Box of Shocks (4 page)

I reach for the top of the fence with both hands, but my left one can't hold on because it's clutching the piece of spike. Luckily my right hand holds tight. I try to pull myself up with one arm, but suddenly I feel a tug on my shoe. Spike McChomp is ripping the shoe right off my foot! Luckily, my foot is still attached to my leg. Good thing I never tie up my shoelaces.

I hope the ugly mutt will be happy gnawing on my shoe while I make my getaway. But I feel a tug at my other shoe and he rips that one off too.

I have to admit, I'm a little worried at this point. I almost let go of the spike so I can use both arms to pull myself over the fence. Then I think, Forget it! I don't care how vicious this mutant beast is, I'll hold on to my piece of spike and take my chances.

I try to use my feet to climb the fence, but as I swing my leg up, Spike McChomp grabs me by the pant leg!

I kick and tug and tug and kick some more, but Spike McChomp must be part crocodile.

“Be a nice doggy and let go!” I shout. Don't ask me why I said that. Obviously, Spike is not a
nice doggy
. He's downright ferocious. There's no chance he'll let go of my pant leg just because I ask nicely.

I can feel my fingers losing their grip on the top of the fence, so I have to do something and do it now. I can only think of one thing to do. It's not an idea I really like, but there doesn't seem to be any choice.

With the hand that's holding the spike, I reach down, undo my belt buckle and unzip my pants, careful not to drop the spike. It takes less than a second for Spike McChomp to pull my pants right off! He's chewing them to shreds while I hang from the fence in my underwear.

I manage to scramble over the wonky fence before he has a chance to grab my bare legs. I glance down and see him swallowing my belt like it's a giant spaghetti noodle.

Now that I'm out of the dog's reach, all I have to do is jump down into the alley, and somehow get home without anyone seeing me. That won't be so easy at five in the afternoon on a Tuesday.

I'm about to jump down when I hear a
CRACK!
and a
BANG!
The whole fence is moving! It's falling over—with me on it! The fence hits the ground in a great cloud of dust and I'm sent tumbling across the alley.

When I finally stop rolling, I jump to my feet. I'm standing in the middle of the alley in my underwear, with Spike McChomp staring right at me across the splintered fence.

He lifts his snout, takes a couple of strong sniffs and launches himself at me! I figure I'm dead meat. There's no chance I can outrun him. There's nothing I can do except close my eyes and wait. In less than two seconds, I will feel Spike McChomp's razor-sharp teeth sink into my leg. It will be gory. It will be painful. It will probably be the tastiest meal Spike McChomp has eaten since his last set of studded snow tires.

But I don't feel the sharp teeth of Spike McChomp. All I feel is the brush of his mangy fur as he streaks past me. When I open my eyes, there is Spike McChomp, charging off down the alley. Right ahead of him is a black cat. I always thought black cats were supposed to be bad luck. Not today.

With Spike McChomp out of the way, I can head for home. There's only one small problem. I'm in my underwear. My pants are being digested in Spike McChomp's iron gut.

I'm trying to figure out what to do next when I spot a laundry line in one of the nearby backyards. Hanging from that line are a bunch of clothes. I'm sure no one will mind if I borrow something to wear. After all, it is an emergency. I'm sure they'll understand. I'll return the clothes later—washed and ironed.

I sneak through the back gate, checking for vicious dogs and spying neighbors. I yank the first thing I can reach off the clothesline and scramble back to safety behind the fence. I hold up the piece of clothing, hoping it'll fit, which it definitely won't, since I've grabbed an old lady's flowered dress!

There's got to be something better on the laundry line. When I look over the fence, I can see someone peering out the window. Sneaking back into the yard would not be a good idea. It's either wear the flowered dress or walk home in my underwear.

The dress is downright baggy, and I have to hold it up with my right hand, otherwise it will fall to the ground.

