# 15: The Creature From The Black Lagoon, Revisited.

Hi Peeps! Hey, so it's spring break week here in Pluto. Wiggy's family's off on a Caribbean cruise (lucky duck), so it's just Fatty, Wiley and me hanging out. Dad's promised me that I can go to Space Camp this summer, so that makes up for us not going anywhere during school break.

We've been camping out a lot lately, even though it's still cold and wet, but hey, this is Washington State. It's always wet, even if it's not always cold. If we waited for a dry day, we'd be waiting a long time. Know what I mean?

We've been camping twice this week. The first time was last Saturday, the first day of spring break. The three of us met early at my house, with all our camping gear. Dad grumbled that it takes an army to get me out of bed for school, but that I'm up at the crack of dawn during vacation time. Can't argue with him there. Mom was pretty cool about us going camping down by Crater Lake. I think it was because she looked forward to not having me and the guys hanging around playing video games and eating everything in sight, like we usually do when there's no school. Plus, she said the fresh air and exercise would be good for us. I just smiled and nodded. No sense telling her that we'd be sprawled out on our sleeping bags playing video games.

Anyway, we had a great time camping last Saturday. The weather actually turned out pretty neat. It didn't rain once the entire time, and we were able to build a fire and toast marshmallows and hot dogs and tell scary stories until way past bedtime. It was excellent. Except for the creepy sounds we heard when we eventually did crawl into our sleeping bags. I wouldn't have been that scared if it hadn't been for Fatty chirping up every few minutes that we were going to get eaten. That kind of image tends to stay with a guy in the middle of the night, out in the open. After Fatty yelped out for the fourth time, Wiley finally decided enough was enough. He told Fatty if he didn't shut up, we were going to throw him in the lake, which was like 0 degrees. That did it. Fatty finally stopped whimpering, and we were all able to get some sleep. The next morning, we ate baked beans and hard-boiled eggs, and thought we were pretty cool for putting together such an excellent breakfast. We had a pretty awesome day hiking and looking for arrow heads, and making traps for squirrels and rabbits, although none of them worked, before heading for home around sundown. We decided when we reached my driveway that we would do it again on Friday.

It's Friday, and here we are at Crater Lake again. Only this time, something feels different. You know, off? Like a feeling you get when something's wrong, but you can't quite put your finger on it? Yeah, that's how it feels. Fatty's setting up the tent, which is big enough to hold a family of four really big people, and Wiley's out looking for dry firewood. Me, I'm down by the lake, trying to catch a big ol' fish for dinner. Only it's not as easy as it looks on those wilderness shows on TV. I've already lost two worms, and am sitting here on the shore on a big ol' rock, with the fishing line in the water, with my last worm wriggling on the end of the hook. It's cold and wet today, not like last weekend when we camped. I've got my rain slicker on, but the rain keeps trickling down my face into my neck, making me shiver.  This camping trip is starting to suck, big time. I shiver, and hunker down, keeping my head down so no more rain slides down my neck.

I see them now. The tracks I mean. I'm staring at the ground around me, which is wet and mushy. I can see my tracks clearly, slowly filling with water, and some paw prints that look like tiny human feet. Raccoon tracks. But then I see the other ones. These tracks are big. And look human. Except they have webbing in-between the toes. I mean, like real webbing.  And they are coming from the direction of the lake onto land. Not the other way around. I swallow. No way,  Man. There's no way they're real. I forget about the fishing rod and jump down off the rock to get a closer look. I stoop over, and peer closer.

There's no way around it. They're real. Real big tracks of human-looking, enormous feet. With webbing in-between the toes. I backtrack to where they come from, and sure enough, they end right at the water's edge. I straighten, and my heartbeat goes up a couple of notches. Yep. Whatever he...it was, it came right out of the water onto land. I look around, eyes darting to every corner of the woods. Suddenly, it feels like I'm being watched. My appetite for fresh fish is suddenly gone. All I want is to hightail it back to the campsite, grab Wiley and Fatty and our bikes, and get the heck out of Dodge. (I don't really know what Dodge is, but my dad says that whenever we go to the movies and it's time to head for home, so it's good enough for me).

