First published in the United States of America by Viking,

an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2016

This edition published in 2019

By Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2016 Max Brallier

Illustrations copyright © 2016 Douglas Holgate

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted.

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 9510 9

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1744 1

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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To Ruby. If the world crumbled and the monsters were a-comin’, you would make for a fantastic partner in adventure.

– M. B.

For my parents: For not only supporting, loving, and encouraging me at every turn, but also dropping me off regularly at the next-door neighbours who unbeknownst to you put me in front of pretty much every horror movie available at the video store when I was eight.

– D. H.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map of Wakefield

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

chapter thirty-one

chapter thirty-two

chapter thirty-three

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

Back series promotional page

chapter one

OK, so . . . we are going to be eaten. Devoured. Swallowed whole. Or maybe swallowed in bits. Really, whole or bits? Does it matter? Bottom line: EATEN.

’Cause see that train-sized beast behind us? It’s not a train. It’s a humongo worm monster. The Wormungulous.

Now, why are we running from a humongo worm monster?

A very good question.

With a very silly answer. We are . . .

See, about a month ago, I defeated this big evil beast named Blarg. So I was like, ‘We’re heroes! Post-Apocalyptic Action Heroes. And Post-Apocalyptic Action Heroes need quests!’

We’re basically the modern version of old-timey King Arthur-y knights. And old-timey King Arthur-y knights were always questing all over the place. That was when my best friend, Quint Baker, declared, ‘We should build a bestiary, friend!’

What’s a bestiary, you ask?

Also a good question! I asked Quint the same thing. Quint looked at me like I was completely brain-dead, grabbed the dictionary, and read, ‘An illustrative, encyclopedic compendium detailing a myriad of mythical creatures.’

‘That just sounds like a fancy way of saying “monster notebook”,’ I said.

‘But better!’ Quint said. ‘“Notebook” implies school and study. “Bestiary” implies BEASTS. A book filled with crinkly yellow pages that smell of ancient history.’

I was def digging that, so I said . . .

And now we’re building a complete bestiary of every single strange creature that has arrived in the town of Wakefield after the Monster Apocalypse began this past summer. You need two things for a bestiary entry:

One: a picture. That’s my job. You know that’s my job ’cause I’m Jack Sullivan, monster photographer extraordinaire.

Two: you need INFO. Like stuff about the monster – strengths, weaknesses, where does it hang, what does it eat, what are its hobbies, does it stink like evil, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Now, I realize in terms of, like, all-time ultimate heroic quests, ‘writing a book’ doesn’t exactly rank up there with Frodo carrying the ring to Mount Doom, but whatever. I learned that just by calling any random old chore a quest, you can make life a LOT more fun.

For example . . .

Separately, our friend Dirk’s quest is to build a vegetable garden. That’s not a joke. Dirk apparently loves fresh tomatoes. He says he can’t maintain his hulking mass by surviving on Wotsits and Snickers alone. Which is BONKERS, since I’m pretty sure those are major food groups.

Dirk’s part of my monster-fighting crew. He was a terrifying bully back before the end of the world, but now he’s a terrifying monstercrushing man . . . with a soft side, as you can tell from his vegetable garden quest.

Dirk told us that if he had some tomatoes, he could probably make some bootleg pizzas over a fire. And I haven’t had pizza – legit or bootleg – in months.

June Del Toro (who is kind of my favourite girl in the world) was in agreement with Dirk on this – she was dying for some non-junk food. Buncha crazies, if you ask me.

Anyway, these two very epic quests are the reason Quint, June, Dirk, and I are at the Circle One Mall right now. It’s the reason we’re racing down the mall’s main corridor. It’s the reason we’re being chased by the Wormungulous. It’s the reason –

KA-KA-KRASSSSH!!!

I crane my neck as my feet pound the floor. Ah, fisticuffs – it’s catching up!

