The Girl with the Destructo Touch Read online

  “You said we'd play,” the little girl whined, her lower lip already starting to tremble. “And I think I'll cry if we don't.”

  “Cancel the waterworks,” he told her. “We're gonna do something even better than playing.”

  Victoria snatched up her stuffed rabbit and held it tight. “Did you hear that, Mr. Flops? We're gonna do something even funner than playing. What is it, Billy? What are we gonna do?”

  “You, Victoria Grace McDevitt, are going to help me make the most spectacular Halloween costume ever created,” he said excitedly.

  The child was eerily quiet.

  “I want to play grocery store,” she finally said.

  Billy shook his head enthusiastically. “No, don't you get it? You're gonna help me create a work of art.”

  Victoria thought again.

  “You can be the checkout girl, and I'll be the customer,” she said, her smile growing wider.

  “No grocery store.” Billy shook his head and waved his hands. “Get that right out of your head. It's Halloween costume or nothing.”

  Victoria sat back on her Big Wheel, Mr. Flops in her lap. She didn't look too thrilled as she gazed out over the cemetery.

  “Whatcha gonna be?” she asked.

  “Don't know,” Billy answered, a fist-sized ball of nerves forming in his belly. “That's what we have to figure out. So, you ready?”

  “I'm gonna be a princess,” she announced with a smile.

  “Great,” he answered, starting to walk the path that would take them back to his yard.

  “You could be a princess, too,” Victoria suggested, pedaling her Big Wheel beside him.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” he said, sensing that his suggestion might not have been the brightest idea after all.

  “You could be my sister.”

  “That's enough of that,” he warned.

  “Princess Billy,” she added, and started to giggle.

  Maybe he liked her better crying.

  * * *

  They stopped in front of the side door that would let them into the garage.

  Billy looked down at the little girl. She had never been allowed inside before.

  “Okay, before we go in, you have to promise me a few things,” Billy began.

  “What's that?” she asked.

  “You have to promise not to reveal to anybody what you see inside this garage today.”

  “Not even my mom and dad?”

  “Not even your mom and dad,” Billy stressed. “What's inside here is top-secret.”

  “Top-secret,” the little girl repeated, her eyes going to the door again. “I won't tell nobody.”

  “And you have to promise not to touch anything.”

  “Okay,” she said, standing up, still straddling her Big Wheel and reaching for the old metal doorknob.

  “Victoria!” Billy yelled.

  The little girl jumped, pulling back her hand as if she'd been zapped with electricity. “What?” she asked.

  “You have to promise me you're not going to touch anything.”

  Victoria nodded, her pigtails bouncing at the sides of her little head. “I promise not to touch anything,” she said. “Now can we go in?”

  There was a brief instant when Billy felt he was making a huge mistake as he retrieved the key to the door, which was hidden over the doorframe.

  “You promise?” Billy asked again, and the little girl nodded, bobbing her head up and down very fast.

  “Yup.”

  He slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door. It squeaked eerily as it slowly swung open, and all he could think about were the countless haunted houses and mad scientists' laboratories that had been entered through squeaky doors just like this one in all the horror movies he'd seen.

  Billy stepped into the darkened room, turning to see Victoria still standing at the entrance. “You coming in or not?” he asked.

  “Don't you got any lights in here?”

  “Sure I got lights,” he answered, taking his backpack off and sticking it in a corner. There were a workstation and a table at the back of the garage and he carefully made his way toward them, careful not to trip over anything. He reached up for the pull chain that would turn on the ceiling lights. “Gotcha,” he said, feeling the chain slip into his hands. He gave it a pull, illuminating the inside of the garage.

  His workshop.

  “Wow, look at all the junk!” Victoria squealed, darting inside.

  “Be careful!” Billy yelled.

  Victoria froze, Mr. Flops in her arms. “What is all this stuff?” she asked as her eyes moved about the room.