A rustle in the trees to my left grabs my attention, and I whip my head up, scanning the tree line. It's hard to see with the rain in my eyes, so I'm blinking hard and staring. I don't see anything. Only dark shadows that look like they might leap out and grab me. I feel sick. Like I might hurl my PB&J sandwich out, which won't be a pretty sight. I mean, have you seen what a partially-digested PB&J sandwich looks like? Not good.

"Who's there?" I say, trying to sound older than I am. "Fatty? Wiley? Man, if that's either of you jerks trying to scare me, it won't work." I don't mention that it's already worked and I'm pretty freaked out and I want my mommy. There's no answer. In fact, there's no sound at all. Not even the buzzing of insects or the chirping of birds. The silence around me is pretty deafening, and I press my frozen fingers against my ears, trying to shut out...what? The silence? "You hear me guys? Not funny." The rustling starts up again, and I bolt into action. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm sprinting toward the campsite, yelling for all I'm worth. I don't even know what's coming out of my mouth, only that it's loud and sounds like gibberish.

When I reach our camp, both Fatty and Wiley are on their feet and staring at me as if I've lost my marbles. Maybe I have. It's hard to tell.

"Beaks? What the hey?" Wiley blurts out. Fatty is just staring at me, eyes bugging out. I can tell he's already scared, even though he has no idea what's going on. But that's only normal. Fatty jumps when a dry leaf hits the ground.

"Some...something," I pant, doubling over and breathing hard. I have a stitch in my side which makes it hard for me to straighten up. "Web...webbed feet. Big. From the lake." I gesture toward the water, and use my hands to show the size of the tracks I saw, but they look confused. What the heck's the matter with them? Don't they realize some kind of water monster is gong to eat us for dinner? I take a deep breath and try again. "Dudes, there's some kind of tracks leading away from the water. They're huge and they have...I dunno...some kind of...of webbing between the toes. Like real webbing."

They're still staring at me, except now Fatty looks kind of green, like he might actually hurl for real. Then Wiley rolls his eyes and snorts. "Come off it Beaks. What're you saying? That there's some kind of sea-monster that lives in Crater Lake that's running around on dry land?" He snorts again and elbows Fatty, who jumps (told you). "Come on Fats. Let's go check out these 'footprints.' He uses his fingers to make quotation marks around "footprints," which irritates me.

"Go ahead," I say, angry, now that they don't believe me. "I'll just stay here by the fire. But don't blame me if you get dragged into the lake and eaten alive."

Fatty turns even greener. He turns to Wiley, clears his throat. "May...maybe Beaks' is right," he croaks. "Maybe we should just pack up and go straight home."

Wiley rolls his eyes and grabs Fatty's arm. "Stop being such a scaredy-cat. We're just gonna go check it out. And besides, he left the fishing pole behind. We gotta get it or my dad's gonna freak." He yanks Fatty away before the poor guy can protest. I shrug and move closer to the fire to dry off. Let them go. What do I care? If they want to get dragged into the lake by some lake-monster, that's their problem. But I keep looking after them anyway, wishing they would turn around and come back.

When I hear footsteps approaching the campsite, I sigh with relief. They're okay. Awesome! Maybe now we can pack up and leave. I'm suddenly not a big fan of camping out anymore. I jump up. "What happened you two? Chicken out from checking out the tracks?" I peer into the darkness, trying to make out their shapes. I see Wiley first. Only he's way too big to be Wiley, so it must be Fatty. Except...wait. Fatty's not that tall. What...?

Then I see him...it. The creature. The Creature From The Black Lagoon. At least that's what it looks like. He's a very dark green. Almost black in the surrounding darkness. And he's covered with scales that gleam in the light from the fire. And his eyes. Oh Man. His eyes are huge. Like saucer-size huge. And they're glowing, reflecting back the firelight. And his mouth, it keeps opening and closing, like a fish out of water. Only there's no sound coming out of it. I open my mouth and try to scream. Only there's no sound coming out of mine. And I'm pretty sure my mouth is also opening and closing.

