The Battle of the Red Hot Pepper Weenies (4 page)

A
lien or genie—
it was hard to tell. All Michael knew at first was that the creature wasn't human. It appeared at midnight in his room, with the sound of a handful of mud thrown against his window. It began as a shadow against the wall, cast through the curtains by the sliver of moon. The shadow grew thicker, gained grayness and hints of color, and took the form of a twisted man with the head of a venomous snake.

Michael screamed and scooted back until he was wedged deep into the corner of his room. But the creature caught the sound with his flickering tongue and swallowed it.

“Hush,” he said. “There is nothing to fear.”

“Who are you?”

“A wishmaster.”

“What?” Michael realized his fists were still clenched. He let his fingers uncurl.

“Call me Somna,” the creature said. His voice was deep, like the rumble of thunder, but quiet, like the whisper of
cloth against cloth. “I'm here to admit you into the League of Wishers.”

“What's that?” The only league Michael knew about was the one at the bowling alley.

“Special people with a special talent. There are those in the universe who can make their wishes become real.” Somna pointed a claw at Michael. “It is a rare talent, and one that requires training. It is my task to find those who possess this skill and teach them to master it. Are you ready?”

Michael nodded, though his mind was numb.

“You've already begun,” Somna said. “It was a wish that brought me here. You called me when you yelled about the unfairness of life. It was a powerful call.”

Michael remembered the tantrum. His joystick broke right after dinner. He'd asked his parents to take him to the store that night. It was a reasonable request, but they'd refused. He'd argued. They'd ignored his pleas. And then he'd shouted and thrown the joystick to the floor. That was why he'd been sent to bed early. And why his throat was sore. Before he fell asleep, his mind filled with wishes. Not all of them were nice.

Somna showed Michael how to speak a wish so it became a reality. As first, he had Michael wish for unimportant things—a pebble, a sheet of paper, a pencil, or a button.

Finally, Somna told Michael, “Wish for something of value.”

“Anything?” Michael shivered as the possibilities flooded his mind.

“Start small,” Somna said.

Michael wished for a joystick. It appeared on the bed. Then he wished for money. His hands filled with coins.
Some were from Earth. Others bore strange markings. Many seemed to be made of gold.

“This is awesome.” As Michael counted his wealth, Somna drifted back into the shadows.

“Enjoy your harvest,” the shadows whispered.

For a month, Michael worked on mastering his wishing skills. He learned to get exactly what he wanted. A wish for money, as he had seen, could bring all sorts of things. A wish for a crisp, new hundred-dollar bill brought exactly that. Not that he needed money, since he could just as easily wish for anything money could buy.

At midnight, a month later, on the next sliver beyond the new moon, Somna returned. “You have passed the trial period,” he said. “Do you wish to become a full member of the League?”

“Of course,” Michael said.

“Then your wish is granted.” Somna brushed Michael's forehead with a claw. “You are one of us.”

Michael felt as if a thread had been pulled from his mind and stretched across the universe. He tested his powers to make sure nothing had changed. The clink of coins filled the room as seventy-seven silver dollars fell on his blanket. That was exactly what he had wished for. He didn't need coins, but he liked owning them.

“Where does it come from?” Michael asked.

“The money?” Somna asked.

“Yeah.”

“From others among the League. It is a closed universe. Nothing new is created. Objects move from place to place. Coins, cars, camels—it doesn't matter. It all has to come from somewhere.”

“Okay.” That was fine with Michael. He didn't mind wishing things away from other members. He didn't know them. And they didn't know him. It seemed like a perfect arrangement.

Somna turned to leave.

“Wait,” Michael said as another thought cast a shadow across his joy. He scooped up a handful of the coins from the bed and clutched them in his fist. “Does that mean someone can take money from me?”

“They could,” Somna said, “if any of them wanted something as useless as money. Most League members have other needs.”

“Like what?” As Michael spoke, his shirt fell open. He glanced down and saw that all his buttons were missing.

“whatever they want,” Somna said.

“That's not fair. That's—” Michael's sentence ended with a yelp as he fell to the floor. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why he was no longer standing. When he tried to get back up, he saw the reason he'd lost his balance and toppled over. His left leg was missing.

“It looks like someone made a wish,” Somna said.

Michael tried to scream, but his tongue and vocal cords were gone. He tried to wish them back, but part of his brain vanished, taking away his ability to think.

