ITCAMEFROM

BENEATHTHESINK!

Goosebumps-30R.L.Stine

(AnUndeadScanv1.5)

1

BeforemybrotherandIfoundthestrangelittlecreatureunderthesink,wewereanormalhappyfamily.Infact,I’dhavetosaywewereverylucky.

But our luck quickly changedwhenwe pulled the creature from its darkhidingplace.

Thesad,frighteningstorybeginsonthedaywemoved.“Hereweare,kids.”Dadhonkedthehornhappilyasweroundedthecorner

ontoMapleLaneandpulledup in frontofournewhouse. “Ready for thebigmove,KittyKat?”

Mydad is theonlyonewhocangetawaywithcallingmeKittyKat.Myreal name isKatrina (ugh!)Merton, but only the teachers callmeKatrina.ToeveryoneelseI’msimplyKat.

“Definitely,Dad!”Ishouted.Ijumpedoutofthestationwagon.“Rowf! Rowf!” Killer, our cocker spaniel, barked in agreement and

followedmeoutontothesidewalk.Daniel, my goofy little brother, is the one who named the dog. What a

dumbname.Killerisafraidofeverything.Theonlythinghekillsishisrubberball!

DanielandIhadbikedpastthenewhouseplentyoftimesalready.It’sonlythreeblocksawayfromwhereweusedtolive,onEastMain.

ButIstillcouldn’tbelievewe’dbelivinghere.Imean,Ialwaysthoughtouroldhousewasprettygreat.Butthisplaceisawesome!

Three stories high, sitting up on its own little hill, with butter-yellowshutters and at least a dozenwindows.Awide porchwraps around thewholehouse.Thefrontyardmustbeaboutthesizeofafootballfield.

It’snotahouse—it’samansion!Well,practicallyamansion.Enormous—butnotexactlyfancy.WhatMom

calls“acomfortableoldshoekindofhouse.”Actually,todayitreallylookedmessyandold.Afewoftheshuttershung

crookedly,thegrassneededmowing,andthewholeplaceseemedtobecoveredwithaninchofdust.

ButasMomsaid,“Nothingthatcan’tbetakencareofwithagoodcleaning,acoatofpaint,andafewbangswiththehammer.”

Mom, Dad, and Daniel climbed out of the car, and we all stood staringexcitedlyatthehouse.Today,I’dfinallygettoseetheinside!

Mom pointed to the second floor. “See that big balcony?” she asked.“That’s the room where your father and I will sleep. The next room over isDaniel’s.”

Shegavemyhandalittlesqueeze.“Thelittlebalcony—that’soutsideyourroom,Kat.”Shebeamed.

Myveryownprivateporch!IleanedoverandgaveMomabighug.“Iloveitalready,”Iwhisperedintoherear.

Naturally,Danielstartedwhiningimmediately.He’stenyearsold,butmostofthetimeheactsasifhe’sabouttwo.

“HowcomeKat’sroomhasabalcony—andminedoesn’t?”hecomplained.“It’snotfair!Iwantabalcony,too!”

“Get a life,Daniel,” Imuttered. “Mom, tell him to be quiet.Don’t I getsomethingforbeingtwoyearsolder?”

Well,almosttwoyearsolder.Mybirthdaywasinfourdays.“Quiet, kids,”Momordered. “Daniel, youdon’t have abalcony.Butyou

aregettingsomethingneat, too—bunkbeds.SoCarlocansleepoverwheneveryouwant.”

“Excellent!”Danielshouted.CarloisDaniel’sbestfriend.They’realwaystogether—andalwaysbuggingme.

Daniel isokay—mostof the time.Buthe insistsonbeingright.DadcallshimMr.Know-It-All.

And sometimes Dad calls Daniel the Human Tornado, because he runsaroundlikeawhirlwindandmakesunbelievablemesses.

I’ma lotmore likemyDad—sort of calmandquiet.Well, usually calm.Andwebothhavethesamefavoritefoods—lasagna,reallysourgarlicpickles,andmocha-chipice-cream.

Ieven look likemyfather, talland thinwitha lotof frecklesandreddishhair.Iusuallywearmyhairinaponytail.Daddoesn’thavemuchhairtoworryabout.

Daniellooksmorelikemymother.Straight,lightbrownhairthat’salwaysfalling in his eyes, and what Mom calls a “sturdy” build. (That means he’schunky.)Today,DanielwasdefinitelyinHumanTornadomode.Heranupontothe big green lawn and began spinning around in a circle. “It’s huge,” heshouted.“It’sgigantic.It’s…it’s…it’ssuper-house!”

Hecollapsedinaheaponthegrass.“Andthisisthesuper-yard!Hey,Kat,lookatme—I’mSuper-Daniel!”

“You’resuper-dumb,”Itoldhim,messinguphishairwithbothhands.“Hey, quit it!” Daniel yelped. He pulled out his super-soaker gun and

squirtedthefrontofmyT-shirt.“You’recaptured,”heannounced.“Youaremyprisoner!”

“Idon’tthinkso,”Ireplied,tuggingonthewaterpistol.“Giveupthegun!”Icommanded.Ipulledharder.“Letgo!”

“Okay!”Danielgrinned.HeloosenedhisgripsosuddenlythatIstaggeredbackwards—andfellontothesidewalk.

“Whataklutz!”Danielsnickered.I knew how to get him. I zoomed up the porch steps. “Hey, Daniel,” I

called,“I’mgoingtobefirstinthenewhouse!”“Noway!”heexclaimed,scramblingupoffthelawn.Hehurledhimselfat

thestepsandgrabbedmebytheankle.“Mefirst!Mefirst!”That’s when Dad walked up the driveway, carrying an overstuffed

cardboard box with Kitchen written on the side. Two moving men followed,haulingourbigbluecouch.

“Hey,stopgoofingaround!MomandIreallyneedyourhelptoday.That’swhyweallowedyoutomissaschoolday,”hecalled.“Daniel,walkKiller—andmakesurehehasfoodandwater.Kat,keepaneyeonDaniel.

“And Kat, clean the inside of the kitchen cabinets, okay?” Dad added.“Momwantstostartputtingthedishesandpotsaway.”

“Sure,Dad,” I answered. I sawDaniel rummaging through a box on thelawn.TheboxwasmarkedCardsandComics.

“Hey,where’sthedog?”Iyelledtohim.Heshrugged.“Daniel!”Ifrowned.“Idon’tseeKilleranywhere.Whereishe?”He dropped a stack of baseball cards. “Okay, okay, I’ll go find him,” he

mumbled. He stood up and made his way to the driveway, calling the dog’sname.

Assoonashedisappearedaroundthesideofthehouse,IhurriedtotheboxmarkedCards andComics andchecked through it.Sure enough, the littlebrathadstolensomeofmycomics.

Ituckedthemundermyarmandwalkedinsidetothekitchentocleanoutthecabinets.Onequickglancemademegroan.

Cabinetsfilledjustabouteverysquareinchofthebigbrightroom!Sighing,IyankedpapertowelsandabottleofcleaneroutoftheCleaningSuppliesboxandstartedscrubbing.

Spritz,rub,spritz,rub.

Thiscouldtakehours!AfterIfinishedacabinet,Isteppedbacktoadmiremywork.ThenIknelt

downinfrontofthecabinetunderthesink.But something—a squeaky noise, like the sound of a footstep on an old

woodenstair—mademestopshort.Whatisthat?Iwondered,myheartbeatingfaster.Islowlyopenedthecabinet.Triedtopeekinside.Iopeneditalittlewider.Alittlewider.Iheardthenoiseagain.Myheartwaspoundingnow.Iopenedthecabinetdooranotherinch.Andthenitgrabbedme.Adark,hairyclaw.Itwouldn’tletgo.Iscreamed.

2

“Daniel!Youscaredmetodeath!”Iscreamed.Ipoundedhimontheback.Laughinghisheadoff,mybrotheryankedoffthestupidratcostumehehad

insistedonpacking.“Youshouldhaveseenyourface!”hecried.“Knowwhat?I’mgoingtostartcallingyouScaredy-Kat!”

“Ha-ha.Veryfunny,”Ireplied,rollingmyeyes.DidImentionthatDanielalsothinkshe’sthekingofpracticaljokes?

Isuddenlyrememberedwhatmybrotherwassupposed tobedoing.“DadaskedyoutofindKiller.Whereishe?”

“Ididn’thavetofindhim.”Danielsnickered.“Hewasneverlost.”“Whatdoyoumean?”Idemanded.“IstuckKillerinthebasement,”hesaidproudly.“Whileyouwerehanging

aroundontheporch,Iraninthroughthesidedoorandhidunderthesink.”“Youreallyareabigrat!”Iexclaimed.I heard a funny tap-tappingon the linoleum floor. “What’s that noise?” I

asked.Daniel’smouthdroppedopen.“Oh,no, it’sa real rat!”heshrieked.“Kat,

lookout!Move!”Withoutthinking,Ijumpedontoakitchenchairas…Killercametrotting

intothekitchen.Danielletoutahigh-pitchedlaugh.“Twiceonthesametrick!”Hewasvery

pleasedwithhimself.I dove at my brother, ready to tickle him. “Prepare to die laughing!” I

yelled.“Stop!Help!No!”hegulped.“Kat,please.Stop,please.I…can’t…take…

it!”“Giveup?”Iasked.Danielnodded.“Yes!”hehalf-gasped,half-laughed.“Allright,”Isaidgenerously.“Youcangetupnow.”“Thanks!”hesaid.“Hey,what’sKillerdoingoverthere?”“Noway.I’mnotfallingforanotheroneofyourtricks,”Ideclared.But when I glanced over, the cocker spaniel did seem very interested in

somethinginsidethesinkcabinetI’dleftopen.

He pulled it out, then sniffed. Pushed it with his nose and gave a head-tossinggrowl.

That’sweird,Ithought.Killernevergrowls.“Whatdoyouhavethere,boy?”Icalledtohim.Thedogdidn’tevenlookup.Sniff,sniff,sniff…growl.Ileanedinforacloserview.“Whatisit,Kat?”Danielasked.“Nothingmuch,”Iansweredcasually.“Justanoldsponge,Ithink.”Sniff,sniff,sniff…growl.Itseemedperfectlyordinary—small,round,andlightbrown.Alittlebigger

thananegg.ButthespongehadKillerallexcitedandnervous.Thedogdancedaround

it,barkingandgrowling.Isnatchedthespongefromhimtogetabetterlook.Andmysweetdogtried

tobiteme!“Killer!”Iyelled.“Badboy!”Heslunktoacorner.Andwithanembarrassedhowl,helayhisheaddown

sadlyonhispaws.Iheldthespongeupclosetomyface,tostudyitbetter.Whoa!Waitaminute!IsuddenlyunderstoodKiller’sstrangebehavior.“Daniel—checkitout!”Iexclaimed.“Wow!Idon’tBELIEVEthis!”

3

“Huh?Whatisit,Kat?”Danielcried.Istaredinshockatthetinysponge.“Maybemyeyesareplayingtricksonme,”Imuttered.“It’stotallyweird!”“Comeon,Kat,”Danielinsisted.“Whatisit?”I studied the sponge some more. “Wow!” I gasped. My eyes weren’t

foolingme.Theroundspongemovedinmyhand,gentlyandslowly,inandout,inand

outinalazyrhythm.Asifitwerebreathing!Butspongesdon’tbreathe.Dothey?Thisonesuredid!Icouldevenhearitslittlebreaths:Whoa-ahhh,whoa-ahhh.“Daniel! I don’t think this is just a sponge,” I stammered. “I think it’s

alive!”Itosseditbackintothesinkcabinet.Iadmitit.Ifeltalittlescared.My brother put his hands on his hips. “That’s a pretty lame joke,” he

snickered.“But,Daniel—”Istarted.“You can’t get me with that one, Kat. It’s an old sponge,” he insisted,

grinning.“Adirtyoldspongethat’sprobablybeenhereforahundredyears.”“All right, don’t believe me!” I exclaimed. “When I’m famous for

discoveringthisthing,Iwon’ttellthemyou’remybrother.”Mom walked by, carrying an armload of winter coats. I knew that she

wouldbelieveme.“Mom!”Iyelled.“Thesponge!It’salive!”“That’s nice, dear,” shemurmured. “Only a fewmore things to bring in.

Now,wheredidIputthatboxofsilverware?”Mymother acted as if she didn’t even hearme! “Mom,” I started again,

evenlouderthistime.“Thesponge!Underthesink!It’sbreathing!”She ignored me and kept walking through the kitchen and right out the

screendoorintothebackyard.Nobodycaredaboutmyamazingfind.ExceptforKiller.Heseemedreallyinterested.

Maybetoointerested.Killer bent his neckdown low, pokedhis head into the cabinet, gave the

spongealongstare—andgrowled,deepinhisthroat.Grrrr.Grrrr.Whywashegrowlingagain?Killertouchedhiswetnosetothesponge.Heshoveditaround,sniffingand

sniffing.Hegazedupatmeforamoment,apuzzledexpressiononhisdogface.Grrrr.Grrrr.Killeropenedhismouthandgrabbedthespongeinhisteeth.“Hey,that’snotlunch!”Iyelped,grabbingKillerbyhiscollarandyanking

himoutfromunderthesink.“Thatcouldbeaveryimportantdiscovery.”Iturnedtomybrother.“See,Daniel?Killerknowsit’salive,”I insisted.“Honest, it’snota trick.

Lookcloser—Ipromisethatyou’llseeitbreathing.”Danielsmirkedas ifhedidn’tbelieveme.Buthepokedhisheadinto the

cabinet.“Hey,whoa!Youmightberight,”headmitted.Hepulledhimselfuptoface

me.“Ithinkitisalive!AndIalsothink…it’smine!”Withthat,hedoveunderthesinktograbthesponge.“Noway!”Iprotested.IgrabbedthebackofhisT-shirtandhauledhimout.

“Isawitfirst.Thespongebelongstome!”Heshookmeoffanddovebackdownagain.“Finders,keepers!”hecried.Imadeanothergrabforhim.But before I could touch him, Daniel uttered a bloodcurdling scream of

pain!