So there we are, the lake-monster and me, staring at each other across the fire. My life flashes before my eyes, but it's over real quick, 'cos I'm only twelve, and the only thing left to do is pray for this to be a dream. He moves suddenly and I jerk, scrambling to my feet. I am breathing so hard it's almost painful. I try to move my feet, but they're frozen to the ground. At this point, I realize I'm pretty helpless, 'cos I can't scream and I can't move. I watch as he lumbers around the fire, and it's only then that I see he has a big pole with him. For a split second, I think he's going to hook me on the end of his pole and carry me off for dinner. But then I see it's my fishing pole. Then I see something silvery wriggling at the end of it, and I realize it's a fish.

The creature holds out the pole to me. And waits. I swallow. What the heck? Is he...really offering me a fish? He stands motionless, his mouth opening and closing, watching me with those over-sized glowing eyes. He wiggles the pole, and stares at me. Waiting. Somehow, my feet shamble toward him. I reach for the pole slowly, wondering if it's a trick. My fingers close around it, and he lets go and steps back. I can smell him. All fishy and kind of brackish. (That's a word I learned a while back, and I finally get a chance to use it).

Then he turns kind of lumberingly, like you'd expect Frankenstein's monster to move, and shuffles into the woods. I listen until I don't hear him anymore. But I do hear the others making their way back. I turn and wait for them, feeling a little dazed. If I didn't have hold of the pole and the fish flopping at the end of it, I'd think I dreamed the whole thing.

"Beaks...what?" Wiley says, staring at the pole, then the fish, then me.

"Hey? What gives?" Fatty says. "Dude, did you just pull a fast one on us?"

I shake my head. "It...it came up to me...and...and just handed me the pole with the fish on it." My voice sounds strangled, even to me.

Wiley shakes his head. "Sure it did. Woooo. The monster from Crater Lake lives. And just caught us dinner."

"Not cool Dude," Fatty says, stomping up and grabbing the pole. "Now we're gonna have to wait like forever before the fish is cooked, 'cos I have to gut and clean it first. And I'm starving."

No surprise there. Fatty is always starving. "But...but," I say, sounding like an outboard motor.

"Drop it beaks," Wiley growls, stomping toward the tent. "I'm gonna grab some beans." He disapears inside the tent, then pops his head back out. "Nice fish though. Didnt realize you were a fisherman. My dad's gonna be real impressed when I tell him you caught a big one. He thinks you're all brains and that's about it." Wiley grins and disappears back into the tent.

"But...but I didn't catch it," I stammer. "It was really here --"

"Drop it Beaks," Fatty grunts, slicing open the fish. "Great fish, Man. We'll have to come back again next weekend."

I'm thinking, not a chance, as I stare off into the woods. Deep inside the thicket, I see a soft glow. And realize we have company as we settle down to a yummy fish fry.

# 14: Half Past Dead

So there's this kid in my Social Studies class, Whit Whitman. He's a pretty cool kid, all things considered. I mean, with all of the weird kids and goings on in Pluto, it's kind of neat to have a kid who's just...well...normal. Kind of.

Whit's been living in Pluto longer than most of the denizens of our fair but bizarre town. His parents moved here when he was two, so he's grown up surrounded by the weirdness that is us. Maybe that explains why he's always so calm about everything that happens. And yeah, weird happens in Pluto on any given day, at any given time. But looking at Whit, you'd never guess he lives at the center of all things strange and bizarre.

Whit looks like the all-American boy from those old TV shows way back in the fifties and sixties. You know, blonde, blue-eyed, freckles. The works. He's also a good student. He gets pretty much straight Bs, with the occasional A thrown in. In Social Studies, we're both at the top of our class. Well, if you take Zack Zanto out of the picture. That guy gets straight A pluses without even trying, but then again he is an alien. Everyone knows it, but no one'll say it out loud. I dunno. I think we're all afraid that if we acknowledge it out loud, we'll all be swept up in some kind of beam to a spaceship hovering about just outside earth orbit. Zack's an awesome guy though, for an honest-to-goodness space alien, so everyone pretends not to know that he's from Outer Space.