  Billy leaned back against the worktable and crossed his arms. “Top-secret inventions that I've been working on over the years,” he said proudly, his own eyes roving over his many accomplishments.

  Victoria was on the move again. “What's this?” she asked, pointing to a contraption that had once been an old tricycle, a washing machine motor and six digital clocks all flashing 12:00.

  “That's my time machine,” Billy said matter-offactly.

  “Does it work?” Victoria asked.

  “Nah, I can't get the clocks to stop flashing twelve, but I think I might be getting close.”

  She approached another invention—two old-fashioned fire extinguishers and a battered life preserver. The two extinguishers had been bound to the life preserver with electrical tape.

  “This looks interesting,” she said, slowly reaching out to touch it.

  He should have known she couldn't resist, and intercepted her hand. “That's my jetpack prototype,” he explained. “Once I get it working, I'll be able to fly to school.”

  Victoria's eyes bugged out.

  “Wow. Will you make me one so I can fly to school, too?” the little girl asked.

  “You don't go to school,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “Kindergarten doesn't really count.”

  “It does too!” Victoria screeched, stamping her foot. “We have to take naps and everything.”

  “All right, all right,” he said. “Don't get your Under-oos in a bunch.”

  She had already wandered off toward a section of the garage that had a Captain Saturn and the Galactic Rangers sheet spread across it. Billy hurried to catch up with her.

  “What's behind here?” she asked, reaching to lift the sheet up.

  Billy stepped in front of her, his back to the sheet. “There's nothing behind here for you. Let's go over there and I'll show you my design for rocket shoes.”

  “Why can't I see what's behind this sheet?” she said, trying to get around him.

  “It's just junk back there, you wouldn't have any interest in…”

  She was fast, he had to give her that. Victoria dropped to the floor like a weasel and crawled beneath the sheet.

  “No!” Billy yelped, reaching down to grab the makeshift curtain. As he emerged on the other side, he saw the little girl standing before the large table his father had built him when he was just a little kid, staring in awe at his elaborate constructions.

  When he was little, Billy had loved Constructo building blocks—no, it was more than that; he'd been obsessed with them. He had built everything from skyscrapers to airplanes to space shuttles. And as he'd built them, he had put them away, refusing to break them apart. Eventually, there hadn't been any more space inside his room, and his father had made him this special table to display all his Constructo creations.

  He loved these things that he'd built with his own two hands.

  And Victoria was reaching out to touch them.

  “Yeeeeeeeeeeeek!” Billy screamed, diving for the little girl before her hand could reach his Constructo-block version of the Chrysler Building.

  But he was too late. Her little fingers gently brushed the side of the building.

  Billy froze, holding his breath. “Back away slowly,” he whispered.

  “Did you build these, Billy?” Victoria asked, ignoring his order.

  He nodded, gesturing for her to come towar
d him. “Yeah, I did. Would you come over here, please?”

  “Why?” the little girl asked. “I'm not gonna break nothing. I just want to look some more.”

  She turned back to the table.

  Just then, the Chrysler Building began to tip.

  It was like something out of a giant monster movie. Victoria stood before the display as the building fell over, knocking down a Constructo plane hanging by wires from the ceiling, which then fell on an elaborate Constructo bridge and collapsed on top of a Constructo ship.

  And so on and so on.

  It was like watching the end of the world.

  One by one, Billy's favorite childhood memories crumbled into multicolored plastic rubble.

  Slowly he turned his eyes to her.

  The destroyer.

  “Whoops,” Victoria said, squeezing Mr. Flops tightly in her arms. “How the heck did that happen?”

  His anger was like a volcano. Billy could feel it building up inside him, rumbling and grumbling until he couldn't hold it back any longer.

  “How did it happen?” he asked, approaching the table. He picked up a piece of what used to be a Constructo block 747. “You touched it, that's how it happened!”

  Victoria's eyes started to blink and he could see the tears beginning to form, but he was so angry he didn't care.