For obvious reasons, I avoid walking along the main streets. Instead, I try to cut through back alleys, across backyards and through a few vacant lots. I finally reach our back fence, slip through the gate and run to the back door. Luckily, Mom and Dad aren't home yet. I race up the stairs and into my room.

I made it!

And I'm pretty sure no one saw me.

Now that I'm safely in my room, I open my hand and take a close look at the piece of chewed-up spike. I have to say, it's pretty amazing—teeth marks all up and down the spike, with one of the ends chewed right off.

Before my parents get home, I've got to hide the spike in my Box of Shocks. I head to my closet and take the box from its hiding place. When I open the lid, there's the piece of Halloween candy from the Milburn house. I remember the thrill of that Halloween night as if it was yesterday.

And now, I've got something else. Not only have I survived trick-or-treating at some quasi-zombie-monster-thingy's house, I've escaped the deadly teeth of the most vicious bulldog-rottweiler-wolf-rhino-veloci-raptor beast in the entire city—probably the entire world. I place the spike beside the candy and think, Only two things in my Box of Shocks and already my collection is amazing!

As I'm sliding the box back into its hiding place, I hear the front door open. “Oliver! I'm home!” Mom calls. “How was your piano lesson?”

I head out of my bedroom and am about to start down the stairs when I realize I'm still wearing the flowered dress. Whirling around, I sprint back to my room before she sees me. I'm pretty good at lying, but trying to explain why I'm wearing an old lady's dress might be impossible, even for me.

Four

I
t's not easy adding to my Box of Shocks. Mom and Dad keep track of where I am and what I'm doing pretty much every minute of every day. Finding opportunities to do crazy stunts and collect new shocks for my box is really tough: it's December before I get my next chance.

Right before Christmas every year, our family has this tradition of going on a sleigh ride with my aunt, uncle and little cousins. We drive out to a nearby farm and get pulled around on a sleigh by some Clydesdales. After the sleigh ride, we have hot dogs and hot chocolate by a huge bonfire, and then Mom and Dad always sing a duet of “White Christmas.” Mom says it's her favorite event of the Christmas season. I secretly kind of agree with her. But it gives me an idea.

As everyone's getting their boots and jackets on, I say, “I don't feel so good. I don't think I should go.”

Mom feels my forehead. “You don't seem to be running a temperature.”

“It's not my head. It's my…” I don't say another word. I run off to the bathroom, slam the door and make some pretty impressive retching sounds.

As I stagger out of the bathroom, Mom turns to Dad and says, “The rest of you can go ahead. I'll stay behind with Oliver.”

Oh, no! After my great acting job, my plan may have backfired! “You can't miss the sleigh ride, Mom,” I say. “I'll rest on the couch. There's a
World's Deadliest Snakes
marathon on
TV
. You go ahead, Mom. I know how much you love the sleigh ride.”

I can see by the way Mom bites her lower lip that she's torn between going and staying behind with me.

“Ollie will be fine staying by himself,” Dad says. “He can always call you on your cell phone if there's a problem. And Grandpa Golley is close by. Right, Ollie?” I could swear he winks at me, which is totally weird.

I want to jump up and shout, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU, DAD!” but that wouldn't look so good. Instead, I sprawl on the couch, trying to look sick, but not too sick.

Mom takes a deep breath and says, “I suppose. But don't hesitate to phone if you feel any worse, or you have any problems, or…”

“I'll be fine, Mom,” I say. “I just need to rest.”

As soon as they're out the door, I jump up and run to the phone. I look up Ronny Hooverman's number and punch it in. I'm in luck! Ronny answers the phone.

“Hi, Ronny. Ollie here. How much does it cost to visit Mr. Creepy?” He tells me it's five bucks, so I run to my room, find my camera and grab the money from my piggy bank. I check my watch and run over to Ronny's place.

Last year our teacher, Mrs. Walmsley, told Ronny he wasn't allowed to bring Mr. Creepy to school, even for pet day. That's because Mr. Creepy's a tarantula. Now is my perfect chance to pay him a visit.