Anyway, back to Whit. Like I said, he's a pretty cool kid.

Until a couple of weeks ago.

Something happened to Whit then. Something that changed him. And I don't mean changed him like argh...he's a monster! I mean, changed him like, he's different from anyone else at school. Yeah, yeah I know. At Planet Nine Elementary, everyone's different from each other. Like in a major way. But that's not what I mean. I mean, something happened to Whit that's changed him so he doesn't eat and drink anything...and I mean...anything...in the cafeteria, anymore.

At lunchtime, he shuffles in, and I do mean shuffle. Like he's kind of dragging one foot behind the other. Before last week, Whit walked normally. In fact, he was a pretty cool athlete. Looking at him shuffle into the cafeteria, you'd never guess that he used to go out for track. He was pretty fast too. He still holds the record for the fastest time at our school.

Wiggy, Fatty, Wiley and I are sitting at our usual table by the window, and Wiggy is staring at Euclid emptying the salt shaker into his mouth (we're pretty sure Euc's an alien too), when Whit shuffles over.

"Hey," he mumbles.

"Hey," we chorus back.

Silence. The four of us look at each other, then up at Whit, still standing there, kind of hunched over. He is looking at us with eyes that look like they've kind of sunk into their sockets. Come to think of it, he doesn't look so good all over. The four of us shift in our chairs, waiting for Whit to say something, until I can't take it anymore.

"Man, you need some sun," I blurt out. "Look at you? You're all pale and...stuff."

"Yeah Whit. And what's with your foot?" Wiley says. "You should have the school nurse check it out."

Whit blinks at us, shakes his head. "Wouldn't do any good," he says. His words are slurred so it's kind of hard to understand him.

"Ummm...you gonna join us?" Wiggy asks, pushing his meat sauce around on his plate.

"Whit shifts his attention to the meatballs. "Those look good," he mumbles. "Kind of like brains." A gross-looking blackish tongue flicks out and he licks his lips.

"Did-did-did you s-say b-b-b-brains?" Wiggy stammers.

"Yeah," Whit says. He rubs his stomach with a hand that actually has dry skin flaking off it in chunks. It's gross. "Nice juicy cow brains. Man, there's nothing better." There is actual drool sliding down a corner of Whit's mouth.

Just like that, my appetite is gone.  I push my plate away. "Ummm...Whit? Is everything okay? I mean, you...you don't seem like yourself. You know?"

Whit turns those weird, dead eyes on me, and I have to grip my chair to keep from springing up and taking off for home. "I know Beaker," he says. "I know." He flashes me a smile, and I notice his teeth are all yellow and stuff. Like he hasn't brushed them in a while.

He moves away from the table and we all stare after him. Then, suddenly he turns, and Wiggy jumps. "I'm not myself," he says. "I'm better." And he smiles again.

As he shuffles off, we hear him muttering "braiiiinnss, braiinnss..."

# 13: WHICH WITCH IS WHICH?

So exam time is upon us at Planet Nine Elementary. Gross. So, anyway, Fatty, Wiggy and I decide to go to the library to bone up on our science knowledge for the big science test tomorrow morning. Wiggy is not too happy about it, and neither is Fatty. Actually, none of us are.

You see, we’re all pretty convinced that Miss Direcque, the town librarian, is a witch. Not a nasty, mean, crazy woman who you’d call a witch, but an actual, broomstick-flying, spell-casting witch. Except for the hooked nose and warts. She doesn’t have those. Which is too bad. I mean, if she did, it would make it that much easier to see, right off the bat, that she is a witch. Know what I mean?

So anyway, school’s out, and nothing weird happened. Well, not that weird anyway. Which is kind of weird in itself, since really weird things happen at Planet Nine pretty much on a daily basis. The only thing that happened that was kind of weird was during lunchtime in the cafeteria, when Felix Fine curled up on an empty lunch table next to the windows and went to sleep in the sunbeam streaming in. I swear you could hear him purring halfway across the room. Like I said, not full out weird, but kind of weird.