  “I'm sorry. Here.” She held out Mr. Flops. “Give him a hug and I bet you feel better.”

  Billy wanted to rip Mr. Flops' head off and eat it. “I can't believe I trusted you,” he said, shaking his head. “I should've known you'd use your… your Destructo Touch on something!”

  “I don't have a Destructo Touch!” Victoria screamed. “It was an accident!”

  “But what about all the other times?” Billy cried. “What about my remote-control racecar? What about my karaoke machine? And my Mr. Slushy Summertime Treat Maker?” Then, wearing his meanest face, he pointed at her. “You have the Destructo Touch.”

  And with those words, Victoria started to cry.

  “You're a meany, Billy Hooten!” she screamed through her tears, and clutching Mr. Flops, she crawled under the sheet and was gone.

  “Good riddance,” Billy hollered, but even as he looked at the enormous pile of Constructo blocks that used to be something, he could feel the first twinges of guilt.

  Somehow he was going to pay for making Victoria cry, he knew that for sure.

  Victoria didn't know why she ran into the cemetery, but she did.

  She snuffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her jacket as she leaned back against the big old oak tree.

  “Billy Hooten is the stupidest stupid-head,” she cried, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

  She hugged Mr. Flops, burying her face in the softness of his fur. “You don't think I have the Destructo Touch, do you?” she asked the stuffed bunny.

  Holding him out before her, she waited for his reply.

  “I don't think so, either,” she said, sitting down on the exposed roots of the old oak tree. “It was just a little accident… they was all accidents. I don't know what he had to get so mad about.”

  She had managed to stop crying. The sadness of her bestest friend in the whole wide world yelling at her turned to anger.

  As she looked around the cemetery, her eyes fell upon the old stone mausoleum. Earlier that morning, she had followed Billy into the cemetery and watched as he had gone inside the spooky stone building.

  “I wonder what he was doing in there?” she asked Mr. Flops. He hadn't stayed in there very long. Victoria's curiosity began to grow.

  “Maybe he hided something,” she suggested to the rabbit. “Something he didn't want to share.”

  The little girl scowled. “Not only is he a big stupid-head, he's a big stupid-head who doesn't know how to share.”

  Victoria got up from where she was sitting and wiped some loose leaves from her butt, never taking her eyes off the mausoleum. “I wonder if it's candy,” she said aloud. “Or maybe even a new toy.”

  She walked across the lawn, between the rows of headstones, toward the mausoleum. He probably hid it in here because it's kinda scary looking, she thought as she approached the building, but she wasn't scared.

  Her mind danced with all the things she imagined Billy might have hid inside the small building—everything from Gummy Bears to a brand-new Baby Poop and Burp doll.

  Victoria hoped he had hid a Baby Poop and Burp; she wanted to play with one of them wicked bad.

  With a grunt, she pushed open the metal door and stood just inside the doorway. She looked around the dusty room, wondering where Billy might've hidden his treasure, and decided to enter the mausoleum for a closer look.

  “So where do you think he hid the stuff?” she asked Mr. Flops. She noticed that the lid on one of the stone coffins at the far end of the room was slightly ajar, and moved toward it.

  “Yeah, that cover does look sorta crooked. My thinking exactly, Mr. Flops.”

  She climbed onto the platform where the coffin rested and stood on her tippy-toes to try and look down into the darkness within. She could barely see over the edge.

  “You think a Baby Poop and Burp might be in there?” she asked her stuffed companion. “Sure is dark, though. Don't know if I want to go inside there.”

  An echo of her voice reverberated up from within the stone coffin, scaring her at first—but then she found it sort of cool.

  “Hello down there!” she called.

  Hello down there, it echoed back.

  She started to laugh. “That's creepy,” she said between giggles.

  Victoria continued to sit at the stone coffin's edge, the tips of her sneakers dangling down into the pitch black.

