping – a nice reminder that not everything from our old world is gone.

But then I hear something else.

That same strange, whistling scream that we heard outside of Joe’s Pizza. As I’ve dubbed it in my head: The Shrieking.

The longer we listen, the louder it seems to grow. The sound is bouncing around inside my skull like a pinball.

Standing up, I glimpse a pair of zombies – the first zombies we’ve seen all day, weirdly – shuffling down the middle of the street. They disappear behind a house, then reappear a minute later. Their heads are raised, like they’re moving with purpose. This isn’t the usual mindless bumbling about.

‘Something’s up,’ I say as I race up the spiral ladder to the telescope and peer through it.

I dash back down the steps, leaving the telescope spinning. ‘This could be what’s causing them to disappear! Like, they’re going somewhere – and not coming back . . .’

A smile begins to spread across Quint’s face. He’s intrigued. His science noggin is science nogginning. ‘We must investigate!’ he says.

I stop.

This is my biggest fear.

This is why I couldn’t sleep.

Quint, wanting to do something daring and adventurous – something daring and adventurous that could get him totally devoured and leave him, like, headless. Headless Quint. That’s my nightmare.

‘It is a big deal!’ I exclaim.

‘Huh?’ Quint says.

‘Oh. Never mind. Sorry. Look, it’s just – it’s just too dangerous to go out there.’

‘Pardon?’ Quint says. ‘I’ve been wondering about the disappearing zombies for weeks. I knew something was afoot. And now it’s clear: something truly is afoot – and we’re not going to go seek the source?!’

‘No. I am. You’re not.’

Quint gives me a long, pained look. His mouth hangs open, just slightly. ‘Excuse me?’ he finally says. His voice sounds choked.

‘I’m going alone.’

Quint steps toward me, suddenly standing stiff and straight. ‘Like fun you are. Either we both go, or neither of us goes.’

‘I can’t keep risking my friends all willy-nilly!’ I exclaim. ‘I also can’t keep saying things like “willy-nilly”! And you’re causing me to do both!’

Suddenly, The Shrieking spikes – a sharp howl that slices through the night air like a knife. We both snap our heads in the direction of the chilling sound.

We need to know what’s happening. And I know – I KNOW – Quint won’t let me go without him.

‘Fine,’ I say at last. ‘Get dressed.’

‘I am dressed.’

I eye his silly lab-coat bathrobe. ‘Really? That’s all you’re gonna wear?’

Quint nods. ‘Come, Jack. Let’s make haste.’

‘Making haste in bathrobes,’ I mutter. ‘Ridiculous . . .’

I grab the Louisville Slicer and slide down the fire escape pole. Quint and Rover follow in the pulley basket, and then we mount up. Me in the saddle, Quint in the rear, setting off into the cool, misty night.