4

“AAAAAIIIIIIII!”YoucouldprobablyhearDaniel’swailforblocks.ThatgotMom’sattention.Shecamebangingthroughthescreendoorfrom

thebackyard.“Whathappened?Whoscreamed?What’swrong?What’sgoingon?”Mom

demanded.Danielbackedoutfromunderthesink,holdinghishead.Hesquintedupat

us.“Ihitmyheadonthesink,”hewailed.“Katpushedme!”Mom knelt down and put her arm aroundDaniel. “You poor thing,” she

saidsoothingly.Shepattedhisheadsoftly.“Ididnotpushhim,”Ideclared.“Ididn’teventouchhim.”Daniel groaned and rubbed the side of his head. “It really hurts,” he

complained.“I’llprobablyhaveahugebumpthere.”Heglaredatme.“Youdiditonpurpose!Andit’snotyoursponge,anyway.

Itwasinthehouse.Soitbelongstoallofus!”“It is somy sponge!” I insisted. “What’s your problem,Daniel?Whydo

youalwayswantwhat’smine?”“That’s enough!”Momcried impatiently. “I can’t believeyou’re fighting

overastupidsponge!”Momturned tome.“Kat,youaresupposed tobekeepinganeyeonyour

brother,aren’tyou?”shedemanded.“And,Daniel,don’ttakethingsthataren’tyours.”

Sheturnedtoleavetheroom.“Notonemorewordaboutasillysponge!Oryou’llbothbesorry!”

As soon as Mom left the room, Daniel stuck out his tongue at me andcrossedhiseyes.“Thanksforgettingmeintrouble,”hegrumbled.

Hestompedoff,withKillerathisheels.Alone in the kitchen, I bent down, reachedmy hand under the sink, and

pickedupthesponge.“Everyone’syellingandscreamingaroundhere,”Iwhisperedtoit.“You’re

causingalotoftrouble—aren’tyou?”Ifeltsortofdumbtalkingtoasponge.

Butitdidn’tfeellikeasponge.Notatall.It’swarm,Ithoughtinsurprise.Warmanddamp.“Areyoualive?”Iaskedthewrinkledlittleball.I closedmyhandaround it softly—and theweirdest thinghappened.The

spongestartedmovinginmyhand.Well,notexactlymoving.Pulsing—slowlyandgently.Ca-chunk.Ca-chunk.Itmovedliketheplasticmodelheartweusedinscienceclass.CouldIbefeelingaheartbeat?I peered curiously at the thing. I ranmy fingertips over thewrinkles that

coveredit,pushingbackthefoldsofspongy,moistmaterial.“Whoa!”Icried,startled.Twowet,blackeyesstaredoutatme.Ishuddered.“Yuck!”You aren’t a sponge at all, I thought. Sponges don’t have eyes, do they?

Whatareyou?Ineededsomeanswers.Quick.ButwhocouldItalkto?NotMom.Shedidn’twanttohearaboutthesponge.“Dad!Dad!”Icalledout,dashingthroughthelivingroomanddiningroom.

“Whereareyou?”“Mmmmph,”heshouted.“Mmmmmpph.”“What?”Iyelled,runningthroughthehouse.“Oh,hereyouare.”Dadstoodatthetopofaladderinthefronthall.Hehadahammerinone

handandabigrollofblackelectrician’stapeintheother.Andabunchofnailsinhismouth.“Mmmmpph,”hemumbled.“Dad,whatareyoutryingtosay?”Iasked.Hespitthenailsout.“Sorry,”Dadgrumbled.“I’vegottogetthishalllightworking.Thesedarn

oldwires.”Hestareddownatapileoftoolsonthefloor.“Kat,handmethosepliers.If

thisdoesn’tdoit,I’llhavetocallanelectrician.”Dad is great at getting flowers to bloom and grass to grow. Butwhen it

comestohandymanstuff,hemessesup.Alot.Onetime,hetriedtofixafan—andknockedouttheelectricityalloverthe

neighborhood.“Here,Dad.”Ihandedhimthepliersandheldupthesponge.“Checkthisout,”Iurged.Istoodontiptoessohecouldseethespongeup

close.“Ifounditunderthesink,andit’swarmandithaseyesandit’salive.Ican’tfigureoutwhatitis.”

Dadpeeredoutfromunderhisbaseballcap.“Let’shavealookatthat,”heoffered.

Ishovedthespongeupsohecouldreachit.Heleaneddowntograbthespongefromme.Ididn’tseetheladderwobble.AndIdidn’tseeitstarttotiltover.IonlysawDad’sexpressionchange.Isawhiseyesgowide.Andhismouth

openinastartledscream.Ashestartedtofall,hegrabbedatthelightintheceilingforsupport.“Nooooooo!”The light came crashing downon his head.Dad sailed off the top of the

ladder. He lay on the hall floor, perfectly still. “Mom! Mo-om! Mom!” Ishrieked.“Comequick!It’sDad!”

5

Mom,Daniel,andIhuddledaroundDad.Hiseyesflutteredopen.Heblinked.“Huh?”hemurmured.“Whathappened?”Dad shookhishead andpushedhimself upontohis elbows. “I think I’m

okay,guys,”hesaidshakily.Dad tried tostandup.Buthecollapsed to the floor.“Myankle. I think it

maybebroken.”Hegroanedinpain.WithmeononesideandMomontheother,wehelpedDadtothecouch.

“Oof,thatreallyhurts,”hemoaned.Herubbedtheankletenderly.“Daniel, go put some ice into a towel for your father,”Mom instructed.

“Kat,gethimacolddrink.”“Now, honey,” Mom whispered, wiping Dad’s brow, “tell me what

happened.”When I came running back into the living room with a tall glass of ice

water,MomandDadhadtheweirdestexpressionsontheirfaces.“Kat,”saidMomangrily,“didyoupushyourfather?”“Whydidyoupushtheladder?”Dadasked,rubbinghisankle.“Huh?Excuseme?”Ispluttered.“Ididn’tpushyou!Iwouldn’t!”“We’lldiscussthislater,younglady,”Momsaidsternly.“Fornow,I’vegot

totakecareofyourfather.”SheleanedoverandappliedtheicepacktoDad’sswellingankle.Ifeltahotredflushofembarrassmentcreepovermyface.HowcouldDad

thinkIpushedhim?IloweredmyeyesandrealizedIstillheldthesponge.AndIrealizedsomethingelse.Somethingstrangeandscary.Instead of pulsing gently, the sponge throbbed in my hand. Throbbed

wildly.Ba-boom,ba-boom,ba-boom.Vibrating—asifsomeonehadturnedablender tohighspeed.Thesponge

practicallypurredwithexcitement.Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhh.Isatdownonthehallfloor,feelingshaky.What’sgoingonhere?Iwondered.DanielthoughtIpushedhim.Andthen

Dadsaidthesamething.TheyboththinkIpushedthem.Why?Ba-boom.Ba-boom.Ba-boom.Thespongethrobbedwarmlyinmyhand.I shiveredwith fear.Suddenly, the sponge seemedkindof scary. I didn’t

wantthethinganywherenearme—ormyfamily.Iranoutside.Ifoundabigmetalgarbagecannearthegarage.I liftedthe

lid.Droppedthespongeinside.Pushedthelidshutfirmly.Backinsidethehouse,Momcalledmeintothelivingroom.“IthinkDad’s

ankleisonlysprained,”shesaid.“Now,tellmewhathappened.”

Thursday, I satatmydesk,writingdown thenamesofguests formybirthdayparty.Thebigdaywasonlytwodaysaway.

I had to give the list toMom today, so she could buy enough favors bySaturday.

IheardDanielbabblingawaytoCarloasthetwoboysclamberednoisilyupthestairs.

“Check it out—it looks like an old sponge. But it’s alive!” Danielexplained.“Ibetit’saprehistoriccreature,likeadinosaurorsomething.”

Ijumpedupandranoutofmyroom.“Hey!”IyelledatDaniel.“Whatareyoudoingwiththat?”Ipointedatthe

spongeinhishands.“Ithrewthatthingaway.”“Ifounditinthegarbagecan,”Danielreplied.“It’stoocooltothrowaway.

Right,Carlo?”Carloshrugged,hisshaggyblackhairtouchinghisshoulders.“Itlookslike

anoldsponge.What’sthebigdeal?”“It’s a very big deal,” I shot back. “And that thing is definitely not a

sponge.”Ipulledalargebookfrommynewbookcase.“Icheckedtheencyclopedia,”

Iexplained.“Undersponges.Youshouldhave left it in the trash,Daniel.Youreallyshouldhave.”

“Whatdidtheencyclopediasay?”Danielaskedeagerly,ploppingdownonmybed.Heheldthespongebetweenhishands.

“Itsaidthatspongesdonothaveeyes,”Ireplied.“Andtheycanliveonlyinthewater.Ifthey’reoutofthewaterformorethanthirtyminutes,theydie.”

“See,Carlo? It’s not a sponge,”Daniel declared. “Our creature has eyes.It’sbeenoutofwatersincewefoundit.”

“Well, I don’t see any eyes. And it sure doesn’t look alive tome,” saidCarlodoubtfully.

Danielleapedoffthebedandofferedhisfriendthesponge.“Holdit.You’llsee.”

Carlocarefullycradled thesponge inhishands.Hisbigbrowneyesgrewwide.“It’swarm!And…and…it’smoving.It’ssquirming!Itisalive.”

Carlospunaroundtofaceme.“Butifit’snotasponge,then…then,whatisit?”

“Ihaven’tfiguredthatoutyet,”Iadmitted.“Maybe it’s some kind of a super-sponge,”Daniel offered. “So powerful

thatitcanliveonland.”“Itcouldbepartspongeandpartanotheranimal,”addedCarlo,gazingatit.

“CanItakeithomeforawhile?It’llreallyspookSandy.”SandyisCarlo’sbaby-sitter.“I’llbringitrightback,”Carlopromised.“Noway, Carlo,” I said quickly. “I think I’ll keep the sponge right here

untilIknowexactlywhatitis.Here—stickitinthisoldgerbilcage.”“Aw,comeon,”Carlobegged,pettingthespongeonthetopofitswrinkled

head.“See?Itlikesme.”“Noway!”Ireplied.“Daniel,tellyourfriendtoquitbuggingme.”“Okay, okay,” Carlo muttered. “Hey, what does this little guy eat,

anyway?”“Idon’tknow,”Ireplied.“Butitseemstobefinewithouteating.Putitin

thecage.”Carloreachedintothegerbilcageandsetthecreaturedown.Ashedid,his

facefilledwithhorror.Isawhisarmtremble.Thenheletoutaterrifiedscream.“Aaagh!Myhand!Itatemyhand!”

6

“Noooo!”Ishrieked.Hismouthtwistedinhorror,Carloyankedhisarmfromthegerbilcage—

andshoveditinmyface.“Oh!”Igasped.Carlo wiggled his hand in my face and began to laugh. His hand was

perfectlyokay.“Youarehorrible!”Iyelled.“Thatissocompletelynotfunny.It’ssick!”CarloandDanielcollapsedwithlaughter.“Excellent joke!”Daniel grinned. “Hey,Carlo.Giveme a… hand!Haw,

haw,haw.”He and Carlo slapped each other high fives. “Way to go, dude!” Daniel

cried.Iglaredatthedumb,immaturebrats.“Youknow,guys,thisisn’tfunny,”Isaidseriously.“Wedon’tknowwhat

kindofcreaturethespongeis.”“Wedon’tknowwhatkindofcreatureyouare,either!”Danielannounced

withabiggrin.“IfI’macreature,you’reacreature’sbabybrother!”Ishotback.“Hey, Ihavean idea,”saidCarlo,winkingatDaniel.“Maybeyoushould

put the sponge on a leash and take it for awalk. The exercisewill give it anappetite!”Hehootedwithlaughter.

Hereallycrackedhimselfup.“Butitdoesn’thavelegs,”Danielchimedin.“ShecanrollitdownMapleLane!”Carlosuggested.Morelaughter.“That’sit,youguys.Getout!”Ishouted.“Leavemeandthespongealone!

Now!”Slappingeachotheranotherhighfive,DanielandCarloturnedtoleave.Icouldhardlywaitforthemtogo.Ineededtobebymyselfforawhile.To

sitandfigureoutwhatIshoulddowiththelittleroundcreature.ButbeforeCarloandDanielgotoutthebedroomdoor,ascreammademe

nearlyjumptotheceiling.

IturnedtoseeCarlohoppingfranticallyupanddownononefoot.“Oh, right,” I said.“Like I’mgoing tobelieveanotheroneofyourstupid

jokes.”Carlo,hisfacetwistedinpain,pointedwildlytohisfoot.Fallingbackonto

thebedwithagroan,heyankedoffhissneaker.Bloodoozedthroughhiswhitesock.“Anail!”hegasped.“Isteppedonanail!”Idroppedmyeyestothesneakeronthefloor.Alongnailhadpokedthroughthethickrubbersole—andintoCarlo’sfoot!Weird,Ithought.Wheredidanailcomefrom?“Hey,it’sreallybleeding!”Carlowailed.“Dosomething!”Isearchedaroundfranticallyforsomething touseasabandage.AsIdid,

myeyesrestedonthespongeinthegerbilcage.“Whoa!”Icried.Thespongequiveredandshook.Itshookwithwhatseemedlikejoy!Anditbreathed—soloudlythatIcouldheartheeeriesoundfromtheother

sideoftheroom!Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhh.AsIwrappedanoldT-shirtaroundCarlo’sfoot,twoquestionsranthrough

mymind—what in theworld ishappeninghere?Whydid the spongecreaturesuddenlygetsoexcited?

Iwouldn’tfindoutthefrighteningtruthaboutthespongecreatureuntilthenextday.

When I learned it, Iunderstoodwhy thereweresomanyaccidents inournewhouse.

And itmademewish that Ihadneveropened thatcabinet,never reachedunderthesink,andneverfoundthespongy…thing.

Becausenowitwastoolate.Toolateforusall.