My heart is slamming against my rib cage as I race around the corner, past the fancy-pants Belgian Godiva Chocolatier store, past the Build-A-Bear Workshop, and past the always-tasty Millie’s Cookies stall.

Suddenly –

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Footsteps behind me. As far as I know, worms – even monster worms – don’t have feet.

I twist my head. I’m both very relieved and supremely annoyed to see that it’s Quint.

‘Quint!’ I bark. ‘I said split up. Why didn’t you split?!’

‘I did split!’ he replies. ‘When I split, I split left. That’s how I split!’

‘Splitting up isn’t difficult, Quint!’ I shout. ‘Everyone just goes in different directions! That’s the definition of “split up”! It’s not rocket science!’

‘Jack, I find rocket science easier to comprehend than your silly action plans!’

I yell at Quint, but he doesn’t hear me. It’s hard to hear anything over the sound of the worm slithering and slicing its way around the corner.

‘Great job, Quint!’ I holler. ‘Because there are two of us, the Wormungulous decided to follow us!’

There’s a KA-BAM as the worm barrels through Foot Locker. The sound of shattering glass, twisting metal and bouncing Nikes echoes down the corridor.

It’s time to try out my newest toy . . .

– The BOOMerang –

(a weapon that goes boom)

Quint, of course, is the designer of this particular gadget. It’s supposed to ‘distract and disorientate’ monsters. I raise my hand, ready to throw, and –

chapter two

The BOOMerang does NOT come flying back to me in the way it is supposed to – y’know, the one quality that actually makes a boomerang a boomerang. Without the ‘coming back to you’ part, you’re just flinging around curved wood – not much fun.

The BOOMerang does not return, but it does whack the Wormungulous in the face. There’s a BLAST as smoke bombs and sparklers explode. The monster jerks to the left, veers back to the right, and then –

I take that split second, when there’s nothing but glass and metal in the air and wreckage in the worm’s face, to grab Quint and yank him into the closest store. We tumble over a display table and crash to the floor.

‘Stay down!’ I whisper.

An instant later, the Wormungulous barrels down the corridor, streaking past the store like an oversized snot rocket come to life.

I catch my breath, get to my feet, and inch out into the corridor. The Wormungulous left a trail of yellow worm goo in its wake and the floor is now a slick mess. I watch the worm crash into a clothes store and disappear in a cloud of dust as the wall crumbles behind it.

‘I didn’t get a photo!’ I exclaim.

‘PHOTO FAIL,’ Quint says.

I cock my eyebrow. ‘Don’t talk like that, Quint. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘A failure of photographic proportions, friend.’

‘Better,’ I say, slapping my best bud on the back. ‘Now where are we?’

Looking around, I begin to tremble and shake as I realize: WE’RE INSIDE GAME!

‘Dude!’ I exclaim as I begin to walk the aisles. ‘Could I have picked a better place for a last-minute hideout?’

‘Quite perfect!’ Quint exclaims happily.

Near the Nintendo 3DS section, I spot something I want so bad that it causes my gut to tighten up and my extremities to get all warm and tingly.

I’m staring at a giant, life-sized suit of space marine armour from my favourite game, NIMBUS: Call to Action. It’s shiny, practically GLOWING.

There’s a big sign next to it that says, ‘Coming soon! The hottest sci-fi space marine first-person action shooter ever to hit the planet Earth! NIMBUS: Call to Action 14.’

Suddenly, I’m punched in the face by sadness. I’m thinking about how many amazing video games were being designed when the Monster Apocalypse happened. And now they’ll never be released! I’ll never get to play them!

I knock on the chest piece. DONK DONK DONK. It’s definitely metal or some sort of fancy plastic.

Quint’s eyes go wide. ‘I was mistaken!’ he exclaims. ‘This silicone-plastic-Wonderflex is the finest in video game promotion!’