In some ways, this stunt's different from my visit to the Milburn house and Spike McChomp's yard. In this one, Mr. Creepy does all the work. I don't have to face a zombie or a crazy dog. But there is one thing that's very much the same. I'm a little bit terrified as Ronny takes Mr. Creepy out of his terrarium and gently places him on my bare arm. Having a tarantula crawling along my arm is more than a bit freaky. It might not be quite as bad as when Spike McChomp tore my pants off or when the quasi-zombie gave me a candy. Still, I'm not exactly in a happy place as Mr. Creepy crosses my elbow and heads up my arm. Of course, I'm not quite as freaked out as Mom would be. If she could see this deadly, bloodthirsty giant spider crawling across my bare skin, she'd be screaming loud enough to break all the windows in the house.

I get Ronny to take a picture of Mr. Creepy on my bare arm. As soon as he's clicked a picture, I say, “Okay! Good! Take him off! Now!”

Ronny takes him off my arm. “Thanks!” I say. “And don't tell anyone I did this. Okay?”

I can trust Ronny. He's not the most popular kid at school. In fact, most people think he's weird, so they don't pay attention to anything he says. I'm sure my time with Mr. Creepy is a pretty safe secret.

When I get home, I use Dad's computer to print the picture of Mr. Creepy crawling on my arm. I pull my Box of Shocks from its hiding place, open the lid and place the picture right next to the spike. With the box back in its spot, I'm pushing the wood panel back in place as my parents' van pulls into the driveway.

Mom and Dad continue to make it nearly impossible for me to add anything to my Box of Shocks. Not only do they have me in piano lessons, now they're making me take swimming classes, plus karate and an extra study-skills class on Saturdays. Every single minute of my life is filled with something they've organized.

And if I'm not busy with lessons or school or homework, Mom and Dad always want to have what they call “Quality Family Time.” They like to talk, and they're always asking me about school and my lessons and my friends and just about everything you can imagine.

Once in a while, I'll manage to sneak my Box of Shocks out of its hiding place and look at the candy from the Milburn house, the spike from Spike McChomp's yard and the picture of Mr. Creepy. Every time I look at them, it takes me right back to the thrill and the danger of each crazy stunt. And it makes me want to add even more things to my Box of Shocks.

Finally, almost three months after adding the picture of Mr. Creepy, I get my next chance. Right before leaving school on Friday, my teacher tells me that the next day's study-skills class is cancelled. They tell me, but they don't tell my parents. I don't tell them either.

On Saturday morning, I leave the house when I'm supposed to, but instead of heading to school, I sneak off to Wally's Burger Barn.

Mom says that you can get food poisoning from anything you order at Wally's. She says you can get food poisoning from just reading the menu. That's why I have to go and order a Wally Wowzer Burger—the biggest burger south of the North Pole.

There are rumors that Wally mixes worms in with the beef and that someone found a fish eye in their fries. If Mom knew I was chewing on a Wally Wowzer Burger and megabasket of fries, she'd probably take me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped and force me to eat arugula and kohlrabi salads for the rest of my life. I gulp down the burger and fries in less than two minutes. Sure, the beef tastes a little wormish and there may have been an eyeball or two in the soggy fries, but it was worth it!

I fold up the wrapper, slide it into my pocket and head home. I sneak around to the back because Mom and Dad are talking to the next-door neighbors in the front yard. As soon as I get inside, I run up to my room and take my Box of Shocks from its hiding place. I carefully place the burger wrapper from Wally's in with the spike, the piece of Halloween candy, and the picture of Mr. Creepy. As I slide the box back into its hiding place, I think about what Mom and Dad would do if they heard about all the crazy things I've done. I'd definitely be grounded—probably for a year or two. For sure my allowance would be cut, and they'd find a million other ways to punish me.