7

“Kat,it’sallset.”MomgrinnedatmethenextmorningwhenIwalkedintothekitchenforbreakfast.

“What’sallset?”Iaskedsleepily.“Your birthday party tomorrow!” Mom replied, giving me a quick hug.

Mom’sverybigonhugging.“Howcouldyouforget?”sheaskedinsurprise.“We’vebeenplanningyour

birthdayforweeks!”“Myparty!” Ibreathedwithdelight.“Oh, Ican’twait!” Isatdownat the

tableforcornflakesandorangejuice.Birthday parties are a really big deal around the Merton house. Mom

alwaysordersabigcake.Andshemakesalltheinvitationsanddecorationsbyhand.

This year, I helped with the invitations. We cut them out of purpleconstructionpaperandusedapinksparklepentowritethewords.

Iusuallyhavea themeformyparties.Lastyear’s themewas“Makeyourownpizza.”Anditwasawesome!Myfriendstalkedaboutitforweeks.

Now that I’m going to be twelve, I decided I’m too old for a theme. SoMomandDadaretakingmeandfiveofmybestfriendstoWonderPark—fortheentireday.

WonderParkisdefinitelythecoolest.Ithastwowavepools,awholebunchofwaterslides,andtheMonsterMasher.That’sthescariestupside-downrollercoasterI’veeverbeenon!

Justhowcoolisit?Well,lastsummer,CarlolosthislunchafterarideontheMasher.

Prettycool.“Thisisgoingtobemybestbirthdayever!”Iexclaimed,smilingacrossthe

tableatMom.IturnedtoDaniel.“Sorry,you’renotinvited.Thisisfortwelve-year-oldsonly.”

“Nofair!Whycan’tIcomealong?”hecomplained,banginghisspoonintohiscerealandsplashingmilkalloverthetable.“IpromiseIwon’ttalktoanyofKat’sfriends.Whowouldwantto?Pleaseletmecome!”

Istartedtofeelsortofbad.Istartedtochangemymind.

AndthenDanieltotallyruinedhischance.He foldedhis armsover his chest. “Kat gets everything aroundhere,” he

grumbled.“Shewon’tevensharethespongewithme!”“ThatoldthingKatfoundunderthesink?”Momaskedinsurprise.“Who’d

wantit?”“Me!”yelledDaniel.“Well, I found it, so it’s mine. And I’m bringingmy sponge to school

today,”IinformedDaniel.“Why?”Momasked.“I’m going to show it to Mrs. Vanderhoff,” I explained. “Maybe she’ll

knowwhatitis.NowIneedtofindacarrierformysponge.”Isearchedaroundinthekitchencabinets.“Perfect!”Iproclaimed,holding

upaplasticcontainerlabeledDeli.Itstillsmelledfaintlyofpotatosalad.With an old pair of scissors, I punched a few air holes in the top of the

container.ThenIranupstairstogetthesponge.Backinthekitchen,Isetthesealedcontaineronthefloorandopenedthe

refrigerator.“Mom,”Icalled,“whichlunchbagismine?”“Theblueone,honey,”shereplied.Igrabbedmylunchandshuttherefrigerator.Iheardasniffingsoundcomingfromthekitchenfloor.Ilookeddown.“Killer,whatareyoudoing,boy?”Ismiledatthefloppy-eareddog.Snrff.Snrff.Snrff.Hesniffedatthecontainer.Grrr.Grrr.Hepawedthegroundandgrowled.Herewegoagain,Ithought.Killersethisearsback,circlingthecontainersuspiciously.Andbarked.Andbarked.Andbarked.“Killer!Getback!”Ishouted.Butthedogwaswaytooexcitedtolistentome.“Mom,Daniel!”Icalled.“HelpmegetKilleraway.Ithinkhewantstoeat

thespongeforbreakfast!”MomgrabbedKillerbyhiscollarandhauledhim,stillgrowling,awayfrom

thecontainer.Shepushedthedooropenandshooedthedogintothebackyard.“Gooutside,boy,thereyougo,”shesaidgently.

Mom turned to me. “What’s got that dog so upset? He sure is actingstrange. Now get a move on, or you’ll be late for school. And then I’ll begrowlingandbarking!”

Throwingmybackpackovermyshoulder,IgaveMomaquickkissgood-byeandfollowedDanieloutthedoor.

“Watch this!” he yelled, dashing across the street to the Johnsons’ houseandplantinghimselfunderneaththeirbasketballhoop.

Danielfakedadribbleandapass,andranmadlyaroundincircles.“Betyoucan’tjumpthishigh!”hesaid,pretendingtosinkabasket.

“Come on, Daniel,” I replied, walking quickly down the street. “Mrs.VanderhoffwillkeepmeafterschoolifIshowuplate.”

Danieltrottedovertome.Suddenly,hiseyesbulged!“Kat!Lookout!”hescreamed.Craaack!Iheardafrighteningsoundabovemyhead.Aloudcracking.Asifsomeone

hadcrackedaboutathousandknucklesatthesametime.Iglancedupintimetoseeahugedeadtreebranchhurtlingdownthrough

theair.Ifroze.Icouldn’tscream.Icouldn’tmove.Icouldn’tmoveamuscle.IwasabouttobecrushedintoKatlitter!

8

“Ohhhhhhh.”Aterrifiedmoanescapedmythroat.Ifeltsomeoneshovemehardfrombehind.Theforceofitsentmeflyingtotheground.I lay there in shock andwatched the huge tree branch crash down to the

ground,crackingandshattering.Itlandedafewfeetbehindme.As I struggled to pull myself up, the sponge container rolled out of my

hand.Thelittlecreaturecamespillingoutontothesidewalk.“Savedyourlife!”criedDaniel.“Nowyouowemebig!”Ibarelyheardhim.Thesponge.Icouldonlystareatthesponge.Whoa-ahhh,whoa-ahhh.BreathinglouderandfasteranddeeperthanI’deverheardbefore.Whoa-ahhh,whoa-ahhh.Throbbing its littleheartout.Practicallyhoppingaroundon theground in

excitement.Ba-boom,ba-boom.Veryweird. I’d almostbeenkilledby the fallingbranch.And the sponge

seemedreallyexcited.Asifitenjoyedmynearaccident.Asifmyaccidentmadeitreallyhappy.

“Mrs.Vanderhoff!” I called, rushing into the classroom. “I have to show yousomething!”

Mrs. Vanderhoff is a brain. She basically knows everything abouteverything.

She’sverysmart.Andshetakesusongreatclass trips.AtHalloween,wevisitedaspookyoldtheaterthat’ssupposedtobehauntedbytheghostsofdeadactors.

ButMrs.Vanderhoffisalsoreallystrict.Anyonewhogoofsoffortalksoutofturnstaysafterschoolforaweek!

Oneotherproblem.Shehasnosenseofhumoratall.I’veneverevenseenhercrackasmile.

“Checkthisout,Mrs.Vanderhoff,”Iblurtedout,shovingthespongeunderhernose.“Ifounditunderthekitchensinkofournewhouse.AndwhenDanielwenttograbit,hehithishead.AndmyDadthoughtIpushedhim,and—and—”

Mrs.Vanderhoffpeeredatmeoverherwire-rimglasses.“Kat,sshh,”sheorderedsharply.“Now,startover—slowlyandclearly.”

Itookadeepbreathandbeganagain,startingwithmovingdayandendingwiththefallingtreebranch.

“Andyousayitthrobsandbreathes?”Mrs.Vanderhoffasked,staringhardatme.

“Yes!”Iexclaimed.“Letmeseeit,”Mrs.Vanderhoffreplied.Ihandedoverthecontainer.Hesitantly,shestuckherhandinandliftedthespongeout.“Oh, wow.” I groaned in disappointment. The sponge appeared dry and

shriveled.Itdidn’tbreathe.Itdidn’tthrob.Mrs. Vanderhoff glared at me. “Kat, what’s the meaning of this?” she

huffed.“Thisisanordinarykitchensponge.”Shemadeaface.“Adirtyone,Imightadd.”“You’rewrong!”Icriedshrilly,desperateforhertobelieveme.“It’smuch

morethanasponge.It’salive.Ithaseyes—see?You’vegottosee!”Mrs.Vanderhoffsquintedatme,shakinghergray-hairedhead.“Oh,all right,” shesaidwithasigh.Shebentherheadandexamined the

spongeclosely.Sheranherfingersoveritswrinkledsurface.“I don’t knowwhat in theworld you’re talking about,” she said angrily,

motioning forme to takemyseat. “This thingdoesn’thaveeyes.And it’snotalive.It’sadirty,dried-upoldsponge.”

Mrs. Vanderhoff glared at me. “If this is your idea of a joke, Katrina, Idon’tgetit.Idon’tgetitatall.”

“But…”Istarted.Mrs.Vanderhoffheldupherhand.“Notanotherword,”sheinstructed.She

handedthespongeback—droppingitintomyhandlikeapieceofjunk.Mystomachchurnedwithdisappointment.Couldn’tIsayanythingelsetoconvinceher?Thesharprapofaruleronherdeskinterruptedmythoughts.“I’mgoingto

pass back the papers from your math test last week,” Mrs. Vanderhoffannounced.

Everyone groaned. The surprise quiz on long division had been a major

disasterforallofus.“Settledown,”Mrs.Vanderhoffsnapped.She reached into her desk to pull out the test papers, and—slammed her

fingersinthedrawer!With ahowlofpain, she shrieked, “My fingers!Owww—I think I broke

myfingers!”Iwas still standing beside her desk.Holding her hand, she turned tome.

“Helpme,Katrina.I’vegottogettothenurse’soffice!”IopenedtheclassroomdoorforMrs.Vanderhoff.ThenIhelpedherdown

thehalltotheinfirmary.“What’shappened?”Mrs.Twitchell,theschoolnurse,jumpedupfromher

desk and came running up to us. Her starchy white uniform rustled as shemoved.ShesatMrs.Vanderhoffinacomfortablechair.

“Myfingers,”groanedMrs.Vanderhoff,holdingupherred,swollenhand.“Ismashedtheminthedeskdrawer!”

“All right,”Mrs. Twitchell said soothingly. “We’ll put some ice on thathand.AndI’llmakesuretheprincipalsendssomebodytowatchyourclass.”

“Thankyou,”Mrs.Vanderhoffmoaned. “Katrina, you can go on back toclassnow.You’vebeenveryhelpful.”

Helpful?EverywhereIwentthesedays,Itoldmyself,somebodyseemedtogetbadly

hurt!Unhappily,Ishuffledmywaybacktowardclassroom6B.“Kat!Kat!”Iheardsomeoneshoutingmyname.Danielracedoutofthelibrary,nearlytrippingoverhisuntiedshoelaces.He

crashedrightintome.“Ifoundit!”hecriedbreathlessly.“Ifoundthespongecreature!Inabook!

Iknowwhatitis!”

9

IgrabbedDanielby the frontofhisshirt.“What is it?What?” Idemanded.“Ihavetoknow!”

“Whoa.Takeiteasy.Coolyourjets.”Danielpushedmyhandsoffhisshirt.“I’llshowyou,”hepromised.“Ihaveapictureinhere.”

“Inwhere?”Iasked.Danielgazedaroundthehall.Nooneinsight.Hepulledabookoutfromunderhisshirtandhandedittome.Abigblack

volume.Iglancedquicklyatthetitle:EncyclopediaoftheWeird.“Isyourpictureinthere?”Iteased.“Ha-ha.Veryfunny,”hereplied.Hegrabbedthebookawayfromme.“Do

youwanttoseeyoursponge?”“Definitely!”Daniel flipped thepagesquickly,muttering tohimself,“Grebles,Griffins,

Grocks.Hereitis!”He shoved the book under my nose. It smelled funny—sort of musty. I

guessedithadbeensittingonthelibraryshelfalong,longtime.Danielpointedtoadrawingonpage89.Iloweredmyeyestothepage.Wrinklyskin.Tinyblackeyes.“Itdoeslooklikethesponge,”Igasped.Ibeganreadingthestoryunderneaththedrawing.“ThisisaGrool.”AGrool?Ithought.Whatintheworldisthat?Ireturnedtothebook:“TheGroolisanancientandmythicalcreature.”“Mythical?”Icried.“Thatmeansit’snotreal—thatit’smadeup!Butitis

real!”“Keepreading,”Danielurged.“TheGrool doesnot eat foodordrinkwater. Instead, it gets its strength

fromluck.Badluck.”“Daniel,”Istammered.“Thisisweird.Reallyweird.”Henodded,hiseyes

wide.“TheGroolhasalwaysbeenknownasabad-luck charm. It feedson the

badluckofotherpeople.TheGroolbecomesstrongereachtimesomethingbad

happensaroundit.”“Thisbookiscrazy,”Imuttered.Ieagerlyreadsomemore:“BadluckfortheGroolownerneverends.TheGroolcannotbekilled—by

force or by any violentmeans. And it cannot—ever—be given away or tossedaside.”

Whynot?Iwondered.Thenextlinesgavemetheanswer:“AGrool isonlypassedon toanewownerwhenanownerdies.Anyone

whogivestheGroolawaywillDIEwithinoneday.”“Thatissostupid!”Iexclaimed.“Stupid.Stupid.Stupid.”Turning to Daniel, I said in a low voice, “There is no such thing as a

creaturethatlivesonbadluck.”“Howdoyouknow,genius?”Danieldemanded.“Everything needs food and water,” I replied. “Everything that’s alive,

anyway.”“Idon’tknow,”Danielsaid.“Ithinkthebookcouldberight.”The drawing of a creature on another page caughtmy eye. “Hey,what’s

this?”Iasked.It lookedlikeapotato—ovalandbrown.Butithadamouthfullofsharp,

pointyteeth.Iquicklyreadthedescription.“TheLanxisacousinoftheGrool.Butitismuchmoredangerous.”“Yuck!”Danielcried,makingaface.Ikeptreading:“OncetheLanxlatchesontosomeone,itneverletsgo—untilithasdrained

everydropofenergyfromthatperson.”I slammed the encyclopedia shut. “Here,Daniel, take this dumbbook!” I

shovedtheEncyclopediaoftheWeirdbackintomybrother’sarms.“Thisstuffistotallycrazy.Idon’tbelieveanyofit.”