‘I’m totally taking this,’ I say. ‘I’ll be like an unstoppable space marine hero! I’ll stuff some bottle rockets in the side here – any monsters get close and VA-SHOOM! Eat rocket!’

Quint grins. ‘I must agree. It’s quite impressive.’

‘Now,’ I say, ‘where is our transportation?’

A moment later –

After about twenty clumsy attempts, Quint and I manage to get the space marine armour into Rover’s saddle. Rover is my monster dog, and he can haul anything. I pocket a few PS4 games for the road, then step out into the gooey, slippery corridor.

‘All right,’ I say, ‘let’s find June and Dirk.’

chapter three

We’re walking the upper level of the mall, looking down at the corridor below. I see all sorts of little kiosks that sell T-shirts and fancy cell phone cases and other crud that’s really dumb but I also totally really kind of want. Most of the mall is a mess – looted and plundered by panicked people when the Monster Apocalypse first began.

Passing the Apple Store, I catch a whiff of something. A strange, sweet sort of odour, hanging in the air.

And I catch a flash of movement, below us. A figure, slinking around the corner, past Gap. An almost-human figure . . .

Seeing that – something almost-but-not-quite human – sends a chill of terror down my spine. My heart starts palpitating.

Maybe it was just a figment of my imagination . . .?

But no.

My eyes might play tricks on me, but not my nose. And the strange, sweet odour is growing stronger.

But it is not the odour of evil. It is not the foul stench that the villainous beast Blarg emitted. It is not the same stink that the Dozers and the Winged Wretches and other Wakefield monsters emanate. That is the smell of evil.

But this?

Honestly? It smells like a middle-school dance. It smells like, I realize, cheap aftershave.

‘Quint, did you see that?’ I whisper.

He nods. A huge helping of fear has appeared on his face. Fear with a side order of curiosity.

I pull my weapon, the Louisville Slicer, from its sheath.

It’s been one month since we rescued June (sorta rescued) and we’ve still not seen a single other person. No kids, no adults, no nothing. Just zombies and monsters up the backside. And recently, even the zombies seem to be popping up less and less. In fact, it’s like they’re disappearing.

I mean, we’ve been at the mall over an hour now, and we haven’t seen one zombie. And if you’re a zombie expert like me, you know zombies are supposed to be, like, all over the mall. Ever see a zombie movie? Play a zombie video game? Zombies are ALWAYS at the mall. They just love shopping or something.

Quint believes something is taking the zombies. We haven’t seen them migrating, and we haven’t seen them just, like, dying off. I’ll tell you this much: if something is taking the zombies, I do not want to meet whatever that ‘something’ is.

The sweet scent snaps my mind back to attention.

I drop to one knee and rub Rover behind the ears. ‘Buddy, can you drag my space marine suit back to Big Mama?’ I say, pointing in the direction of the parking lot, where Big Mama, our post-apocalyptic pickup truck, is waiting.

Rover tilts his head, then growls in understanding. A moment later he’s trotting down the corridor, my space marine suit banging and clanging behind him.

‘OK, Quint,’ I say. ‘Let’s see what this thing is.’

Quint follows as I creep down the escalator to the main level. We duck behind a kiosk called Stuffed Stuff – it sells stuffed panda bears and piglets and ferrets. Holding my breath, I peek around the corner.

I see the figure again. And if it’s a person, it’s a big person. It’s rattling one of the metal gates that hang over most of the storefronts.

Quint and I exchange terrified looks, then quietly sneak ahead to the next kiosk. We’re like ultra-lame James Bonds. Do you think James Bond ever had to hide behind Cate’s Custom Candles while trailing a target?

The strange figure comes to a stop in front of the Cinnabon bakery. I finally get a solid look at the thing. And what I see – it turns my blood to ice water.

I whip my head back around and drop to the floor. ‘Did you see that?!’ I ask Quint, trying to keep my voice to a whisper.

Quint nods. He doesn’t speak. He’s shaking like a leaf.