  “I think I've changed my mind,” she said, turning so that she could jump down to the floor from the edge. “I'm not gonna go in.”

  But as she turned around, the side of her foot hit Mr. Flops, and the rabbit pitched forward into the coffin. Into the darkness.

  “Mr. Flops, what're you doing?” Victoria screamed. And without a second's hesitation, she spun back around and hopped inside after her stuffed friend.

  She had no choice but to follow.

  CHAPTER 8

  Archebold's single, monocled eyeball—magnified to three times its normal size—casually scanned Celebrity Creature magazine. Licking a stubby finger, he turned the page of the latest issue of monster gossip.

  “We should get Billy mentioned in here,” Archebold said, flipping through the next few pages.

  He and Halifax were in a chamber designated the Rest Room, and were doing just that. Resting.

  The room was filled to the gills with all kinds of comfortable chairs and couches, most so overstuffed that sitting on them felt like resting on a cloud.

  “What's that?” Halifax asked sleepily, rolling over to face the goblin.

  “In here,” Archebold squeaked, waving the magazine at the troll. “We should get them to do a story on the new Owlboy. It would be great publicity.”

  Halifax reached into the top front pocket of his overalls and removed a cellophane bag. “I don't think questions about what his favorite color is and what kind of animal he'd like to be would help with striking fear into the hearts of evildoers,” the furry creature said, opening the bag. “Scab?” he asked, offering the bag to Archebold.

  “I guess you're right.” Archebold glanced up from his magazine. “Are those Flaky Frank Scabs?” he asked.

  Halifax read the label on the bag. “Yeah, barbecue flavor.”

  The goblin shook his head. “No thanks, I only eat Leprous Louie's All-Natural Scabs.”

  “Fussbudget,” Halifax growled through a mouthful of barbecue-flavored scabs.

  Suddenly alarm bells began to chime, disturbing the peaceful quiet of the Rest Room.

  “Which one is that?” Archebold asked, putting a stubby finger in one of his prominent ears to dull the clamor.

  There were alarms for everything at the Roost: alarms for when it started to rain, and
for when it stopped; alarms for when it was time to put the trash out; and even alarms for when it was time for Halifax to change his overalls.

  That alarm usually couldn't come fast enough.

  “Something's getting too close to the Roost,” the troll said, digging into the empty bag for crumbs. “Probably just some nosy varmint… maybe you should go check?”

  Archebold looked up from his magazine and seriously thought about it. “Nah. Maybe you should, though?”

  The troll folded the empty scabs bag on his belly.

  “Or we could just activate that new automatic security system I installed this week?”

  “Excellent idea,” Archebold said.

  “I thought so,” Halifax agreed, pulling a remote control with an extralong antenna from inside his front overall pocket.

  “We're too busy,” the goblin said with a throaty chuckle, finding a recipe for Bloodberry Pie inside his magazine which he started to tear out to save. Maybe he would make it over the weekend.

  “You got that right,” Halifax agreed, pushing the button on the remote to activate the new security system.

  “Too busy to sweat the small stuff.”

  * * *

  “Any clue where you're going, oh great hunter?” Sireena called after her brother as the two of them continued to push their way through the Wailing Wood.

  “I thought I saw something moving up here,” Sigmund grunted. “It's probably him, cowering in fear, tired and frightened because he hasn't the strength to run from us any longer.”

  “Or it could be your eyes playing tricks on you,” Sireena said, wiping a strand of spiderweb from her face.

  They had been hunting Owlboy for quite some time now, and still were no closer to finding him.

  Distracted by the sounds of the woods, Sireena didn't notice that her brother had come to a stop and plowed into his back, the muzzle of her rifle poking him in his big behind.

  “Yeeek!” Sigmund squealed. He spun around, violence in his bugging eyes.

  “You did that on purpose,” he snarled.

  “I didn't know you'd stopped,” Sireena said in her defense. “Why did you stop?”