Other parts of Michael lasted a bit longer, but the League was large and had many needs. Soon, there was nothing left of Michael. Not even a wish.

S
o, we're thinking,
maybe you're cool enough to hang out with us,” Nicky said.

“Yeah.” I was afraid to say much more. I didn't want to act too excited. But Nicky and his friends were awesome. They called themselves the Wolves because our school mascot was a mountain goat, and wolves could totally tear up any goat. They always took over the best basketball court at recess, and they had the coolest table at lunch. I couldn't believe they were actually giving me a chance to hang out with them.

“Of course, there's a little test,” Nicky said.

“No problem.” It didn't matter. I could handle anything.

“Let's see….” Nicky turned toward the rest of the Wolves, who stood in a half circle near us at the edge of the ball field. “Any ideas?”

“Climb the old bell tower?” Stinky Miller suggested.

Nicky shook his head. “Nah, we don't want to lose this one. He'll probably make a good Wolf. Let's give him a break.”

He paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I know—all you have to do is spend the night in Brazzleberg's.”

“You want me to spend the night in a store?” Brazzleberg's was an old department store downtown—four floors of stuff people used to buy before the mall came along. I'd heard that it was close to going out of business.

“Yeah, just hide when they lock up and spend the night there. That's all. Can you handle it?”

“No problem.” It almost seemed too easy. Nobody shopped there anymore, and the people who still worked there didn't really care what happened.

“We'll need proof,” Nicky said.

I thought for a second. I'm pretty smart, even if people don't treat me that way, so it was easy to think up something. “Come to the front entrance a half hour before they open. I'll be standing there waving at you.”

Nicky grinned. “Cool. See you then.” He punched me on the shoulder—his way of saying good-bye—and walked off. I waited for him to go back inside, then rubbed the spot where he'd hit me.

This was awesome. In less than a day I'd be the newest member of the Wolves. I went home and made up a couple sandwiches to take with me. I couldn't find any plastic bags, so I wrapped the sandwiches in newspaper and put them in my jacket pocket. Nobody asked what I was up to or when I'd be back. That was no surprise. As long as I didn't blow the place up or burn it down, they didn't really care what I did.

I walked to Brazzleberg's about a half hour before they closed. It was already growing dark by the time I got there. It wasn't that late, but a bunch of heavy clouds were coming in. I smiled at the thought of rain. It would be pretty funny
if I was standing inside all warm and dry, waving to a bunch of wet Wolves getting soaked in a downpour. I'd have to be careful not to be too smug about it.

Nobody paid any attention to me when I walked inside the store. It was near closing time, so everybody was probably thinking about getting out of there and heading home. I took the elevator up to furniture department on the third floor. I found a bed that was covered with a long quilt. Perfect. I made sure no one was watching, then dropped down and rolled under the bed. Just like that, I was in. As I waited for the store to close, I listened to the sound of people walking by and the rumble of thunder in the distance.

Once, some little kid bounced on the bed. I thought about grabbing his ankle when he got off and giving him the scare of his life. It was almost too tempting to resist, but I managed to control myself. Still, it would have been fun to scare the little brat.

After a long, dark wait, I heard them announce that the store was closing. A while later, I peeked out to check. Most of the lights were off, except for some dim night-lights. I was alone. I rolled out from underneath the bed. This was going to be no trouble at all. I looked around for something to do. Across the aisle on one side I saw all kinds of pots and pans and other boring stuff. There was nothing except clothing on the other side.

I sat and ate a sandwich, then wandered over toward the clothes. There was one of those stupid mannequins near the aisle, wearing a fancy dress. “Pleased to meet you,” I said. I reached out and shook her plaster hand.

A crash of thunder startled me. For an instant, the lights flickered off. For an instant I felt—no, it was too crazy. It
couldn't have been. For that tiny fraction of a second when the light was out, the plaster hand I held seemed to become warm flesh. It was like when you put your hand on the ground and suddenly discover there's a worm underneath it.

I yanked my hand away. I reached to touch the mannequin again, just to make sure it was only plaster, then changed my mind and backed off. No use spooking myself.

The lights flickered again. I didn't like the idea that I could end up in the dark. I went over to the house wares section and snooped around. There was a package of candles. That would work. I searched a little more and found some lighters. I slipped one into my pocket and carried the candles back to the furniture department.