“ButIthoughtyouwantedtoknowmoreaboutthesponge,”Danielsaid.“Ido.Butnotthismade-upstuff!”Itoldhim.I knew Iwas acting sort of rotten toDaniel.And that he onlywanted to

help.But give me a break. After all that had been happening, I was a little

stressedout.Imean,ithadbeenabadcoupleofdays—withDadfallingofftheladder,

andMrs.Vanderhoffslammingherhandinthedesk.

Andmenearlybeingcrushedbythetreebranch!Istompeddownthehallbacktoclass.“Stupidbook,”Imutteredtomyself.Butanotherthoughtkeptforcingitswayintomymind:Whatifthebookis

right?I stared at the Grool, still sitting in its container on the corner of Mrs.

Vanderhoff’sdesk.Iwalkeduptoit.Itwaswetagain.Andbreathing.Itscold,blackeyesstaredback.Ifeltachilloffearandapricklingallovermyskin.“Mythicalcreaturesdon’texist,”Iwhisperedtothecreature.“I’mnotgoing

tobelievethatbook.I’mnot!”Thespongestaredupatme,breathingsoftly.I picked up the container and shook it angrily. “What are you?” I cried.

“What?”

Daniel told Carlo the whole story on the walk home. I walked behind them,tryingtothinkaboutsomethingelse.Anythingelse.

“It’s called a Grool. And it’s a bad-luck charm,” Daniel explainedexcitedly.“Right,Kat?”

“I think you’re the bad-luck charm,” I snapped. “And I don’t think thatbookmakesanysense.”

“Oh,yeah?”hecried.Hegrabbedmybackpack.“Youdon’t need thesebooks,doyou?”he teased. “You’re so smart, you

knowmorethantheencyclopedia.”Dancingdownthestreetwithmybooks,DanielturnedontoMapleLane.

“Hey,Mom’soutside!”hecried,surprised.Hestartedtorun.CarloandIhurriedtocatchupwithDaniel.Mom stood at the door, waiting for us. Her face wore a tense, worried

expression.“Hi,kids.Comeoninside,”shesaid.Daniel,Carlo,andIfollowedMomintothekitchen.“I’mafraidIhavesomeverybadnews,”shebegansadly.

10

“Killerisgone,”Momannounced.Shebitherlowerlip.“Gone?”DanielandIshriekedatonce.“Heranaway,”Momexplained.“Ican’tfindhimanywhere.Hemusthave

slippedoutwhenIwenttoputsomethingsinthegarage.”“But, Mom—” I protested. “Killer never runs away. He’s never done it

before.”“Katisright!”Danielagreed.“He’snotbraveenoughtorunaway.”“Don’tworry,”Momsaid.“I’msurewe’llfindhim.I’vecalledthepolice,

andthey’reoutsearchingforhimrightnow.”“I’llfindKiller,”Danielcried.“BetIcanfindhimbeforethepolice!Come

on,Carlo!”Danielgrabbedahandfulofdoggietreatsandranout.Carlofollowedclose

behind.Thedoorslammedshutbehindthem.PoorKiller,Ithought.Outsomewherealone.Probablylost.Bethe’sscared.Ournewhouseissoclosetothehighway—toallthosespeedingcars.What

willhappentomylittledog?Isuddenlyfeltlikecrying.Igrabbedthespongeinitscontainerandranup

thestairs.“It’sallyourfault,isn’tit?”Iaccusedthecreature.“IbetyouareaGrool

afterall!”AsItalked,theGroolpulsed.Itshooksohard,Iexpectedittothrobright

outofthecontainer.Ba-boom.Ba-boom.Anditbreathedfastanddeep.Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhh.Iyanked theGroolout.“We’vehadenoughbad luck!” Iwailed.“Maybe

thiswillstopyou!”IhurledthehorriblethingashardasIcouldagainstthewall.TheGroolhitthewallwithasickeningsplat.AndIletoutashrillcryofpain.

11

Iglanceddownandsawred.Redblood.Flowingovermylefthand.As I threw the Grool, I slammed the hand down on my desk—onto the

sharppointofapairofscissors!“Ohhh!”Imoaned,checkingoutmyhand.Adeep,nastycut.Iwrappedsometissuesaroundthecuttoslowthebleeding.ThenIspotted

theGrooldownonthefloor.Dead,Ihoped.Ibentdown.“Gross!” I yelped. The Grool was breathing and throbbing—faster and

harderthaneverbefore.Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhh.Ileanedincloser.Heh,heh,heh.“Hey,what’sthat?”Imurmured.Heh,heh,heh.Iguessyou’dcallthenoisealaugh.Adry,cruelsnickerthatsoundedmore

likeacough.Then,asIlistenedtothatevillaugh,theGroolbeganchanging.Itscolorsuddenlybrightened—fromdullbrowntolightpink.AsIstaredin

amazement,theGroolturnedbrighttomato-red.Asredasthebloodonmycuthand.Myhand!Yuck!Bloodseepedthroughthetissuesanddrippedslowlyonto

thefloor.Ineededhelpwiththis.Mom’shelp.“Mom!”Icalled,leapingup.“IneedaBand-Aid.Abigone!”AsIhurrieddownthehall,ajumbleofquestionsranthroughmymind.Whydid theGrool changecolor? Iwondered.And that laugh—I’dnever

hearditbefore.Whatdiditmean?Wasitreallylaughing?DidIhurttheGroolwhenIthrewitagainstmybedroomwall?Isthatwhy

itturnedred?

Somanyfrighteningquestions….

Ilistenedatthedoor,cuppingmyhandaroundmyear.Voices.Insidemyroom.“Who’sthere?”Icalledoutshakily.Thedoorflewopen.“It’s the ghost of the Grool,” Daniel whispered in a spooky voice.

“Owoooooooo.”DanielandCarlostoodoverthegerbilcage,giggling.“Oh,I’msoscared,”Isneered.“DidyoufindKiller?”“No,” Daniel replied sadly. “Carlo and I searched all over the

neighborhood.Momsaysthepolicewillfindhim.”Iturnedmyeyestothegerbilcage.“HowdidtheGroolgetbackinthere?”“Ifounditonthefloor,soIstuckitbackinthecage,”Danielreplied.“How

diditgetout?”“Beatsme.”Ishrugged.Ididn’tfeellikeexplaining.Carlo, who’d been studying the Grool closely, stared at me. “Hey, what

happenedtoyourhand?”heasked,pointingtomybandage.Ididn’twanttotellthem.“Oh,uh,nothing,” I replied.“Justa littlecut.Whyareyouguysstanding

therestaringattheGrool?”“Carlo stillwants toborrow it,”Daniel explained, tapping the sideof the

cagetogetthecreature’sattention.“Itoldhimno.”Carloturnedtome.“Please,”hebegged.“IpromiseI’llbecareful.Please,

please,please,please…”ThatstupidGrool!“Oh,takeitandkeepit!”Isnapped.“Excellent!”Carlo’seyeslitup,andhereachedeagerlyintotheplasticcage

tograbhisprize.“Wait!”Daniel cried, grabbingCarlo’s arm to stop him. “Kat, remember

whattheEncyclopediaoftheWeirdsaid.”Danielbegan reciting theGrool entry frommemory, staringatmeall the

while.“You cannot give aGrool away. Anyonewho gives theGrool awaywill

DIEwithinoneday.”Afeelingofdreadgrewinmystomach.ButIcouldn’tbelievethatstupidbook.CouldI?DidtheencyclopediasaythatGroolslaugh?Orchangecolor?

No.CarloandDanielstaredatme.Waitingformydecision.ShouldIgivethe

spongecreaturetoCarlo?IstudiedtheGrool.“Don’t do it, Kat,” Daniel urged. “Please don’t give it away. It’s too

dangerous.”Iknewonlyonething.IwantedtogettheGroolawayfrommeasquickly

asIcould.AndifCarlowanteditsobadly,Idecided,lethimhaveit!“Goahead,Carlo,”Isaid.“Takethegross,disgustingthing.”DanielgrabbedtheGrooloutofthecageandheldittightly.“No!”hecried.

“Carloisnottakingit.Idon’tcarewhatyousay.Iwon’tlethimtakeit!”“Nowwho’sthescaredy-cat?”Iasked,givingDanielapokeinthearm.“I’mtryingtosaveyou!”Danielexclaimed.“Don’tyouunderstand?”PoorDaniel.Heseemedsoserious,sofrightened.Idecidedtogivehima

break.“Well,okay.Carlo,Iguessyou’dbetternottaketheGrool,”Iannounced.Danielheavedasighofrelief.Carlofrowned.“Okay.Bye.I’moutofhere.”“I’llgowithyou,”Danielsaid,tossingtheGroolbackintothecage.“Come

on,let’srideourbikestothepark.MaybeKiller’sthere.”Ashehurriedoutofthebedroom,Danielturnedandgavemeathumbs-up.

Aftertheboysleft,Icollapsedonmybed.What’sgoingtohappennext?Iwondered.

I liftedmy eyes to the plastic cage and glared at theGrool. I felt a deephatredforthelittlecreature.

“Ifonemorebadthinghappensaroundhere,I’llburyyou,”Ipromisedit.“I’ll bury you so far in the ground that no onewill ever find you or see youagain.Ever.”

ItwasapromiseIwouldsoonhavetokeep.

12

ThenextmorningIwokeupwithajolt.Toot!Toot!Daniel stoodat the footofmybed,blowingawayonaparty

horn.“Timetogetup,Kat!”hesquealed.Ireachedouttograbthenoisyhornaway.“Quitit,youloser!”Igrumbled.

ThenIremembered.Mybirthday!Finally!Somethingtocelebrate.Ijumpedoutofbed.TimetogetreadytogotoWonderPark!IplannedtobeontheSeattleLogFlumeandtheWildWaveSlideallday

long!Running to thewindow, I peeked out through the glass. “No!” I cried in

disappointment.“No!Itcan’tbe!”Rainpoureddown.Lightningcrackledthroughthesky.Thunderboomedso

loud,Ifeltthehouseshake.HowcouldwegotoWonderParkinthismess?“Kat,”Momcalledfromdownstairs.“Breakfast.”Ithrewonmypurple-and-pink-stripedleggingsandapurpleT-shirtandran

to thekitchen.OnmybirthdayMomalwaysmakesmyfavorite—waffleswithstrawberriesandpowderedsugar.

“Here’sthebirthdaygirl.Happybirthday,honey.”Mombeamed,givingmeabighug.

“I’mdressedformyparty,”IsaidhopefullyasIsatdownatthetable.“Oh,honey,I’mafraidwe’llhave tocancelyourparty,”Momsaidsadly.

“Wecertainlycan’tgotoWonderParkinthisstorm.”Cancel?Ipokedunhappilyatmywaffles.“Can’twehavethepartyhere—indoors?”Ipleaded.“We’llorderpizzaand

playcomputergamesintheden.”“Youknowthatwecan’tdothat,”Momsaid.“Thepainterswillbehereall

day in the livingroomanddiningroom.Withall those laddersandbucketsofpaint,Ican’thaveyourfriendsrunningaround.”

Whatrottenluck.“But,Mom, it’smybirthday!”Iprotested, throwingdownmyfork.“And

youpromisedIcouldhaveaparty.Youpromised!”Mom sighed. “I know how disappointed you are, Kat. We’ll have your

partyanotherday.Maybenextweekend.”Anotherdaywouldn’tbemybirthday.“Everything’sgoingwrong!”Icried.

“Eversincewemoved!”Ihatedthisnewhouse.Ievenhatedmybirthday.Mostofall,IhatedtheGrool.Leavingmywafflesontheplate,Iranuptomyroom.IsnatchedtheGrool

outofitscageandshookitashardasIcould.“Iwarnedyou!”Ithreatened.“Youruinedmybirthday!Nowyou’llpay!”TheGroolthrobbedhappilyinmyhand,andIhurleditbackintothegerbil

cage.“Ihateyou!”Ishrieked.“Ireallyhateyou!Youandyourbadluck!”Ploppingdownatmydesk,IdecidedIhadtotakeaction.Strongaction.Nobirthdayparty.NomoreGrool.“I’mkeepingmypromise,”Itoldthecreature.Ipulledanotebookoutofmydeskdrawerandbegantomakesomeplans

togetridofit.

“Daniel, it’s not raining anymore,” Iwhispered tomybrother. “Comeon, it’stime.”

TheGroolvibratedinitsplasticcontainer.Ba-boom.Ba-boom.Danielglancedupfromhiscomputerscreen.“Now?”heasked.“Givemea

break,Kat.I’monlevelten,andIneedtoslayonlyonemoretrollbeforeIcanopenthetreasurechest.”

“Thisisimportant.Reallyimportant,”Iinsisted.Danielsighed.“Doyouthinkyoushoulddo it?Youknowwhat thebook

said.”“I’ve got to!” I cried. “Remember, it’s the Grool’s fault that Killer ran

away.”Danielwasdefinitelynervous.Andscared.But he obediently hit the save button on Troll Terror and followed me

outside to thebackyard. Ithad rainedallday.Butnowa fewstars shonehighaboveusinthecharcoalnightsky.

“Here. You hold the Grool,” I whispered. I shoved the creature into histremblinghands.

Iskippedovertothegarage—feelinghappyforthefirsttimeindays.“I’m

gettingridoftheGrool,”Isangtomyself.Grabbing thebiggestshovel Icould find, Imademywayback toDaniel.

