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The Girl Who Cried Monster

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R.L. Stine

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“I was stunned. “I wished it,” I murmured. “And now it’s come true.” “What are you talking about?” Foz demanded. He grabbed me by the shoulders. “Get it together, Tim. We’ve got to do something! What’s going to happen when your parents get home?” “I told Ginny I’d turn her into a rabbit,” I explained, still dazed. “To get back at her for ruining all my magic shows. And now she is a rabbit!”

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“Politeness is so important,” Vanessa said, holding us up to her face. “Especially for young people. That’s what I care about more than anything else in the world. Good manners.” She narrowed her eyes at us. “That day in front of the grocery,” she scolded, “you didn’t apologize for crashing into me. So I had no choice. I had to punish you.” She studied us, tsk-tisking. So that’s why Anthony wasn’t turned into a chicken, too! I realized. Before he ran away, Anthony had called out to Vanessa that he was sorry. If only Cole and I had apologized then! We wouldn’t be peeping little chicks today.”

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“Mr. McCall cradled his four casaba melons in his hands. They were still attached to the vine. “I came out to water my casabas and I found this... this...” He was too upset to finish. He held the melons out to us. “Whoa!” I cried in amazement. No raccoon could have done this. No way. Someone had taken a black marker and drawn big, sloppy smiley faces on each melon!”

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“Then Dad had to yell at Pat because of his Game Boy. “I told you not to bring that thing!” Dad shouted. Dad is big and broad, kind of like a bear. And he has a booming voice. It doesn’t do him much good. Pat and Nat never listen to him. Pat walked along, eyes on his Game Boy, his fingers hammering the controls. “Why are we hiking in the woods?” Dad asked him. “You could be home in your room doing that. Put it away, Pat, and check out the scenery.” “I can’t, Dad,” Pat protested. “I can’t quit now. I’m on Level Six! I’ve never made it to Level Six before!”

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“I peered inside. My room was filled with cartons. Big boxes from floor to ceiling. Wow! “Are all those presents for me?” I asked. Mom laughed. “Presents? All those boxes? Of course not!” She cracked up. I knew it had to be too good to be true. “Well—what’s the surprise, then?” I asked. “Matt,” she began, “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. And I decided you were right. Your room is too small for you. So I’ve turned it into a storage closet.”

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