I returned to the bed, but kept an eye on the dozen mannequins in the clothing department. I didn't want to be too close to them, but I also didn't want them out of my sight.

The lights flickered again. They stayed off for only a couple heartbeats. That was enough.

She'd moved.

I couldn't say in what way, but she was different.

They all were.

I leaped off from the bed. Outside, the storm hit hard. Thunder shook the walls. The lights went out again. As the heartbeats stretched out far too long, I waited for the emergency lights to come on. They didn't.

I grabbed the candles. The box was wrapped in plastic. I tried to tear it, but I couldn't get it open. I heard something moving across the aisle.

I stumbled away, feeling ahead of myself in the dark. Footsteps shuffled behind me. It was dead black. The lighter! I grabbed it from my pocket and spun the wheel. The yellow-
and-blue flame put a circle of light around me, a shield against the night. The mannequins were frozen, gathered, facing me. I saw a clear aisle to my right that led all the way to the stairs. The lighter was getting hot in my hands. But I knew exactly which way to run, and how far.

I turned and raced down the aisle for the stairs, letting the flame die.

A dozen pairs of footsteps followed me. I found the banister with my free hand and ran down the steps, turning at each landing. I kept going until I reached the bottom. I flicked the light on again for an instant. A large aisle ran straight from the bottom of the stairs. There had to be a door ahead. I sped down the aisle, keeping my hand out in front of me to feel for the door.

I ran into a wall. The lighter fell from my fingers. I heard it bounce off the wall and slide across the linoleum. My hand, still pressed against the wall, told me what I didn't want to know. Instead of the glass of an exit door, I felt the rough, hard surface of painted cinder blocks. In my panic, I'd run past the ground floor, all the way down to the basement.

There were footsteps coming from the end of the aisle. They'd followed me.

I dropped to my knees and felt for the lighter. My fingers hit it. It slid. But I found it quickly. I flicked on the flame and looked behind me. The mannequins—at least a dozen of them—were halfway down the aisle from me. In the flickering light, they were nothing but lifeless plaster, bunched together like dead flowers forgotten in a vase.

I searched for a way out. The lighter was growing hot again. Then I saw my escape. I ran down the side aisle toward a sales counter.

They say I'm stupid. That's what they say in school. But a stupid kid wouldn't have figured out what to do. I reached the counter, then flicked on the lighter again to make sure. I jumped up on the counter. The ceilings were lower in the basement. I could reach the smoke detector. I wasn't stupid enough to think the lighter would set it off. I knew I needed smoke. But that was no problem. I pulled the second sandwich from my pocket, unwrapped it, lit the paper, and stood on my toes so I could hold the flaming paper close to the detector.

In seconds, the alarm would be triggered. The firemen would come and break through the door, shining flashlights in the dark store. I'd get in trouble—big trouble—but that was fine. I wasn't afraid of trouble.

A bell rang somewhere far off in the store. They must have a special power line for the alarms. I was smart enough to know that, too. Alarms always have their own power.

I could hold the mannequins off with the dim flame until I was rescued. I dropped the paper and stomped it out so I wouldn't get burned, but clutched the lighter in front of me with a shaking hand. The mannequins stood unmoving, unable to harm me in my circle of light.

Then the rain fell.

For an instant, as the water sprayed in my face from every direction, I had no idea why I was being soaked. I looked up just as the lighter died with a hiss. Water shot from a thousand sprinklers in the ceiling.

I thumbed the wheel. The wet flint wouldn't spark. I kept trying.

The footsteps came closer. I heard whispers, and then a laugh. Fingers wrapped around my ankle. I was yanked from
the counter. A dozen pairs of hands grabbed my arms and legs.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” a soft voice whispered.

“Join us,” a second voice said.

“We have our own special club.”

“We like you.”

 

The Wolves gathered outside
the store a half hour before opening time. The rain had stopped. Nicky was there, looking in the door. They were talking and laughing. I was just off to the side by the window. I waved to them. Well, I actually couldn't call it a wave. One hand was raised. I can't move when the lights are on. Maybe it's just as well they didn't notice me. I look kind of silly dressed in the jacket and tie. And I have this stupid smile stuck on my face. But that's all right. I'm with my new friends. I'll be with them forever. They really like me. Best of all, they know I'm not a dummy.