ThenIstartedtodig.This had to be a serious hole, a deep hole. Something the Grool could

never,everclimboutof.Acoolbreezeblewaroundme.Butdigginginthedampgroundwashard

work.Sweatrolleddownmybackandforehead.Ididn’tfeelscaredatall.Ihadtodosomethingtomakelifenormalagain.I

hadtostopallthebadluck.Andifitmeantburyingalivingsponge,fine.AslongasIneverhadtosee

thatstupid,snickeringcreatureagain.I peered down into the hole. It seemed pretty deep, about as long asmy

arm.“I’mfinished,”Itoldmybrother.“PassmetheGrool.”Danielsilentlyhandedthespongetome.AsIhelditoverthedeephole,thespongedidn’tthrob.Itdidn’tbreathe.It

didn’tevenfeelwarm.Itfeltdryanddead,likeanordinarykitchensponge.ButIknewbetter.IdroppedtheGroolintotheholeandwatchedhappilyasittumbleddown

thesteepdirtsidestothebottom.Pickinguptheshovelagain,Ibeganthrowingdirtontothecreature—heap

afterheap.Dig.Throw.Dig.Throw.Finally,theholewasfilledup.Iusedthebackoftheshoveltosmooththe

dirtflat.“There,”Isaid.“NoonebutuswillknowtheGroolisburiedhere.”I lowered my eyes to the soft, wet dirt. “Bye, bye Grool,” I called out

happily.“Daniel,Ithinkourluckisgoingtochangenow.”Danieldidn’treply.Ispunaround.“Daniel?Daniel?Whereareyou?”Mybrotherhaddisappeared.

13

WhathadIdone?Idroppedtheshovelinapanic.“Daniel!”Ishrieked.“Whereareyou?”HadImademybrotherdisappear?DidburyingtheGroolsomehowmake

Danielvanishintothinair?“Daniel?Daniel?”Icalledinatremblingvoice.Iheardasoftrustlingsoundcomingfrombehindthegarage.Icreptquietlytowardit.“Daniel,”Iwhispered.“Isthatyou?”Noreply.Ipeekedbehindthegarage.Danielsatwithhisarmslockedaroundhisknees.Safeandsound.“Daniel!”Icried.IfeltsorelievedthatIpinchedhim.“Cutitout,”hesnapped.Heleapedtohisfeet.“Whatareyoudoingbackhere?Iwassoworried—IthoughttheGroolgot

you!”Danieldidn’treply.Heloweredhiseyestotheground.“Whydidyouhide?”Idemanded.“Iwasscared,”hemurmured.“IthoughttheGroolmightexplodeorfight

backorsomething.”“Youwere scared?” I asked. “Whydidn’tyouat least answermewhen I

calledyou?”“I thought maybe the Grool was chasing you,” he confessed, his face

turningred.“Daniel, don’t worry,” I said. The poor guy was really frightened. And

embarrassedthathehadhid.Iputbothhandsonhisshoulders.“TheGrool isgone.It’sburieddeepin

theground.”Heswallowedhard.“Butwhatifitcomesback?Whatifwhatthebooksaid

comestrue?”“We’llnever see theGrool again,” I saidquietly. “Anddon’t forget—the

booksaidGroolsdon’treallyexist.It’sallmadeup.Justamyth,afairytale.”Danielsighed.“Ihatetoadmitit,butyou’reright,Kat,”hesaid.“Atleast

thistime.”

“Thistime?”Ishotback.“Howaboutallthetime?”IsluggedDanielonthearm.

“Oh, that hurts so much I think I’m going to pass out!” Daniel criedsarcastically.Hefellontothewetlawnandpretendedtofaint.

“Comeon,let’sgoin,”Iurged.“You’regettingsoaked.AndI’mcoveredwithdirt.”

Danielscrambledupandelbowedmeaside.“Raceyou!”hecried,runningtowardthehouse.I leaped up the steps and beat him into the house by about a second. I

slammedthescreendoorandhelditclosed,soDanielcouldn’topenit.“Iwon!”Ishouted.“OnlybecauseIletyou,”Danielcried.Hebangedonthedoor.“Doyouwanttogetinhere?”Iasked.Danielnodded.“Thensay,‘Katbeatmefairandsquare’,”Icommanded.“Noway!”hereplied.“Stayout thereallnight, then—with theGroooooooool!” I toldhim. I let

outaghostlyhowl.“Okay,okay.Katbeatmefairandsquare,”Danielgrumbled.“ButI’llwin

nexttime!”Actually,Ididn’treallycareabouttherace.IfeltsogladthatIburiedthe

Grool,IwouldhaveletDanielwintenraces.Asweburstintothelivingroom,MomandDadraisedtheireyesfromtheir

newspapers.Thehousesmelledoffreshpaint.“Wherewereyou?”Dadasked.“Oh,justfoolingaroundintheyard,”Ireplied.“Iseverythingallright?”Momaskedwithconcern.“You’refilthy!”“Everythingisfine,”Ianswered.“Now.”“Okay,goandwashup,”Momordered.“Thencomeintothekitchen.”DanielandIcrowdedintothebathroom,leanedoverthesink,pushingand

bumpingeachother,andcleanedourselvesup.“Do you know what time it is?” Mom asked as I raced back into the

kitchen.“Yes!”Ishoutedhappily.“It’stimeformybirthdaycake.”Mombeamed.“Well,sitrightdownhere.”Idroppedexcitedlyintothechairsheoffered.Finally,Ithought,thingsare

goingrightagain.

Danielperchedonthechairnexttomine.Hegrabbedmyarm.“Somethingbadisgoingtohappen,”hewhispered.“Iknowit.Ijustknowit.”

I’mnotgoingtoletanythingwrecktonight,Ithought.“Don’tbesuchawimp,”Iwhispered.“Everything’sfine.”Atthekitchencounter,Momhoveredoverthecake.Shetouchedamatchto

eachofthethirteencandles—oneforeachyearandanextraoneforluck.What an awesome cake!Mom had ordered it from the bakery down the

street.Ithadallmyfavorites:pinkfrostingroses,chocolateicing,andalayerofstrawberries.AtinychocolateFerriswheelsatontop.

“Ready, Kat?”Mom asked. She carried the cake to the table. Her facedglowedhappilyinthecandlelight.Dadflashedmeabiggrin.

Theyallbegantosing“HappyBirthday”.IsawDanielwatchingmecloselyashesang.Theyfinishedthesong.Ishutmyeyesandmademywishes.“IwishKillerwouldcomehome,”Isaidtomyself.“AndIwishtheGrool

wouldneverreturn.AndthatDanieliswrong—thatnothingbadwillhappen.”Ileanedforward,closertothecandles,andblewhard.Pop!Theloudnoisefromthekitchennearlymademefallintomycake!

14

“Boy,thatcorkwasloud!”chirpedMom.Shesetdownatrayofglassesandalargegreenbottle.“It’syourfavorite—

sparkling apple cider,” she announced. “I know it’s not as good as a day atWonderPark….”

“Oh,Mom!” I gasped,my heart still pounding. “It’s great. Everything isgoingtobegreat.”

Anexcellentbirthday.Cake,sparklingcider,andpresents—twonewvideogames,aDiscmanandsomeCDs,apurplebackpack,andasweatshirt inpinkandpurple—myfavoritecolors.

Thatnightbeforebed,Istuffedmyschoolbooksintomynewbackpack.Istared at the gerbil cage. Empty and clean—as if the Grool had never evenexisted.

Igotridofthedisgustingcreature,Ithoughthappily.Ireallydid.Myfamilywillfinallybesafefrombadluck.Theclockinthehallchimedten.Timeforbed.Iclimbedintomynightshirt

anddoveunderthecovers.

When the alarm rang the next morning, I bounced out of bed and ran to thewindowtochecktheweather.

“Oh,nooo!”Iutteredalowmoanofhorror.Thebackyard—itlookedlikeadesert!Overnight,thegrasshadallburnedbrown.Allthepinkbegoniasdroppedto

theground,deadandbrown.Dad’sredroseshadshriveledandturnedblack.PoorDad, I thought.Heworkedsohard tomake theyardbeautiful.And,

now…As I stared at the ugly, dead yard, I tried to force the thought frommy

mind.Butdeepdowninside,Iknewexactlyhowitallhappened.TheGrool.From its grave, theGrool had turned its evil powers on the lawn.And it

killedeverysinglelivingplant,flower,andbladeofgrass!What should Ido? Iwondered, staringoutat theburned,dried-out,dead,

deadyard.ShouldIremovetheGroolfromtheground?DidIhaveachoice?Notreally.I quickly pulled onmy new sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Then I crept

downstairs.IsneakedouttothespotwhereIhadburiedtheGrool.AndIbegantodig.Brown,dryleavesraineddownonmyhead.Myshoulderachedfromlifting

thedamp,heavydirt.Mystomachdidn’tfeeltoogreat,either.Dig,toss.Dig,toss.ThemoreIdug,theworseIfelt.I wanted to throw the shovel down and run from the spot. To leave the

terriblecreatureburiedforgood.ButIhadtofacethetruth.IfI left theGroolburied,itwouldkeeponpunishingme.Itwouldpunish

mywholefamily.Idugtothebottomofthehole.ThenIbentdownandpushedthedirtaway

withbothhands.Slowly, before my frightened eyes, the Grool throbbed into view. More

aliveandexcitedthanever.“Ishouldsmashyouwiththisshovel!”Iyelledatit.TheGroolvibratedcrazily,almostasifwhatIsaidmadeithappy.Ba-boom.Ba-boom.Icouldhearitbreathe.And thenonce again, it turned frombrown to pink to tomato-red.And it

keptchangingcolorasitbreathed.Brown.Pink.Red.Brown.Pink.Red.IgrabbedtheGroolfromitsgrave.Itpulsedsohardthatit throbbedright

outofmyhandandfelltotheground.“Staystill!”Ishrieked,snatchingitup.TheGroolstaredatme.Itstiny,roundeyesglowedredwithevil.Ishivered.I gritted my teeth and shoved the Grool into the pocket of my new

sweatshirt. I trudgedback to thehouse, through thekitchendoor, and into thehallthatledtothestairs.

Atthebottomofthestairs,Iheardanoise.ItcamefromMomandDad’sbedroom.

They’re awake, I thought. I’ve got to hurry before they see me and askquestions.That’sallIneed.

Ileapedupthestairs,takingthemtwoatatime.Whomp!Islippedandlandedhardonmyrightknee.“Ouch!”Ishrieked.IfelttheGroolshakeinmypocket.Ihearditsugly,softsnicker.Heh,heh,heh.Itwaslaughingatme!I jerked itoutofmypocketandsqueezed it sohard thatmyfingershurt.

ThenIrantomyroomandthrewtheGroolintothegerbilcage.“I’llfindawaytodestroyyou,”Ipromised.Irubbedmyachingkneeand

glared at the little beast. “Before you can bring us anymore bad luck, I willdestroyyou!”Icried.

Buthow?Iwondered.How?

15

“Kids, Aunt Louise is coming tomorrow,”Mom told Daniel andme the nextmorning.“SoIwantyoubothtocleanupyourroomsafterschooltoday.”

“AuntLouiseiscoming?”Iasked.“Great!”AuntLouise ismyfavoriteaunt.Even thoughshe�sagrown-up,she�s

completelycool.Shewearslong,flowerydressesanddrivesabrightyellowconvertible.AndAuntLouiseblowsthebiggestbubblegumbubbles!Andsheknowsa

lotofreallyfunnyjokes.MomsaysAuntLouisehasherheadintheclouds.Iguessthatmeansshe

hasawildimagination.Idon’tknowaboutthat,butshedoesknowalotaboutthingslikeastrologyandtarotcards.

And,maybe—aboutGrools.That night, after I cleaned my room and before I went to bed, I said a

specialgoodnighttotheGrool.“Myaunt is coming tomorrowand she’sgoing tohelpmeget ridofyou

forever,”Iwhispered.Itstaredupatme,breathingsoftly.

Afterschoolthenextafternoon,DanielandI turnedthecornerontoourblock.AndwesawAuntLouise’syellowconvertibleinthedriveway.Werantherestofthewayhome.

“Hey—what’sup?”AuntLouisecalledasweburstintothehouse.Afloppyyellowstrawhatcoveredherblackcurlyhair.

BeforeDanielcouldget toher, I threwmyarmsaroundAuntLouiseandwhisperedinherear,“Comeupstairswithme.Now.It’ssuper-important.”

Myauntpulledoffherhatandset itonmyhead.Sheadmiredme in thehat.“Super-important?”sheasked.

“Yes,”Iwhispered,grabbingherhandandtugginghertowardthestairs.“HaveyoueverheardofaGrool?”Iasked.“A Grool? Hmmm. I’ll have to think about that one for a minute,” she

repliedthoughtfully.“No,Idon’tthinkso.WhatisaGrool?”“Well,” I explained, “Daniel found apicture in an encyclopedia.And the

booksaiditwasanancient,mythicalcreature….”

“Well, if it’s mythical, honey, that means it doesn’t exist,” Aunt Louiseinterrupted.

“Butit’snotmythical!”Icriedimpatiently.“IshouldknowbecauseIhaveone.Anditcausestrouble,lotsoftrouble.”

AuntLouisefollowedmetomyroom.“HaveyoueverheardofaLanx?”Iasked.Sheshookherhead.“That’sanothercreature in thatencyclopedia. It looks likeapotato,but it

hasamouthfullofsharpteeth.”“Goodheavens.Itsoundsdisgusting!”AuntLouiseexclaimed.“Buttellme

aboutthis…Grool.Whatdoesitlooklike?”“Here.I’llshowyou,”Isaid.Ipulledherintomyroom.Ipointedatthegerbilcage.TheGroolsquattedinthecorner.AuntLouisewalkeduptothecage.“Soyou’reaGrool,”shesaid,leaning

down.Shereachedovertopickitup.“Wait,”Icried.“Maybeyoushouldn’ttouchit.”ButIwastoolate.

16

Aunt Louise picked up the Grool and placed it in the palm of her hand. Shestudieditforalongwhile.

Then she turned tome. “Kat, it’s only adried-up sponge.What’s thebigidea?”