So, there we were, in the library, sitting at the only table available. Which happened to be right across from Miss Direcque’s desk. Looking around, I saw that people were crammed in at all the other tables, practically on top of each other. She must freak a lot of people out, even the weird denizens (that’s my new word for the day) who live in Pluto, if they’d rather be squished together than sit across from her. Who knew?

“Dude?” Wiggy whispers, nudging me. “She’s staring at us. Oh snap! She knows we know.”

I glare at him. “She knows we know what?” I hiss, shoving his elbow away. “C’mon Man. We’ve got a test to study for.” I grab one of the books and start flipping pages, wishing Wiggy would shut up already. Not that I was scared or anything.

Wiggy glares back. “That’s she’s a witch, dummy. Check it out. Those weird eyes of hers are…I dunno…kind of glowing.”

“He’s right Rod,” Fatty chimes in, and his voice is shaking. “They are kinda glowing.”

I roll my eyes. In my mind I see the possibility of that B+ slowly slipping away. I sigh and look up.

And my gaze collides with Miss Direcque’s piercing stare. My stomach flips, making me want to hurl right there in the town library. When she sees me staring back, she smiles. Only it’s not a warm, welcome, good-to-see-you-how’s-your-folks kind of smile. It’s the kind that makes you want to run for the hills, screaming for your mommy. I swallow. “Should…should me move, maybe?” I croak, unable to tear my eyes away from hers.

“To where?” Fatty asks. “Every other table is jam-packed with people. This is the only place left.”

“Maybe we should go study at my house,” Wiggy whispers, still shaking. “Dude, she’s looking at you like she wants to turn you into a toadstool or something.”

“Shut up,” I say, finally tearing my eyes away from the creepy librarian. “A toadstool? Really? Geez, Wiggy. It’s really sad that all your knowledge of witches comes from Bugs Bunny cartoons.”

“Aha! So you admit she’s a witch,” he says, ignoring my insult.

“I admit nothing,” I say, using the voice my dad uses when he refuses to admit he’s wrong about something. Nothing irritates my mom more.

“Clam up,” Fatty snaps in a stage whisper. “She knows we’re talking about her.”

Keeping my eyes glued to my book, I start taking notes. For a while, there is complete silence at our table, which doesn’t happen very often. Whoever said that girls talk more than boys hasn’t been around enough boys. We never shut up. I mean never. Whenever one guy stops talking, another starts up. It’s a never-ending round of yammering voices, blabbing about everything under the sun, from aliens to zombies.

Just when I start thinking that the B+ might be within my hot, sweaty grasp, Wiggy yelps. I mean really yelps. Like a little puppy that’s just received a big scare. Then he starts imitating an owl.

“Who-who-who,” Wiggy stammers.

“What now?” I mutter, tossing my pencil down.

Wigggy’s mouth is working like a fish out of water; only no sound is coming out.

“What the heck dude?” Fatty snaps. “Are you choking? Rod, is he choking?”

“How the heck should I know,” I snap back. We are clearly all on edge here. I’m going to go out on a limb here and profess (another word I like) that the study session for the big science test is not going well.

In answer, Wiggy points toward the circulation desk with a quaking finger. Fatty and I turn as one, and this time I’m pretty sure I’m going to hurl.

Miss Direcque is standing there, behind her desk, exactly where she has been for the last twenty minutes. Only, it’s not her. It’s…I don’t know who it is. It’s someone who looks exactly like her. Same navy blue dress, buttoned all the way up to her scrawny throat. Same weird eyes, one blue, one green which our buddy, Wiley, says is a sure sign of a witch, same tight bun, bundles on top of her head like a big fat donut. Only the bun isn’t pitch-black, which is what color Miss Direcque’s hair is.
No sir!

It is bright flaming red.

