Authors: Natale Ghent
Squeak flipped the switch. The Apparator began to glow green, then quickly pulsed from yellow to burning-hot red. He snapped the switch off in disgust. “I just can’t figure it out. Maybe it’s picking up frequencies from the hydro lines.” He craned his neck around to look.
Itchy sat down next to Rufus and began eating the rest of the cold TV dinner. “It’s not so bad,” he said, gesturing with a chunk of half-frozen Salisbury steak.
Rufus laughed. “You boys remind me of my own sons. They were good boys, just like you. They used to work around here. We all did. I keep hoping I’ll see them some day.”
“Did they invent things too?” Squeak asked, sitting cross-legged in front of Rufus.
Rufus nodded. “Oh, yes, lots of things. Egg-timers, small water wheels, steam-whistle calliopes, and a
merry-go-round that ran on a tractor engine. They even invented a saw that could cut a log in quarters in less than ten minutes.”
Boney frowned but said nothing. A saw that cut logs in ten minutes was hardly even practical. “Where are your sons now?” he asked, sitting next to Squeak.
Rufus lowered his eyes. “They’re gone…long gone. I keep waiting for them to come back, but they never do.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as the boys searched for something to say.
“We were really hoping to win the Invention Convention,” Itchy finally said. He gave a big sigh, chewing thoughtfully on the TV dinner bun. “First prize is five hundred dollars.”
“We really want to beat Larry Harry,” Squeak added.
“Who’s that?” Rufus asked.
“Prisoner 95, until recently known as the Fart King,” Itchy said between bites. “He’s evil and mean and he’s a big, stinking, egg-bombing cheater.”
“He sabotages our convention entry every year,” Squeak said. “That’s how he wins.”
“He’s our mortal enemy,” Boney added.
Rufus looked at the boys with concern. “I’m really sorry to hear that, boys. Life is hard enough without that
kind of suffering. I wish there was something I could do.”
Boney rose to his feet. “Well, we appreciate your help all the same.”
“Come back anytime, boys,” Rufus said, patting his stomach. “Anytime.” He opened one of Itchy’s Pixy Stix, tipped the stick back, and showered the purple powder over his tongue. “Cheers!” he said.
W
eeks went by. The Odds dodged Larry Harry as best they could, on and off the playing field. When they weren’t in school, they were holed up in their clubhouse, playing with Henrietta, doing their homework, or fussing with the Apparator. But despite their best efforts, the Apparator wasn’t ready when the time came for the Invention Convention.
The boys wandered glumly through the school gymnasium over their lunch hour, Squeak bumping listlessly into the corners of tables, Itchy swimming in an oversized orange hand-knit sweater, as they looked at the convention entries. Students bustled about, securing bristol board displays and organizing their tables. They were the lucky ones who actually had entries to show. They even got to take the morning off school to set up.
The Odds stopped in front of Edward Wormer’s display.
“A potato clock?” Itchy snorted, flapping an orange sleeve at the invention. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s not an original invention.”
Wormer rushed out from behind the display. He snapped a pen from the holder in his dress shirt and clicked it. “Could you move along, please? I’ll be happy to sign autographs after I win.”
“Dream on,” Itchy said. “That’s not even your idea. I ought to eat that potato.”
Wormer stretched his skinny arms protectively in front of his display. Boney tugged Itchy along.
“There are some really good entries this year,” Squeak sighed. “I spent so much time on the Apparator, I didn’t even consider the possibility of entering something else. There are only three days left before the judging begins. I can’t possibly think of something groundbreaking in three days.”
The Odds reached Stacy Karns’s display. She and her girlfriends stood chattering behind their table, dressed in identical pink outfits, their hair clipped back with identical clasps. They didn’t even acknowledge the Odds.
“Cheating Chopsticks?” Itchy said, picking up a pair of chopsticks glued to a clothespin. He read the title on
the display. “
For people who can’t master the art of eating with sticks
. How stupid!”
Squeak took the chopsticks, testing their action. “It’s actually quite brilliant. Sometimes the simplest inventions are the best.”
“They’re certainly more marketable,” Boney said.
Squeak sighed again. “Perhaps I was aiming too high with the Apparator.”
The Odds moved along to Simon Biddle’s entry.
“Dog Collar with a Light,” Boney said, reading the display board. “Now that is actually a really good idea.”
Squeak nodded dejectedly. “Yes, it is.”
Simon Biddle smiled proudly from behind his table, his metal braces flashing.