“But—but—”Isputtered.“Oh,Igetit!”shelaughed.“Youreallyhadmefooled!Ithoughtyouwere

serious!”ShetossedtheGrooltome.Itriedtocatchit,butIdidn’twanttotouchit.Itploppedtothefloor.“Prettyfunny,kid.”Shechuckledassheturnedtoleave.“Youhaveagreat

imagination.Justlikeyouraunt.”IpickeduptheGroolandexamineditclosely.Notwarm.Notbreathing.Notmovingatall.Dryandhard.Anordinarysponge.AuntLouisethoughtIwasjoking.Butthejokewasonme.TheGroolhadtrickedmeagain!Ihurledthecreaturebackintothegerbilcage.Itlaytherelifeless.“Ihope

yourotinthere!”Iexploded.Beforemy amazed eyes, the dry brown sponge began plumping-up. In a

fewseconds,itbecamefullerandmoister.“Yuck!”Igroaned,watchingitturnpinkandthenred.TheGroolhuffedandpuffed.Whoa-ahhhh.Whoa-ahhh.Thoselittleblackeyespeeredoutatmeexcitedly.TheGroolsnickeredsoftly.Why was it so pleased with itself? I wondered. Nothing horrible had

happened.Orhadit?I thoughtofDad’s falloff the ladder.The treebranch.Mrs.Vanderhoff’s

fingers. Killer running away. My spoiled birthday party. Our dry, rottedbackyard.

Itwasalltoomuch.Toomuch!With a desperate cry, I yanked the evil thing out of its cage. Then I

slammeditdownhardonmydesk.Breathing hard, my heart pounding, I grabbed one of my heaviest

textbooks.AndIslammeditdownontotheGrool.“Die!”Ishouted.“Please!Die!”Iraisedthebookhigh.PoundedtheGroolwithit.Again.Again.Ipoundedhardenoughtokillanything.Finally, I stopped.Gasping for breath,my arms aching, I stared down at

whatI’ddone.Yuck.Whatamess.BrownandpinkshredsofGroollitteredmydesk.Ihadsmashedittopieces.“Yes!”Icriedbreathlessly.“Yes!”Finally!Ihadfinallydestroyedtheevilcreature!“Yes!”Icriedagain.Butthecrystuckinmythroat.Asthepinkandbrownshredsstartedtomove,Istareddowninhorror—and

begantoshakeallover.

17

“Thiscan’tbehappening,”Iwhispered.Butitwas.The pieces—the shreds of Grool—they were sliding across the desktop.

Slithering.Rollingtogether.Comingbacktogether.Formingabrownball.Asponge.Itdidn’ttakelong.Aminuteatthemost.AndnowtheGroolstaredupatmeagain.Anditvibratedsohardthatmy

deskactuallybegantorock.Itscruelsnickercutthroughmyshockedsilence.Heh,heh,heh.“Shutup!Shutup!”Iscreamed.Butitsnickeredevenlouder.Frantic,Igrabbedadirtysockfromtheclotheshamper.Iusedittopickup

theGrool.AndthenIhurledthethingbackintothecage.Heh,heh,heh.With a cry, I threwmyself face down onmy bed and coveredmy ears.

“WillIhavethisbadluckfortherestofmylife?IsthereanythingIcando?”Iwassofrightened.Soangry.Soconfused.Icouldn’tevenpretendtobemyusualcheeryself.When Aunt Louise took me and Daniel out to an ice-cream parlor, I

couldn’tevenfinishasmallbutterscotchsundae.Usually,I’mgoodforatripledecker.

ButhowcouldIeverbehappyagain?IwasstuckwiththeGrool—forever.

“Wakeup,Kat!Wakeup!”Afranticvoicewhisperedinmyear.Islowlyraisedmyheadoffthepillow.“Huh?”Daniel waswaving his bookbag back and forth about an inch abovemy

head.“Getthataway!”Ishouted,grabbingforit.“Hey, I’monly trying to help you,” he replied, snatching the pack away.

“You’regoingtobelateforschool.You’dbettergetmoving!”Heranoutoftheroom.

Itorethecoversoffandracedtothecloset.IslippedonmySavetheEarthsweatshirtandpurplefloweredleggings.ThenIremembered.

“Daniel,youlittledweeb!”Ibellowed.“Wehavenoschooltoday!There’sateachers’conference!”

Hepeekedbackintomyroom.“Gotyou!”hegloated.Ihurledapillowathisheadandhithimintheface.Aniceshot.“You’re a bad sport,” he said, laughing. “Carlo’s coming over after

breakfast.WecanplayMegaMonsterWarriors.”Islammedthedoorinhisface.Daniel’sstupidtricksusuallydon’tbothermetoomuch.Andadayofffromschoolalwaysputsmeinagreatmood.Buthowcould Ienjoymyself? I justkeptwonderingwhatbad thingwas

goingtohappennext.WhatbadluckwouldtheevilGroolbringtoday?Afterbreakfast,Ihungaroundonthebackporch,readingamagazine.And

trying to ignoreDaniel’s andCarlo’s shrieks andwild laughter as theyplayedcomputergames.

IreallymissedKiller.HeusuallysitsnexttomewhenIread.Afteraboutanhour,Igotbored.Idecidedtogouptomyroomandwork

onmysocialstudiesassignment.I had towrite an essay forMrs. Vanderhoff.MyFamily andWhat They

MeantoMe.But I kept thinking about the Grool and how it was totally ruiningmy

family.So far, all I hadwrittenwas: “I’mKatMerton andmy familymeans an

awfullottome.”Notexactlygrade-Amaterial.Andthepaperwasduetomorrowmorning.Idecidedtotakeabreak.Iwenttothekitchenandpouredmyselfaglassof

chocolatemilkandgrabbedahandfulofoatmealcookies.Onmywaybackupstairs,Ipeekedintotheden.Thingsseemedveryquiet

inthere.Ididn’tseeCarlo.OnlyDaniel,playingUnderwaterAdventureQuest.“WhereisCarlo?”Iasked.“Um,” Daniel replied, his eyes glued to the submarines and torpedoes

flashingacrossthecomputerscreen.“Wasmyquestiontoohardforyou?”Iaskedsarcastically.“I’llgoslower

now.Where…is…Carlo?”“Home,”hemumbled.“Didhegetmadbecauseyousankmoreenemysubmarinesthanhedid?”I

joked.Danieldidn’tanswer.Iheadedupstairstomyroom.Isetdownmymilkandcookies.Icouldn’t

helpbutglanceatthegerbilcage.Itwasn’twhatIsawthatmadeaprickleoffearrundownmyback.Itwas

whatIdidn’tsee.Thecagestoodempty.TheGroolwasgone.Escaped.

18

How had it escaped? The Grool had never even tried to get out of its cagebefore.

Infact,thestupidspongeneverseemedveryinterestedingoinganywhere.Whydiditdisappearnow?Andwherediditgo?Andwhatkindoftroublewasitplanningtomake?Itcouldn’tgetveryfar,Itoldmyself.Ithadnolegs.IstartedtocalltoDaniel.Butmythroatchokedwithpanic.IfranticallystartedtosearchfortheGrool.Islidonmystomachunderthe

bed.Notthere.Ipulledeverythingoutofmycloset.Iopeneddresserdrawers.Nosignof

it.Icheckedeveryinchoftheroom.Ievencalledouttoit:“HereGrool,here

Grool.”No.Noway.Thecreaturewasgone.Thewords from theEncyclopediaof theWeird suddenly flashed intomy

mind:“AnyonewhogivestheGroolawaywillDIEwithinoneday.”“Daniel!” I shrieked.“Daniel!” I toredownstairsand into theTVroom. I

shookhimsohard,hedroppedhiscomputermouse.“TheGroolisgone!”Icried.“Itescaped!”Daniel turnedawayfromthecomputerscreen.“Excuseme?Whatdoyou

mean—gone?”“It’sgone!Thecageisempty!”Iwailed.Danielscruncheduphisface,thinkinghard.“Iknowwhereitis,”hesaid.

“Carlo.”“Huh?”Icried.“Howcouldyou?HowcouldyouletCarlotakeit?”“Ididn’tlethim!”Danielsnapped.“Hemusthavegrabbeditwhenheleft.

Carlo thinks it’s all a big joke.He said there’s noway a little sponge can doanythingbad.”

“What a jerk!” I sputtered. “Maybewe should let himkeep theGrool. Itwouldteachhimalesson—arealnastylesson!”

“Kat,wecan’t!”Danielexclaimed.“He’smybest friend.Wehave togettheGroolbackfromhim—beforesomethingterriblehappens!”

DanielandIpulledourjacketsoutofthehallcloset.Thenweranouttothegarage.WejumpedonourbikesandpedaledfuriouslydownMapleLane.

“Wheredoyouthinkhewent?”Ishouted.“Let’s try the school playground,” Daniel suggested. “There’s always a

bunchofkidsthere.”“Yeah, and Carlo’s a big show-off,” I exclaimed. “He probably went

straighttotheplaygroundtoshowofftheGrool.”“Heisnotashow-off,”Danielprotested.“Istoo!”Iargued.Pedalingfuriously,IshotwayaheadofDaniel.ImadeittoChestnutStreetafewminuteslater.“Onlytwomoreblocks!”I

calledbreathlessly.IsloweddownsothatDanielcouldcatchup.Iturnedthecorner.“Oh,no!”Iscreamed.Isqueezedonthebrakes.Stoppedshort.Whowasthatlyinginthemiddleofthestreet?WasitCarlo?Yes!Carlo. Sprawled on his stomach. His arms and legs stretched over the

pavement.“We’retoolate!”Danielcried.“We’retoolate!”

19

OurbikescrashedtothegroundasDanielandIleapedoffthem.WebentoverCarlo,callinghisname.

“Ohhhh,wow.”Carloletoutalowmoan.Heclutchedhisrightleg.“Carlo!” I yelled breathlessly. “What is it? What happened? Are you

okay?”Carlobenthislegcarefullyandwinced.“Mykneereallyhurts.Itwistedit

whenIfelloffmybike.”Ilookedupandsawhisbike,onitssideunderatree.“Howdidithappen?”Danielaskedweakly.Mybrotherhates thesightof

blood.“Someoftheolderkidswantedtoraceme,”Carlogroaned.“Ididn’treally

wanttoracethem—buttheydaredme.”Hesatup,stillrubbinghisknee.“Man,Iwasflying!Then,well,Ihitsome

gravel—andskidded intoa tree.Thosekidsall thought itwasariot.They justrodeoffandleftme.”

“Daniel,helpmegethimup,”Iinstructed.WeputourarmsaroundCarloandguidedhimovertothecurb.

Thenwejustsatthere,staringatCarlo’smangledbicycle.Thehandlebarslookedlikeagiantmetalpretzel.

“You knowwhat?” Carlo finally said. “I didn’t even see that stupid treeuntilIwasrightontopofit.”

Danielpokedme.IknewhewasthinkingwhatIwasthinking.TheGroolstrikesagain.WehadtogettheGroolback.“Carlo,whereistheGrool?”Iasked.“Rightthereinmybikebasket.”Hepointed.I reachedover the tangledhandlebars and felt around thebasketwithmy

hand.Andfeltagain.Nothinginthebasket.Completelyempty.“Carlo,givemeabreak,”Icomplained.“There’snoGroolinthere.Where

isit?”Myvoicegothighandshrill.Icouldfeelthepanicsweepingoverme.

“Huh? It’sgot tobe in there!”Carlodeclared. “That’swhere I stuck it. Iwasgoingtotakeitrighthome.”

“Oh, sure, Carlo,” I snapped. “Like youweren’t going to bring it to theplaygroundandshowitoff?”

Carlohunghishead.“Well,maybeforacoupleofminutes.”“Great!Justgreat!”Ifumed.“Becauseofyou,theGroolismissing.”Daniel leanedclose tome,his facepalewithfear.“We’vegot tofind the

Grool,Kat,”hewhispered.“Rememberwhattheencyclopediasaid.Ifyoudon’tfinditinaday,you’lldie!”

“Iremember,”Irepliedwithashudder.“Buthowareweevergoingtofinditnow?Wherecanitbe?”

20

“Idon’tevenknowwheretostartlooking.”Isighed.“Maybe it fell out of the basket when I hit the tree,” Carlo suggested.

“Maybeitrolledsomewherearoundhere.”Danieltuggedonmysleeve.“Comeon,”heurged.“Let’sstartlooking.”Carlo stoodup. “I’dbettergethome,”he said.He limpedaway.Luckily,

hishousewasonthenextblock.Daniel and I hunted all over the block. In doorways, underneath cars, in

flowerbeds—anywheretheGroolmighthaverolled.Noluck.Aswewere about to give up, I spotted a sewer grating a few feet away

fromCarlo’sbike.CouldtheGroolhavetumbleddownthere?Danielsawthesewer,too.“Kat?I’llbetitrolleddownintothesewer!It’s

downthere.Iknowitis!”I dropped to the pavement. On my stomach. I peered into the darkness

throughthegrating.“It’swaytoodarktoseeanything,”Ireported.“Somebodywillhavetogo

downthere.”“Uh… somebody?Maybe…maybe I could go,”my brother offered in a

shakyvoice.Danielactsreallybrave.ButIknowhe’safraidofalotofthings.Likedark

sewers.He’dfreakoutdowninthesewer.“No.I’lldoit,”Isaid.“TheGroolknowsmebetter.”Weliftedofftheheavygrate.Ifeltaroundwithmysneaker.Itslidagainsta

narrowladderbuiltintothesideofthesewer.“Iguessthisistheonlywaydown,”Isaidsoftly.“HereIgo.”Slowly,Iloweredmyselfintothedarkwethole.Theladderrungswerewet

andslippery.Thewallswerethickwithsewerslime.“Thisplacereallystinks!”Icalledup.“Ican’tbelieveI’mdoingthis.”Squishhhhh!As I reached the sewer floor, my sneaker landed on something wet and

oozy.

“Gross!”Iscreamed,pullingmyfootbackup.“Areyouokay?”Danielcalledfromabove.Hesoundedtenmilesaway.“Yeah,” I shouted back. “I think I stepped in a pile of slime.Wow, it’s

reallydarkdownhere.”Icarefullytouchedmyfeetdownagain,andgrippedtheladdertightlywith

onehand—afraidIwouldneverfindmywaybackifIletgo.It’stoodark,Irealized.I’llneverfindtheGrooldownhere.ThenIheardit.Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhhh.Breathing!Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhhh.TheGrool!Butwhere?I held my breath and stood completely still. I concentrated really hard,

tryingtofigureoutexactlywhereintheinkyblacknessthebreathingcamefrom.Whoa-ahhh.Whoa-ahhhh.Somewheretomyright?IknewIhadtowalkoverthereandsnatchtheGrool.ButIwasafraidtolet

gooftheladder.Finally,Idecidedtocountmystepsthere,findtheGrool—thencountthesamenumberofstepsbacktotheladder.