We all stare. We are all breathing like we’ve run a marathon, even though none of us knows what that feels like. I feel dizzy. The room is tilting slightly, and I’m pretty convinced I’m either dreaming or I’m going to pass out. Fatty clutches my arm and I jump, which wakes me up pretty quick.

“Dude, her hair! It’s…it’s…”

“Red,” Wiggy whispers, quaking so much his teeth are chattering. Or is that mine? I can’t tell.

“May…maybe she’s wearing a wig,” I say, clearing my throat.

Fatty’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Why the heck would she randomly put on a wig?’ he hisses.

I shrug. My arm, where Fatty is clutching at it, starts going numb. “Maybe she’s doing it to scare us,” I suggest. “You know, to teach us a lesson?”

“A lesson?” Fatty and Wiggy chorus.

“Are you daft? Why would she do that?” Fatty yells, forgetting where we are.

“Shhhh,” a voice hisses.

And there she is, looming above us.

In the blink of an eye, Miss Direcque, or whoever this red-haired woman is, is at our table, leaning toward us.

“May I remind you young gentlemen that you are in a library,” she growls, her strange green and blue eyes snapping from me to Fatty to Wiggy, who’s slid so far down in his chair, he’s practically under the table.

“So—sorry,” Fatty croaks. “We-we-we---"

“Yessss?” “We…uh…we were wondering how you changed your hair color so quickly,” I stammer. Fatty gives my arm a grateful squeeze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, straightening back up, and smoothing a gnarly hand over her hair.

And just like that, her hair is jet-black again.

“Oooohh,” Wiggy moans. “I-I think I’m going to be sick.”

Miss Direcque glances at me and flashes that eerie smile of hers that never fails to send all kinds of shivers down my back. “I think you young gentlemen should take your friend home. Looks like he needs medical attention.” And she turns away, her black heels clicking against the wood floor as she returns to her desk.

We don’t need to be told twice. We grab our books, our backpacks and Wiggy, and haul our butts out the door and down the stairs. We don’t stop until we reach Wiggy’s house and stumble inside, breathing hard enough that we’re all bent over, coughing and gagging.

“I knew it!” Wiggy blurts, once he catches his breath. “Mrs. Carruthers was right. Remember when she claimed she saw Miss Direcque flying over Meteor Park last year?”

Mrs. Carruthers was my old neighbor, and the sweetest woman who ever lived. But she was also like 150 years old. I think she’s the oldest person I’ve ever known. So, when sweet, old Mrs. Carruthers says she saw the town librarian flying over the park on a broomstick, most people just smiled and nodded. I mean, isn’t that what old people do? Their minds start to go at some point when they reach 100, right? So, when they say or do weird things, like going to the grocery store in their bathrobes, like old Mr. Johnson does every now and then, everyone understands.

“She’s old,” I remind the others, wheezing.

“Fine, Smarty,” Wiggy croaks. “Then explain how Miss Direcque changed her hair from black to red to black again, in front of us!”

I open my mouth. Shut it. Open it again. “I don’t know,” I finally say, shrugging. “It’s just...it’s Pluto,” I finish lamely, unable to come up with a reasonable explanation.

Wiggy stares at me, his eyes bugging out. “It’s Pluto?” he screeches at me. I cringe, stepping back behind Fatty. “That’s the best you can do after what we’ve just seen?”

I smile weakly, trying to come up with some kind of explanation, but my mind goes blank. Fatty comes to my rescue, which surprises the heck out of me. “Hey Man? Calm down, okay? We don’t have an explanation for what we saw. But think about it. If we had to come up with a rational explanation for every weird, nutty thing that happens in Pluto, our brains would seriously explode.”

Wiggy scowls at him for a moment, then he sighs. “Yeah. Yeah Dude. You’re right.”

We sit at his kitchen table with cookies and milk, and eat in silence. Then I stand. “I’d better get home, guys. My mom’ll start to freak out if I’m not back soon. And, oh crap, we didn’t get any studying done for the test tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Fatty groans. “Stupid science test. What a drag!”

Yep, even in a cool place like Pluto, school can be a drag.