Goosebumps Most Wanted #5: Dr. Maniac Will See You Now (6 page)

Terry Tadpole jumped to his feet. “You got a problem with that?” he growled in a deep, raspy voice. He stood straight up on the chair cushion. He was only about a foot tall.

“You — you don’t belong here!” I stammered. My voice cracked. My heart had jumped to my throat. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Let my parents out. You can’t DO this!”

Bree gave me a shove and started to back out of the room. “I’m out of here,” she said. “I have to see if my parents are okay.”

Captain Croaker let out a long, deep croak. “Mmmmeeeep. You’re not going anywhere, babe.”

He opened his wide mouth — and lashed out a long, slender pink tongue.

The tongue flew across the room. It made a SLAAAP sound as it hit Bree.

Bree screamed as the tongue wrapped around her waist. She struggled to pry it off her. But the tongue wrapped tighter around her and started to pull her toward Croaker.

“Let go of me!” she screamed. “This is
sick
. Ohh, this is sick. Let me go!” She tugged frantically at the tongue with both hands.

Croaker’s eyes flashed with excitement. He had a big grin on his green face. He pulled his tongue in, pulling Bree close, tightening it … tightening it.

“Can’t … breathe …” she gasped. She turned to me, her face red, twisted in horror. “Richard … can’t breathe … help …”

“Let her go!” I shouted. I tugged at the disgusting tongue. But it was coiled too tight. I couldn’t loosen it.

Terry Tadpole laughed an ugly laugh. It sounded more like vomiting than laughing. “Come over here, jerk,” he growled. “And I’ll spit tadpole juice in your eye.”

My brain was doing flip-flops in my head. I knew I had to act — fast. Bree was gasping and choking. Bouncing up and down on the chair, Croaker tightened his tongue around her waist.

Suddenly, I had an idea. A crazy idea. But maybe … Maybe …

I turned to Ernie. “Quick — go upstairs,” I said. “Get your collection. You know. The collection in the glass jar. The one Mom thinks is so adorable.”

Ernie blinked. It took him a few seconds. Then he understood what I was talking about. He spun around and raced to the stairs.

“Come back, squirt!” Terry Tadpole yelled. “Come back here and I’ll squash you like a bug!” The ten-inch-tall supervillain opened his mouth and spewed a thick brown liquid into the air.

“He’s ruining my chair,” Mom said from down in her cage. “Look. He stained the cushion.”

“Who cares about the cushion?” Dad said from the cage beside her. “Let us out of here!” he yelled at Terry Tadpole.

“Shut your yap,” Terry Tadpole growled. “We keep our pets in cages. Get used to it, Fat Face.”

“Fat Face?” Dad muttered something under his breath. Then he slumped silently in his cage.

I stared at Terry Tadpole, my whole body trembling. He was the toughest tadpole in comic book history. And now here he was in my house, and we were his prisoners, under his control.

And his fat-frog partner was choking Bree with his powerful elastic tongue. Her face was bright red. She made horrible gagging sounds. Her knees started to fold. Captain Croaker let out deep frog laughs, enjoying her fear.

I heard Ernie thudding down the stairs. Would my plan work?

Ernie burst into the living room, holding the glass jar in both hands. The jar contained his dead fly collection. Hundreds of dead flies.

Yes, my brother is deeply weird. But maybe … just maybe his collection would save Bree.

I took the jar from him and started toward Captain Croaker.

Everyone knows that frogs
love
to eat flies — right? So I thought maybe he’d go after the flies and unwrap his tongue from Bree.

I strode across the room. I held the jar out to the ugly green creature. “Dinnertime!” I cried. “How about it, Croaker? Looks yummy? How about some dinner?”

Please … go for it. Please … let go of Bree and start chomping down on the flies.

Croaker watched me approach. He raised his wet froggy eyes to the jar in my hand.

“How about it?” I asked, waving the jar in front of him. “Dinnertime?”

“No thanks,” Croaker said. “I already ate.”

“Huh?” I stopped a few feet in front of him. “You sure?”

He didn’t answer my question. I stood there with the jar of dead flies raised above my head.

And then I sneezed. A powerful explosion. I sneezed again — and the glass jar dropped from my hand.

I jumped back as the jar hit the carpet. It bounced once. The dead flies came spilling out. The flies spread over the floor.

Terry Tadpole took a dive off the armchair cushion. He landed hard on the floor, grabbed a dry dead fly, and shoved it into his mouth with both hands.

“Leave it! Leave it!” Captain Croaker shouted.

I stared at him. How did he manage to talk with his tongue wrapped around Bree?

“Don’t touch those,” he screamed. “I told you, we’re vegetarians now. You know meat makes us burp.”

“But I like
meat
!” the terrible Tadpole cried. He shoved another fly into his mouth and chewed it hungrily. CRUNCH, CRUNCH
.

“I said
leave it
!” Croaker bellowed angrily. “You’re the sidekick. You’re supposed to follow my orders.”

Terry Tadpole ignored him and grabbed another dead fly.

Croaker let out a groan. He slid his tongue off Bree’s waist, swung it through the air, and began to slap Terry Tadpole with it. “Leave it! Leave it!”

Bree staggered back, holding her waist, her face still red.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Come on — hurry!” I urged.

“Don’t go!” Dad yelled. “You have to help us!”

But this was our only chance to get away. I pushed Bree into the hall. I didn’t have to tell Ernie to follow. We shot through the kitchen and out the back door.