Iswallowedhardandletgooftheladder.Isteppedintotheblacknessandstartedcounting.

“One…two…three…four…”Thebreathingsoundedalittlecloser.“Five…six…”Istopped.Ilistenedhard.“Huh?”Icriedtomyself.“What’sthatscratchingsound?”ThenIsawthe

eyes.NottheGrool’ssmall,roundeyes.Big,brighteyes.Severalpairsofthem.Allglowingatmeinthedark.

21

Thescratchinggrewlouder.Theeyesstaredupatme.Yelloweyes.Glowinginthedarkness.Iheardacreature scrabbleover the floor.Felt somethingwarmand furry

brushagainstmyleg.Weretheyraccoons?Rats?Ididn’twanttoknow.Anotheronebrushedagainstme.Theywereallstartingtoscrapearoundon

thesewerfloor.Theyweregrowingrestless.Iforcedmyselftobreathe.Turned.Andstartedtorun.Getmeoutofhere!Ithought.Getmeoutofherebeforetheyattack!Mysneakersslidoverthedamp,slimyfloor.“Pleaseletmefindmywayoutofhere,”IprayedasIstumbledthroughthe

darkness.“Oww!”Mykneeslammedintosomethinghard.Icriedoutandreachedforsomethingtoleanon.Andcaughtholdoftheladder.“Yes!Yes!”Icriedhappily.Ignoringmy throbbing knee, I scrambled up the slimy rungs.Up, up, up

towardthelight.“Daniel—helpmeout!”Icried.Danielleaneddownandgrabbedmyhands.Hehelpedpullmeoutofthat

awfulhole.Ifellontothepavementandnearlysobbedwithrelief.Danieldroppeddownnexttome.“Didyougetit?”heaskedeagerly.“Did

youfindit?”I wiped my sludge-covered hands on my jeans. “No,” I told him. “No

Grool.”“I should have gone down there,” he declared. “I definitely would have

foundit.”

“Youdefinitelywouldhavebeenterrified!”Irepliedangrily.“Therewereanimalsdownthere.Rats,maybe.Dozensofthem.”

“Yeah.Sure,”hesaid,rollinghiseyes.Hesighed.“Nowwhatdowedo?”Hekickedapebbleacrossthestreet.

Isighed.“Don’tworry—we’llfindtheGrool.”“Buthow?”hecried.“Wecan’tevenfindKiller.We’llneverfinda little

sponge.”I had never seenDaniel this upset. “Daniel, the policewill findKiller. I

knowtheywill,”Isaidsoftly.“Wemusthavemissedthesponge,”hesaid,ignoringmywords.“Wehave

tocheckeverywhereagain.”Westartedtosearchagain.Inthestreet.Inthegrass.Behindhedges.Under

trees.Carlo appeared as we were about to give up. He was walking fine. He

examinedhismangledbike.Thenhehelpeduswithoursearch.Theafternoonsunwassettlingbehindthetrees.Theairfeltcooler.Evening

wasapproaching.Isankdownonthesidewalk,feelingtotallyhopeless.The warning in the encyclopedia kept running throughmymind.Was it

possible?Coulditbetrue?Ifwedidn’tfindtheGrool,wouldmylifereallybeoverbytomorrow?

“Thereitis!”Daniel’sexcitedshoutinterruptedmyfrighteningthoughts.“Thereitis!”mybrothercriedhappily.“Iseeit!IseetheGrool!”

22

Danieltookoff,runningfullspeed.“Waytogo!”Myheartpounding,Ileapedupfromthesidewalk.“Youare

themostawesomebrotherintheentireuniverse!”Iwassoexcitedandhappy,IthrewmyarmsaroundCarlo.“Hesavedmy

life!”Ishouted.“Hesavedmylife!”“Hey—givemeabreak!”Carlocried,squirmingaway.I hurried after Daniel. I watched him bend down to pick up something.

Somethingsmallandroundandbrown.ButagustofwindrolledtheGroolawayfromhim.“Hey—!” he cried out.He stumbled after it. Thewind blew it out of his

reachagain.“Gotyou!”Danielcried,pouncingonit.“Bringithere!”Iyelled.“Oh, wow,” he murmured. His face fell. “Sorry about that. It’s not the

Grool.”Igrabbedthethingfromhishands.“No,it’snot,”Iwhisperedsadly.NottheGrool.Onlyabrownpaperbag,allwaddedupinaball.Danielhurledthepaperbagtothegroundandstompedonit.Mystomachlurched.Ireallyfeltsick.Timeisrunningout,Ithought.AndwehavenoideawheretheGroolmight

be.Atearcametomyeye,andIblinkeditawayquickly.Ididn’twantDaniel

andCarlotoseehowscaredIwas.Thepanic rose inmychest.Would I reallydie ifwedidn’t find that evil

creature?IsuddenlypicturedMomandDadsittingaroundcryingandmissingme.I

picturedAuntLouisewailing,“It’sallmyfault.Ididn’tbelieveher.”IimaginedDanielwalkingtoschoolallalone.Igazeddownatmybrother,whoslumpedsadlyonthecurbwithCarlo.AndIhadatrulyterrifyingidea.MaybetheGroolwasn’tlost.Maybethecreepylittlecreaturehaddecidedtohide.Tohidefromme.

Soitcouldperformitsmosteviltrickofall.Hidefortwenty-fourhourssothatI’dhavetheultimatebadluck.Death!Carlostartledmebyjumpingtohisfeet.Hisdarkeyesglowedexcitedly.“I

—Ihaveanidea!”hecried.“Anidea?”Idemanded.“Whatkindofidea?”He smiled atme and grabbedmy arm. “Comeon.Hurry. I think I know

wheretheGroolmightbe!”

23

“Youknowthoseguyswhoracedme?”Carloasked,tuggingmeforwardalongthestreet.“Theoneswhohangoutattheplayground?”

“Yeah.Whataboutthem?”Iasked.“I’llbetoneofthempickeduptheGrool.Ikindofremember—”Daniel didn’t even wait for Carlo to finish the sentence. “Let’s go!” he

shouted.Hesprangontohisbikeandracedofftowardtheplayground.Ipickedupmybikeandstartedpedalingaftermybrother.Carloranbehind

us,calling,“Waitup!Waitup!”Wepedaled to theplaygroundandwalkedourbikes to thebaseball field.

That’swheretheolderkidsusuallyhangout.“There they are,”Carlo said.He pointed to a group of boys taking turns

battingandfieldingballs.“Carlo,”Danielwhisperednervously.“Thoseguysarereallybig.Theylook

likethey’reinhighschool.”I spotted two older boys standing on the side of the baseball field. Their

headswerebent,andtheywerestaringatsomethinginthetallerboy’shands.Somethingsmallandroundandbrown.TheGrool!Iranuptothem.“Hey,how’sitgoing?”Isaidinmyfriendliestvoice.“I

knowthissoundsdumb,butyou’vegotmyfavoritesponge.CanIhaveitback?”The tallboynarrowedhiseyesatme.Hewaskindofgood-looking,with

brightgreeneyes,andstraightblondhairdownoverhisshoulders.“Yourfavoritesponge?”herepeated.Hegrinned.“Sorry.You’remistaken.

Thisismyfavoritesponge.”“No.Really,”Iinsisted.“Itfelloffthatkid’sbike.”IpointedtoCarlo.He

andDanielstoodwatchingfromadistance.“Ireallyneedit.”“Canyouproveit’syours?”theboydemanded.Herolleditaroundinhis

hand.“Idon’tseeyournameonit.”Inarrowedmyeyesandgavehimmymeanestglare.“You’dbettergiveit

back tome,”I threatened.“Because it’snot reallyasponge. It’sevil. Itbringsbadlucktoanyonewhohasit.”

“Oooh, I’m really scared,” he teased. “Maybe it’s bad luck for you—

becauseyou’renotgettingitback!”Hewaved theGrool in front ofmy face, then called to his friend, “Hey,

Dave.Catch!”HetossedtheGrooltoDave.“Here,”hesnickered.“Catchsomebadluck!”“Hey,givemethat!”IleapedfortheGrool.Butthespongesailedhighover

myhead.Back and forth they threw the Grool, laughing, keeping it high overmy

head,outofmyreach.Theywerehavingfun.Iwasn’t.Aftertenminutesoftheirstupidkeep-awaygame,Igaveup.Fine,Ithought.LetthemplaywiththeGrool.Theywouldsoonfindoutthatitdidn’tplayfair,Ithoughtnastily.AsIbackedoff,Ishoutedatthetwoolderboys,“You’llbesorry.”Theblondguyshruggedhisshoulders,laughed,andhurriedofftotakehis

turnatbat.Hemadeabigshowof tucking thesponge intohisbackpocket—whereheknewIcouldn’tgetit.

Hesteppedtotheplate,crouchedinabatter’sstance…Thwock!Theveryfirstpitchbeanedtheguyinthehead.His eyes rolled aroundwildly.Hewobbled, then sank to the ground.He

collapsedinaheapanddidn’tmove.“Help!”theotherboyswereshouting.“Somebody—help!”TheGroolhaddoneitswork.Thebadluckhadstruckagain!“Isheokay?”Danielasked.“Ishe—?”Ididn’tanswer.IsawtheGroolrolloutoftheboy’sbackpocketandonto

theground.Idartedforwardanddovefortheevilsponge.Butmyhandsclosedarounddrygrass.Dave,theblondboy’sfriend,snatchedtheGroolbeforeIcouldreachit.“Gochaseit!”hecried.Heheavedthelittlecreaturehighintothesky.

24

Imadeadesperategrab.ButDavewasmuchtallerthanme.HecaughttheGrooleasily.

“Here.Takeit,”hesaid.Hetosseditatme.Thenhehurriedovertocheckonhisfriend.

Theblondboywassittingupnow,rubbinghishead.“I’mokay,”hekeptrepeating.“Really.I’mokay.Whathitme?”

DanielandIhurriedtoourbikes.Carlocamerunningafterus.ItossedtheGroolintomybikebasket.

ThespongecreaturepulsedsoviolentlythatthebasketshookasIrode.Itsbodychanged from red toblack, red toblack, changing in time to its horriblebreathing.

Ba-boom.Ba-boom.Itsnickeredwithjoy.Heh,heh,heh.Itactedsopleasedwithitself.Sohappyithadknockedtheblondboyout.“You’redisgusting!”Ishouted.“I’mtakingyouhomeand lockingyou in

thatcage!”Ipedaledrapidly,standingupforanextraboostofspeed.Home,Ithought.

Getmehome.I zoomed downOak Street, hunching over the bikewithmy head down.

Faster,fasterIpedaled.Thewindwhippedmyhairintomyeyes.IheardDanielcallingoutfrombehindme.But Iwas riding too fast. Thewind rushed pastme. I couldn’tmake out

Daniel’swords.Iheardhimcalloutagain.AndthenIheardtheblareofahornandtheshrillsquealofbrakes.Iturnedaroundintimetoseeanenormousblackandsilvertruckskidding

overthestreet,abouttocrushmelikeabug.

25

Isqueezedmybrakeshard.Thetruckskiddedupbehindme,tiresscrapingthepavement,hornblaring.Mybikelurchedtoastop—andItumbledoff.Hitthepavementhardonmyelbowsandknees.Thebikebouncedontothecurb.Toppledover.Irolledontothegrass.Asthetruckswervedaway.Squealedtoastop.Missedmebylessthanafoot.Iclimbedshakily tomyfeet.Andstoodthereon thesideof theroad, too

terrifiedtomove.I turnedtosee the truckdriver tossopenthedoorofhiscab.“Whatwere

youdoing in themiddleof the street?”he shoutedatme.“I couldhavekilledyou!Doyourparentsknowyou’reoutherelikethis?”

Great,Ithoughtbitterly.Firstthisguyalmostsquashesmeintoapancake—thenheyellsatme.

“Sorry!”Icalled.WhatelsecouldIsay?Iwaitedforthetruckdrivertobackupanddriveaway.Andallthetime,Ikeptthinking:Badluckforever.I’mgoingtohavebad

luckforever.IcalledtoDanielandCarlothatIwasokay.ThenIraceddownOakStreet

andturnedontoMaple.Onlytwohousestogo,Ithought.Ipusheddownharderonthepedals.Blam!Myfronttirehitsomething.Abrokenbottle,Ithink.Thebiketoppledontoitsside,andIfellwithit.“Ow!”Icried.I’mspendingalotoftimeontheground,Irealized.Iexaminedthetire.Completelyshredded.Badluck.Badluckforever.Heh,heh,heh.IheardtheGrool’swickedlaugh.Thesoundfilledmewithrage.Ikickedthebicycleandstubbedmytoeon

themetalwheelrim.

“Oww!”Iyelped,grabbingmyfoot.Badluck.Badluckforever.With a furious cry, I grabbed the evil sponge and flung it to the ground.