“Where’s Larry’s entry?” Itchy asked.
Squeak pointed voicelessly across the gymnasium. The Odds drifted over to Larry’s display.
“The Cushy Cover?” Itchy said in disbelief.
Boney shook his head. “It’s a toilet seat made of sponge.”
Itchy gave the seat a poke. “I guess he needs all the help he can get.”
Larry popped up menacingly from behind his display. “Keep your hands off the merchandise, loser!”
Itchy recoiled in horror. Boney clenched his jaw.
“We’ll see who the loser is after the convention.”
“Oh yeah?” Larry sneered. “Where’s your entry, Bonehead?” He gazed arrogantly around the gym.
“It’s coming,” Boney snapped back. “And it’s a lot better than a stupid sponge toilet seat.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ve won every convention for the last three years.”
“That’s because you cheat,” Squeak piped up.
Larry made a fist in his face. “How’d you like me to knock your goggled lights out?”
Boney grabbed Squeak and Itchy, dragging them away from Larry’s table and out the gymnasium door. “Come on, guys. It won’t help if we get ourselves beat up.”
“Yeah, run away, you sissies,” Larry called after them. “You can come visit me in the winner’s circle next week.”
Itchy folded his arms over his chest. “If he wins the convention with that stupid invention, I’m going to do something drastic.”
“Like what?” Boney said. “Skip breakfast?”
Itchy frowned. “I don’t know. I just wish we could stop him once and for all.”
Squeak shook his head. “Even a sponge toilet seat is better than nothing at all.” He pulled the defunct Appa-rator from his bag. “I still don’t understand why it won’t work.”
Boney’s face suddenly brightened. “Itchy, you’re a genius!”
Itchy looked cagily around. “What’re you talking about?”
Boney grabbed the Apparator excitedly. “We may not be able to win the convention, but we can still get back at Larry.”
Squeak and Itchy stared in confusion. “How?”
“We can use the Apparator! We’ll let him know we’re testing our invention at the Old Mill. When he shows up to sabotage our apparatus, we unleash the ghost.”
“Great plan,” Itchy quipped. “Except
there is no ghost!
”
“Wrong,” Boney said. “There’s Rufus.”
Squeak blinked. “Rufus?”
“Yes, Rufus. Don’t you get it? We arrange with Rufus to do exactly what he did to us. That way the Apparator isn’t a total loss.”
Itchy scrubbed at his hair. “I don’t know, Boney…maybe we should just cut our losses and think about an invention for next year.”
“We could bring the Polaroid camera,” Squeak offered. “That way we could document the carnage and post the photos the next day at school.”
Boney snapped his fingers. “Now you’re talking!”
“What if Rufus doesn’t want to do it?” Itchy asked.
“Simple. We’ll bring more food.”
Squeak adjusted his goggles. “Let’s do it.”
“Great,” Boney said. “Let’s meet in front of Itchy’s after dinner. Everyone, bring food—that means you too, Itchy.”
“W
here are you going with all this food?” Boney’s aunt demanded.
“We get hungry when we play in our clubhouse,” Boney fibbed.
His aunt sighed. “Well, I can’t say I blame your friends for wanting to eat my home cooking. I’m sure their parents don’t give a second thought to good nutrition, with so much junk food in the world. And poor Squeak must be half starved, what with his mother gallivanting around the country.” She whipped her tea towel from her arm and snapped it viciously in the air at some invisible buggy intruder.
Boney smiled and nodded, dropping a margarine container of casserole like a brick to the bottom of a paper bag. He tossed in a few hard muffins and a container of jiggling lime-green gelatin studded with candied fruit.
Stuffing the bag in his knapsack, he proceeded to the garage and hopped on his Schwinn.
Squeak was already waiting in front of Itchy’s on his bicycle when Boney arrived. Itchy appeared at the door, wearing a long, multicoloured, hand-knit scarf and munching on a turkey drumstick.
“Where’s your food for Rufus?” Boney asked.
“It’s right here,” he said, holding up a small brown paper bag.
Boney frowned. “What’s in it?”
“Bread and butter,” Itchy happily declared.
“No turkey?”
Itchy chewed on the drumstick. “This is the last of it.”
Boney scoffed. “Right. Let’s go.”
The Odds rolled along the road to the mill, Itchy munching on the drumstick as they went, Squeak swerving back and forth with his goggled vision. When they reached the ruins, the boys parked their bikes and stepped gingerly into the open space.