‘It was like a monster-person. Or a person-monster,’ I say. But before we can even begin to process the bonkers implications of that, a piercing shriek echoes down the hall.

It’s June. She’s rushing toward us. Dirk speeds alongside her. And behind them, colossal and charging with vicious fangs exposed, tearing through the mall like a train that’s jumped the tracks, is the Wormungulous.

We need to find cover. Safety. Something to shield us from this beast.

But the giant metal gate that guards Sears department store looms ahead of us. Every store around us is gated. Locked tight.

We’re in a dead end. Trapped.

No way out.

chapter four

I remember how I felt the instant before I defeated the big, bad, odorous, evil Blarg: terrified but confident. Frightened but alive.

That’s how I feel now.

Brave.

Stupidly brave.

This is my moment.

The moment of Jack Sullivan, Post-Apocalyptic Action Hero.

The Wormungulous will be upon us in seconds. Its massive form is barrelling forward, turning everything in its path to dust. And I can’t let my friends fall into the category of ‘dust.’ That’s my biggest fear. That’s what keeps me up at night (well, that and thoughts of Selena Gomez – I hope she’s safe somewhere!).

I step toward the beast like some sort of samurai ninja Jedi.

‘Jack, what are you doing?’ June screams.

‘June, Dirk, Quint. Get back,’ I say. ‘Behind me.’

‘I’ll try to open the gate into Sears,’ Dirk says. ‘If you can slow it down, maybe we won’t all die today.’

I nod.

If Dirk gets that gate open, they can get to safety. But if not – they’ll be squished, squashed, splattered. Done-zo.

‘Jack . . .’ June pleads.

‘GO!’ I shout. This feeling of samurai ninja Jedi heroism is totally beating out my feelings of butt-clenching fear, and I raise the dramatics up a notch.

June knows my goofiness. She knows I pretty much stumble and bumble my way through every monster encounter.

I blush. ‘Sorry. Carried away. Just, please? Ah, please, go?’

KRAKA-SMASH!

The Wormungulous rips through the cell phone case kiosk. The walls quake. Glass falls and shatters from the railings above.

At last, June sprints toward Sears.

I stand tall. Blade at my side, like a cool, calm warrior. I can’t take this ferocious, fanged beast head-on. But if I can do some nifty light-saber type moves, I might be able to buy my buds enough time to –

Jagged cracks spread through the floor like ice splintering on the surface of a pond. The Wormungulous’s mouth opens, revealing a fat tongue darting around in the darkness of its gullet.

I take a deep breath.

And then, when the monstrous worm is nearly upon me, so close I can smell the rotten meat on its teeth, so close I can see my reflection in its hundred tiny eyes, I leap to the side. My fingers clench the blade, and I hold it with two hands, arms extended, parallel to the ground, gripping it as tight as I can as the worm blasts past me and the blade cuts into its flesh –

The monster shrieks in pain and its thick tail whips into me, and –

POW!

I slam into the side of the PacSun clothes store. I sag against the gate, then crash to the rubble-covered floor. Looking up, I see Dirk struggling to lift the heavy metal gate to Sears. Quint and June frantically help.

But it won’t budge.

And it’s too late.

The Wormungulous is upon them. The monster’s mouth has closed and its wormy head is lowered, ploughing through the floor.

But then I see it.

The man-monster. He’s rushing toward my friends. Quint spins around, horrified. The man-monster knocks him aside, grabs the gate, and lifts.

That’s the last thing I see.

The worm’s tail lashes me across the face, I’m flung to the floor, and everything goes black.

chapter five

I slowly blink my eyes open. I’m seeing stars and spots and even four-leaf clovers – it’s like a whole Disney cartoon thing.

No sign of the others. I get to my feet and weave my way toward Sears. The entire front of the store has been destroyed.

I didn’t stop the Wormungulous.

And my friends? Have I lost them?