ThenIjumpedbackonmybikeandstartedtorunovertheGrool.Backandforth,backandforth.Squishingtheevilcreatureintotheground.“Stopit!Stop!”Danielscreamed,ridingupontothegrass.“Youcan’tkill

theGrool.You’reonlygivingitwhatitwants.”Iglaredatmybrother.Istruggledtocatchmybreath.“Look at it!” Daniel shouted, pointing. “The Grool is getting evenmore

excited.You’rehelpingit,nothurtingit!”I loweredmyeyes to theGrool. Itpulsedfaster thanbefore.Anevil light

shonefromitsuglylittleeyes.Itsblood-redbodygleamedintheafternoonsun.Heh,heh,heh.Thecruelsnickercutthroughtheairlikefingernailsonablackboard.I grabbedmy bike andwheeled it to our driveway. I let it fall on to the

asphalt.ThenIranbacktotheGrool,grippedittightlyinonehand,andcarriedit

intothehouse.Daniel followed close behind me. “Now what are you going to do?” he

asked.“You’llsee,”Isaid.Imademywayintothekitchen.Myheartpounded.Icouldfeelthebloodracingatmytemples.I jammedtheGrool into thekitchensinkdrain.ThenIgrabbedawooden

spatulaandstabbedattheGrool,shovingitdeepintothepipe.Danielstoodbesideme,watchinginsilence.Iturnedthehotwateronfullforce.Iflickedaswitchnexttothesinkand

smiledatmybrother.Thegarbagedisposalgurgledon.Thegurglebecameawhine.Thewhinebecamearoarasthegrindingteethwenttowork.“Yes!”Icriedhappily.“Yes!”Afewsecondslater,thedisposalhadgrounduptheGrool.“That’s the end of that,” I told Daniel, sighing happily. I listened to the

pipesrunclean.“Downthedrain!Yaaay!”Carlo came running into the kitchen. “What’s happening?” he cried

breathlessly.“Where’stheGrool?”

I turned to Carlo, grinning. “It’s gone. TheGrool is gone!” I announcedgleefully.

ThenIheardmybrothergasp.Isawhismouthdropopenashestareddownatthesink.“No,it’snot.”His

voicewassolow,Icouldbarelyhearhim.“No,it’snotgone,”hewhispered.

26

Iloweredmyeyestothesink.AndrealizedatoncewhathadhorrifiedDaniel.Thehotwaterhadstartedtobackup.Itsplashedandspurtedupfromthedrain.Asifsomethingwerepushingit

withgreatforce.Thehotwaterchurnedquickly—rollingupfromthepipebelow.“Idon’tbelieveit!”Carlocried.TheGroolpoppedup,bobbinginthechurninghotwater.Thereitwas.Stillinonepiece.Ithadturnedbrightpurple,anangrypurple.

AsIstareddownatitinhorror,itthumpedwildlyinthesink.“No!”Iscreamed.“It’simpossible!Youcan’tbeback!!Youcan’t!”IgrabbedthesoppingwetGroolandsqueezeditashardasIcould.Ariverofwaterranoutoftheslimythingandintothesink.TheharderIgripped,thewarmertheGroolfelt.Warmerandwarmerand…“Ow!” I dropped it as it became scorching hot.Quickly, I ranmy hands

undersoothingcoldwater.TheGroolperchedonthesideofthesink.Itthrobbedwithjoy,leeredupat

mewithitscreepyeyes,andletoutanevilcackle.“Daniel,Carlo,”Imoaned.“Therehastobeawaytokillthisthing!There

hasto!Think,guys!”ButthetwoofthemstaredinsilenceatthethrobbingGrool.“Come on, Daniel—think!” I waved my hand in front of Daniel’s face.

“Helpme!I’malloutofideas.”Suddenly,hiseyescamebackintofocus.“I’vegotanidea,”hesaidquietly.Herushedoutofthekitchen.“I’llberightback,”heshouted,leavingCarlo

andmealonewiththenastycreature.“Ihateyou!”Ishoutedatit.Butmyangerseemedtomakeitpulsefaster.A shortwhile later,Daniel hurried back into the room. “Maybe thiswill

help,”heannounced.HesettheEncyclopediaoftheWeirdonthekitchentable.“Iborroweditfromthelibrary,”heexplained.“Ithoughtwemightneedit.”Hestartedtosearchfor“Grool”intheindex.

“Oh, Daniel,” I sighed wearily. “We’ve already read everything in thatbookaboutGrools.Itcan’thelpus.”

“Butmaybeyoumissedsomethingimportant,”Carloinsisted.Daniel flipped through the pages of the encyclopedia. “Here’s the part

aboutkillingtheGrool,”hesaid.“Let’sseewhatitsays.”Hestartedreading:“TheGroolcannotbekilled—byforceorbyanyviolent

means.”“That’sit?”Idemanded.“There’snothingelse?”Daniel slammed the book shut. “Nothing else,” he replied sadly. “Kat, it

really can’t be killed. It’s the most evil creature in the world and it can’t bekilled.Notbyforce.Notbyviolence.Notbyanything.”

“Notbyforce,”Irepeated,thinkinghard.“Notbyviolence.”Istaredatthethrobbing,purplecreature.“Hmmmm.”Icouldn’thelpbutsmile.“Kat?What’syourproblem?”Danieldemanded.“Areyoutotallylosingit?

Whyareyousmiling?”“BecausetheGroolcanbekilled,”Iannounced.“AndI’vejustfiguredout

howtodoit.”“Huh?”Carlocried.“You’vereallyfigureditout?”“Whatareyougoingtodo?”Danieldemanded.“Youcan’tkillit.Italways

coniesbacktolife.”Ishookmyhead.“We’llsee,”Ireplied.IwantedtothinkmyplanthroughbeforeIexplainedittothem.Actually,itturnedouttobeprettysimple.

27

Muchas Ihated to, Ipickedup the throbbingGrool from the sinkandheld itgentlyinmyhands.

Ipattedthedisgustingcreaturetenderlyonitswrinkledhead.ThenIsangtoitsweetly:“Lullabyandgoodnight, littleGrool,I loveyou.Pleasesleeptight,littleGrool,lalala,lalala.”

“Kat, I’mworried about you,” Daniel groaned. “Stop it, okay?You’re alittlemessedup.Youneedtoliedown.”

ButIjustkeptsingingassweetlyasIcould.“Whatisshedoing?”DanielaskedCarlo.“Doyougetit?”Carloshookhishead.Ididn’tpayanyattentiontothem.Ihadtoconcentrate.IforcedmyselftostroketheGroollovingly.Ihuggedtheslimythingand

cuddleditinmyarms—asIwouldasoftpuppy.Icooedinitsear:“LittleGrool, cuteGrool, you are sonice, so sweet, sowonderful. I love

you,Grool.”“Kat, please stop,” Daniel begged. “You’re upsetting me. I’m really

worriedaboutyou,Kat.”“Howcanyoupetthething?”Carlodemanded.“It’ssogross!”“Sweet,Grool,”Iwhispered.“Sosweet.”Icuddledittenderlyandstroked

itswrinkledskin.Ifthisdoesn’twork,Itoldmyself,nothingwill.“I’m going to getMom andDad,”Daniel threatened.He started backing

towardthekitchendoor.“Ssshhh.” I raised a finger tomy lips.Then I pointed down at theGrool

cradledinmyarms.“Look,guys.”TheGrool’sviolentthrobbinghadslowedtoagentlepulse.Isangsomemore,softly,gently,sweetly.AndweallwatchedinamazementastheGrool’scolorfaded.Fromredto

pink,and—finally—backtoitsordinarydullbrowncolor.“Wow!”Danielwhistled.

“Keepwatching,”Isaid,huggingtheGroolclosely.Isanganotherlullaby.TheGroolletoutalowsigh.Icouldseeitshrinking,seeitdryingupinmy

arms.Itseyesclosed.Thedry,brownskincoveredthemup.“It—it’sgettingweaker,Kat,”Danielwhisperedexcitedly.“Keepwatching,”Itoldhim.ThenIcooedtotheGrool,“There,therelittle

Grool.WhatasweetGrool.”Irockeditlikeababy.TheGrool’sbreathingslowed—slowed—thenstopped.TheGroolslumpedlifelesslyinmyhand.Notasound.Notathrob.Nota

twitch.“Now,checkthisout!”IannouncedtoDanielandCarlo.Iraisedthewrinkledspongetomyface—andplantedabigfatkissonit.

28

Thetwoboysmadedisgustedfaces.ButIknewwhatIwasdoing.IloweredtheGroolfrommyfaceandstudieditcarefully.“Aaaaaaaah.”Thespongeletoutalong,slowsigh—andshrankintoatiny

ball.Itookadeepbreathandblew.Thetinyballflewapart.Dry,brownpuffsfloatedintotheair.Iwatchedthefeatherypuffsfloattothefloor.ThenIwipedmyhandsoff

onatowel.“Alldone.”“It—it’sgone!”Carlodeclared.“Buthow?”Danieldemanded.“Well,youhelpedgivemetheidea,”Itoldhim.“Idid?”“Yes,”Ireplied.“Whenyoureadthatpartoftheencyclopediathatsaidthe

Groolcan’tbekilledbyforceorviolence.”Ismiled.“Ikeptgoingoverthatinmymind.Andfinally,ithitme.”“Whathityou?”Carloasked.“I knew the Grool couldn’t be killed by force or violence,” I explained.

“Butwhatabouttheopposite?Iguessedthatnoonehadevertriedbeingnicetoitbefore.”

Bothboysstaredatme in rapt silence.“Thatgaveme the idea thatbeingkindwasthesecrettodestroyingtheGrool,”Icontinued.“Anditworked.TheGroolwassoevilthatitcouldn’tstandbeingloved.”

“Wow!”Carlobreathed.“Excellent!”Danielexclaimed.“I’mgladIcameupwithit.”“Yeah,it’sgreattohaveageniusinthefamily,”Isaidsarcastically.I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the twelve dollars my

grandma had sent for my birthday. “What do you say we celebrate with ice-cream?”Isuggestedwithagrin.

“Excellent!”thetwoboyscriedhappily.“Maybe our luckwill change now,” I toldDaniel. “I betwe become the

luckiestfamilyontheblock.”

ThenIheardit.Thatfamiliar,terrifying,breathingsoundagain.Iswungaroundandfacedthedoor.“What’sthat?”Icried,myheartsinking.“Doyouhearit,too?”Yes.Weallheardit.My throat felt dry. Cold chills ran down my back. The breathing grew

louder.Closer.“Ididn’tkillit,”Imoaned.“It’sback.It’sback!”

29

Danielgrabbedmyhand.Icouldseethefearonhisface.Carlotookastepbackfromthedoor.Hebackeduptillhebumpedagainst

thekitchencounter.Wehuddledtogetherinthekitchen,afraidtomove.Afraidtogolook.“Wehavenochoice,”Ichokedout finally.“If it’sback,wehave to let it

in.”Itookadeepbreath.Mylegsdidn’twanttocarryme.Theyfeltasifthey

weremadeoflead.ButIforcedmyselftothebackdoor.My entire body trembled as I reached for the doorknob.And yanked the

dooropen.“Oh!”Iletoutastartledcry.Killer gazed up at me, breathing noisily, his stub of a tail wagging

furiously.“Killer!”Iyelledjoyfully.“You’reback!”Ibentdowntohughim.Butthe

dogranpastme,intothekitchen.Danielletoutahappycryandpulledthewigglingdogintohisarms.Killer

coveredDaniel’sfacewithwetlicks.“Ourluckhaschanged!”Ideclared.Ilookedoutside.Wow! Healthy green grass covered the ground. The flowers lifted their

droopingheadsandburstbackintodazzlingcolorasIwatched.AlloftheGrool’sevilseemedtobedisappearing.IgrabbedKillerandhuggedhimhard.“Killer,Killer,”Icrooned.“Wegot

ridoftheGrool.”“Comeon,”Danielcried.“Ice-creamtime!”IsetKillerbackon the floorandkissedhimon thehead.“We’llbeback

soon,boy,”Isaid.“To the ice-cream parlor!” Daniel shouted as he dashed outside. “Race

you!” he cried as he ran down the street. “The winner gets a triple-deckersundae!”

CarloandItookoffafterDaniel.Ipumpedmylegshardandpulledoutin

front.But at the lastminute,Danielpushedpastmeand tagged thedoorof the

restaurant.“Iwon!”Danielcriedhappily.Wehurriedintotheice-creamparlor.“Tableforthree,”Danielsaidwitha

grin.Thewaitress seatedus, handedoutmenus, andwiped the tablewith a…sponge!

“Yuck!Getthatthingoutofhere!”Danielshrieked.Thewaitress didn’t understand.Butwe all laughed—for the first time in

weeks.“Don’t mind my brother,” I said. “He’s got a thing about sponges.” He

kickedmeunderthetable,andIpinchedhimbackhard.Thewaitressrolledhereyes.Thenshetookourorders.Asweshoveleddownoursundaes,IrealizedhowhungryIwas—andhow

happyIwas.TheGroolwasgone—forever.

Weweresofullthatwepracticallyrolledbackhome.“Killer. Here, boy!” I pushed the back door open and stepped into the

kitchen.“Hey—Killer?Comehere!Aren’tyougladtoseeus?”Killerdidn’tturnaround.Hestoodatthesink,growlingandwagginghistail.Hehadhisnosepressed

upagainstthecabinetdoor,tryingtopushitopen.“All right,Killer.Wehadour ice-cream.Now it’s time for your treat,” I

said.Iputdownafreshbowlofdogfood—andaddedafewsmallpiecesoflast

night’sturkey.“ComeonKiller.Dinnertime,”Icalled.Hegrowledatthecabinetunderneaththesink.What’sgoingon?Thisdogneverwalksawayfromameal,Ithought.“Killer,”Danielsaid,“whatareyoudoingunderthere?Killer?”Ibentdownandpettedthedog’sback.“Killer,there’snothinginthere.The

Groolisgone.”ButKillerkeptgrowling.“Okay,okay.”Iyankedthecabinetdooropenforthedog.“See?”Killershovedhisheadinside.I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out. He carried

somethinginhisteeth.“Whatisthat,boy?”Danielasked.Killerdroppedhisfindonthefloor,thengazedupatme.Ipickeditup.Hmmm.Somethinghard.Lumpy.“Whatisit?”Danielasked,steppingclose.Ibreathedasighofrelief.“Noproblem.It’sonlyapotato.”IstartedtohandittoDaniel.Butsomethingsharpprickedmyfinger.“Ow!”Icried,startled.Irolledthepotatooverinmyhand.Itfeltwarm.Icouldfeelitbreathing.“Daniel,Idon’tlikethelooksofthis,”Imurmured.Thepotatohadamouthfullofteeth.

Scanning,formattingandproofingbyUndead.

TableofContentsStart