“It’s so spooky at night,” Itchy said, tossing the turkey bone to one side and licking his fingers.
“It’s hardly after dusk,” Squeak said.
Itchy pointed to the sky. “Look at the moon. It’s coming up already, and it’s nearly full. Wasn’t the ghost supposed to come out when the moon is full?”
Squeak nodded. “That’s what the reported sightings all say.”
The Odds stood in the centre of the ruins. Boney called out quietly, “Rufus…are you there?”
There was a scrabbling sound from across the mill.
“Is that you, Rufus?”
“Who’s there?” a voice called out.
“It’s me, Boney. And Itchy and Squeak.”
Rufus appeared timidly from behind a pile of stones.
“We brought you more food,” Boney said, holding up the brown bag.
“Well, isn’t that nice,” Rufus said, taking the bag and opening it greedily.
Itchy produced his bag, too. “I brought bread and butter.”
“And another TV dinner,” Squeak offered. “It’s actually hot this time.”
Rufus sat down happily on the log by the firepit and began hungrily tucking in. “Isn’t this just the nicest surprise. You boys are so kind.”
The Odds watched as Rufus tore through the casserole and muffins, then peeled back the cover on the TV dinner. He dipped Itchy’s bread and butter heartily into the gravy, the way he’d done before, savouring the taste as though it were a five-star meal. When he was finishing off the peas, Boney approached him with their request.
“Rufus…we were wondering if you could help us with something.”
Rufus lapped up the last of the TV dinner. “Sure, boys. What is it?”
Boney looked at Itchy and Squeak, who looked back skeptically.
“We have this problem…remember the bully we told you about, the guy we call Prisoner 95?”
Rufus thought for a minute then nodded. “Yes, I do remember you mentioning him.”
“Well…we thought if maybe we scare him and his friends, they might leave us alone.”
“Scare them?” Rufus said. “What do you have in mind?”
Rufus continued to eat while Boney laid out his plan.
When Boney finished talking, Rufus placed the empty containers back in the bag, wiped his face and hands clean with a handkerchief that he produced from his breast pocket, and eyed the boys with a look of concern. “I don’t know, boys…”
“You just
have
to help us, Rufus,” Boney pleaded. “Just this once. If you scare Larry Harry, we promise not to ask you for anything else again.”
Rufus tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket and sighed. “It isn’t easy for me, you see. I’m really quite shy. And I’m afraid…of what might happen. I just want a normal life. These things can get out of hand.
Someone could get hurt.” He squinted up at the moon.
“It’s just this once,” Boney said. “It would mean so much to us.”
Rufus stared at his shoes for a moment. “When do you want this to happen?”
“Tomorrow night,” Boney said. “There are only three days left before the convention is judged, and we’d really like Larry Harry to get what’s coming to him before he sabotages someone else’s invention.”
The three boys held their breath as they looked hopefully at Rufus. Rufus sat back on the log, thinking. He rubbed his chin and shook his head.
“You boys have been very kind to me,” he said at last. “And you really do remind me of my own sons. I wish there was something I could have done to help them along in life.” He paused thoughtfully. “Besides, I think it’s time for me to leave this place.”
“So you’ll do it?” Boney asked.
“Yes. I’ll do it. Just this once.”
“That’s so great, Mr. Rufus,” Boney gushed. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
BACK AT THE CLUBHOUSE, the boys analyzed every detail of their plan to get even with Larry Harry.
“But how are we going to get him to come to the Old Mill?” Itchy asked from his position on the floor, chin on his folded hands, as he watched Henrietta scratching at her supper. He took a small pinch of the hen’s grain and put it in his mouth, nodding with approval.
“Simple,” Boney replied. “We’ll send him a note and tell him to meet us there. He can’t refuse an opportunity to beat us up.”
“What if the plan doesn’t work?” Itchy said. “What if it backfires, like every other plan we’ve hatched over the years?”
“Don’t be silly,” Boney said. “The plan is good and it
will
work. I promise.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll have to go back to Plan H,” Squeak said, pulling more corn from his pocket and scattering it on the clubhouse floor.
“What’s Plan H?” Itchy asked.
“Henrietta,” Squeak said. “She should be laying eggs by the spring, and then Larry Harry will be sorry he ever messed with us.”
“Oh, he’ll be sorry all right,” Boney said.
Itchy rolled onto his back. “There’s still one more week of lacrosse. I hope Larry doesn’t kill us before we have the chance to get back at him.”
“Roger that,” Boney said.