Wreckage and debris litter the tiled floor. Water rains down from the sprinkler system. Rubble from the ceiling is scattered through the store.

What I spot next makes me go light-headed.

June’s sneakers. The boy sneakers she wears that I love so much. One juts out from beneath a pile of wreckage.

No.

No, no, no.

My friends are buried beneath there. A pile of rubble as big as a February snowdrift.

I begin clawing and tearing at the debris. But it’s all too big. Too heavy. My fingernail snaps as I struggle to lift the massive metal gate that blankets them.

My breath becomes ragged. I feel my eyes well up with tears.

And I smell – I smell –

I smell that pungent aftershave.

I spin around to see it. Gigantic and towering. The man-monster . . .

- The Man-Monster -

I don’t draw my blade. I don’t run. I just stand there. And then, still having said nothing, I turn around and continue trying to pry my friends free.

A warm hand grips the back of my neck. The man-monster’s fingers close around my collar and I’m lifted into the air. He gently sets me down a few feet away.

The man-monster begins digging through the rubble, carefully pulling away huge chunks of ceiling. He removes bent and twisted pieces of gate. With one tremendous pull, he lifts the final piece away. And I see them.

My friends. Alive.

A little bloody, a lot dirty – but very much OK.

Relief floods through me. ‘You’re OK!’

June grins as she crawls from the pile and gets to her feet. ‘You’re OK! Why did you just stand out there and try to stare the monster down? What is wrong with you?’

‘I was trying to do a samurai thing.’

‘No more samurai things, Jack.’

Quint stumbles from the rubble and throws his arms around me. My friends and I are not big huggers. But Quint squeezes me and slaps my back. ‘I thought we were all done for!’ he exclaims.

I smile. ‘We’re good, buddy. We’re good.’

‘Yes, we are,’ June says, waving toward the man-monster. ‘Thanks to him.’

Dirk nods. ‘He punched through the gate. Pushed us inside. He took the brunt of the blow from the Wormungulous.’

So this . . . this man-monster, he not only freed my friends – he took the hit that saved their lives. And in a way, saved me – because without my friends, I might as well not exist.

This terrifying, wicked-looking thing is our saviour. Just goes to show – never judge a monster by its cover. Or its bone jewellery.

The creature suddenly gasps for breath and drops to one knee. I see that his right leg is injured. Probably battered while blocking my friends. Pulling them free has taken everything out of him.

The man-monster braces himself on a rack of clothing and manages to stand again. And then he opens his mouth.

The words practically knock me off my feet. ‘You . . . you speak English?’ I ask, stuttering.

‘I speak more languages than you know,’ the man-monster says. His voice is a throaty growl. He repeats, ‘You are OK?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We are.’

‘You are human?’ the man-monster asks. He says ‘human’ like it’s the first time he’s ever spoken the word.

‘Uh, yep,’ I say, stepping forward. ‘Sure am. Jack Sullivan is the name. And what are you?’

‘Your tongue could not form the words,’ the man-monster says.

‘Oh. Well – do you have a name? A name that my, uh, lame, subpar tongue could form?’

‘Thrull,’ the man-monster says slowly.

‘You saved us,’ June says.

‘Properly rescued our lives,’ Quint chimes in.

‘Real solid, monster bro,’ Dirk adds. ‘We owe you.’

Thrull is looking me up and down. His eyes focus on my shoulder. No – over my shoulder. The Louisville Slicer, in its sheath. He quickly reaches out and snatches it.

I take a very nervous step backward.

The Louisville Slicer is comically tiny in his big monster hands. His eyes narrow and he lifts the blade, gazing with focus.

‘Your weapon . . .’ he starts, his voice suddenly a notch softer.

‘Yes. My weapon. And I’d love it back. But, uh, no rush. You’re the boss here.’

His head tilts slightly to the side, causing the apparatuses and instruments around his neck to rattle and clang. ‘This is the blade that felled the Œŕŗūæŀ, the ancient evil, servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.’ ‘Uhhh . . . felled?’ I ask.