“We have to find help,” I said, breathing hard. I glanced behind us as we ran to the street. The two villains weren’t coming after us. “We’ll need help to get Mom and Dad out of those cages.”

“Maybe my parents can help,” Bree said. Her blond hair flew behind her as she raced to the corner.

“Wh-what are those green guys going to do to Mom and Dad?” Ernie asked. He sounded frightened for the first time.

“They said Mom and Dad are their pets,” I answered. “They said they keep their pets in cages.”

“But —” Ernie started, then stopped. I could see the little guy was thinking hard. I think it finally dawned on him that this was really happening. The whole world had changed. All the scary stuff was
real
.

“My parents will know how to help,” Bree said. “Dad is a firefighter, you know. He helps people every day. He’ll know how to —” She stopped with a gasp.

It was nearly dark. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet. The pale half-moon sent down shimmery light.

We stared up at her house. It was a square redbrick house. It stood behind a white picket fence on a low hill.

Something was on the front lawn. Something big and dark. Something tilting from side to side as it moved toward us.

In the dim evening light, I struggled to see what it was. And then I let out a cry as it came into focus, and I recognized it.

A huge brown beetlelike insect creature, as big as a school bus. Its antennae bent from side to side, then stood straight up as it lumbered on its prickly legs toward us.

Spiky black hair poked from the big bug’s body. It snapped its jaws loudly and made a frightening clicking sound. It moved stiffly, like a giant insect robot.

And I recognized it from its comic book series.

“This is bad,” I murmured to Bree and Ernie, watching it approach. “This is very bad.”

“Who is it?” Ernie whispered.

“It’s Halley Tosis.”

“Huh?” Ernie stepped up close beside me. “Halley Tosis?”

“Also known as
Baaaad Breath
!” I cried.

And as I shouted those words, the ugly bug creature opened its mouth wide — and sent a thundering blast of putrid air flying toward us.

“Cover your nose!” I screamed. “Hold your breath! Cover your nose!”

Too late.

The sick odor poured over me. I breathed it in. I felt my stomach lurch.

Ohhhh, sick. It smells so rotten.

I started to gag.

Another blast of sour wind from deep in the insect’s belly — and all three of us dropped to our knees, gagging and choking.

I couldn’t help it. My stomach heaved and I started to retch. I bent over and vomited noisily into the grass.

Bree was bent beside me, gagging, pressing her fingers to her nose. She waited for me to stop heaving up my lunch. Then she muttered, “I’m never doing a project with you again.”

“Ullllp.” Ernie made a gagging sound. He held his throat. “I … can’t breathe …” the little guy moaned. “The smell … it’s so bad. It’s sticking to my clothes. Help me, Richard. It’s sticking to my
skin
.”

“Whooooah.” I started to puke again.

When I finally looked up, I saw a sight that made my whole body shudder. Another comic book character came striding down the lawn toward us. I recognized him instantly.

The Purple Rage. He was back!

He knocked Halley Tosis down and stomped toward us at the fence, head lowered, fists tight at his sides.

The Rage looked angry.

“We’re doomed,” I muttered. “We’re totally doomed.”

“Know what BLOWS my BLUBBER?” the Rage boomed, swinging his fists as he came at us. “Everything!”

Even in the pale moonlight, I could see that his face was as purple as his costume. His boots sank into the grass as he strode across the lawn.

The three of us huddled together, unable to move. Behind the Rage, I saw Halley Tosis struggle to his spindly insect feet.

Down the street I heard an explosion. Police cars rocketed by, their sirens blaring.

The Bad Breath Bug lumbered up behind the Purple Rage — and let go a powerful
whoosh
of putrid air.

The Rage doesn’t stand a chance against that sick smell
, I thought.

But I was wrong.

The purple villain swung around — and grabbed a section of the white picket fence. With a roar from deep in his chest, he hoisted it from the ground and raised it in front of him like a shield.

The blast of smelly air hit the fence — and bounced back over Halley Tosis. The big bug made an ULLLLP sound. His front legs shot straight out. As the smelly air rolled over him, his antennae drooped, then fell limp over his head.

His whole body slumped. He gasped for air, choking and sputtering. He shut his eyes, and his head dropped forward.

I let out a cry as he toppled onto his back in the grass. And didn’t move.

Killed. Killed by his own smell.

Bree, Ernie, and I didn’t have time to celebrate. The Purple Rage ripped away another section of the white picket fence and strode up to us. “Know what SKINS my SOUPSPOON?” he boomed. “Kids who smell like
skunks
.”

He pressed his fingers over his nose. “You
reek
!” he cried. “Get away from me! Get away from me — now!”

He was right. The three of us smelled
horrible
from the big bug’s breath. “But we need your help!” I cried.

He let out a roar. “Helping people makes me
angry
.”

“Get over yourself!” Bree shouted. “We’re in trouble. And our parents are in trouble.”

The Rage stared at her through his purple mask. “Know what POPS my PINEAPPLE? Parents who get in trouble.” He shook his fists in the air. “I can’t take all this trouble!”

He tilted back his head and started to roar. He swung his fists high above his head. “I’m in a RAAAAAAAGE!” he bellowed.

He twirled around, faster and faster, until his cape was tangled around him. Then he stopped, took a deep breath — and came hurtling toward us.

“No — please!” I cried, my voice tight with panic. “Please! Don’t hurt us!”