‘That means destroyed,’ Quint whispers. ‘As in: slain.’

‘Oh. Oh yeah!’ I exclaim. ‘Yep! Well, I mean, it’s my blade. I don’t know who or what Œŕŗūæŀ is. Or who he serves. Did you say Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds? Isn’t he a Marvel villain? Or is that DC?’

The man-monster Thrull’s eyes scrunch up and he looks at me like I’m slow. ‘Marvel villain?’

Trying not to sound slow, I dive right back in. ‘Oh yeah. Marvel. Um. Superheroes and stuff. They make all the best movies. Well, they did, when movies were still being made. But that’s not important. So who is this Œŕŗūæŀ? This thing that you think I, uh, “felled”.’

Something like a smile appears on Thrull the man-monster’s face. He hunches over and does a sort of impression, swinging his free arm.

‘Blarg!’ June suddenly exclaims. ‘He means Blarg!’

Blarg is the titanic beast I defeated a month ago. He was crazy creepy and crazy evil – but now he’s just crazy dead. ‘Oh yeah, I felled him,’ I say proudly. ‘I totally felled him. But we didn’t call him Œŕŗūæŀ, servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds, or whatever you said. We called him Blarg. ’Cause, ah, that’s just the sound he made when he roared.’

I’m suddenly very embarrassed by our ability to creatively name monsters.

The man-monster Thrull takes three pained steps forward until he’s fully towering over me. I’m afraid if I try to crane my neck any more, my head will pop off.

I gulp.

Was Blarg a friend of his? If so, he’s probably pretty ticked about me slamming a blade into his buddy’s brain. Should we be fleeing right now? I feel like maybe we should be fleeing . . .

But the next thing the man-monster Thrull does makes my jaw hang open . . .

‘It takes a great hero to defeat a creature from the time before time,’ Thrull says as he starts to stand up. ‘To defeat a servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.’

I timidly reach out and take the blade from him. ‘Um. Well, thanks,’ I say as I slip it back into the sheath. ‘But it wasn’t just me. I had my friends. This is Quint.’

Quint sticks out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘And June and Dirk,’ I say.

They both wave awkwardly.

‘So what are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘Here? Now? I am just trying to survive. But in my dimension? There, I was a monster hunter, like you.’

I feel myself blush. ‘Monster hunter? Little old me? I’m not really a monster hunter,’ I say.

‘Wait,’ Quint says. ‘Do you know what happened here? On Earth?’

‘Yeah!’ June says, jumping in. ‘You know what caused the Monster Apocalypse?’

Thrull’s eyes narrow. ‘Only pieces. But I know some, yes.’

Quint’s giddy. ‘We can finally learn, friends!’ he says.

Suddenly, the man-monster Thrull drops to the floor. He moans in pain. His leg is worse off than I thought. ‘My movement is limited. Help me?’ Thrull says. ‘To my friends? Home?’

I gulp. A monster home? Full of monster friends? ‘Ah, where do you live?’ I ask. ‘Like a cave somewhere? Or an ancient castle? Or under a bridge?’

‘ßăġņœ Ŕ∂ėŉ,’ Thrull says. ‘But I believe in your tongue, it is pronounced “Joe’s Pizza”.’

Quint and I look at each other, way beyond confused. And way beyond excited.

See, Joe’s Pizza was an after-school hangout for middle-school kids, and an all-day hangout for older delinquent dudes, plus Dirk. On half days, kids would head there, grab a few slices, and generally cause mayhem.

Quint and I dreamed of being regulars there. Y’know, like on TV shows, how there are restaurants and hangouts where everyone knows you. Whenever you walk in, you’d just find your friends, chilling out. I imagined we’d just stroll in, everyone would wave, greet us, practically screaming our names – and our usual orders would be brought immediately.

But Quint and I were never invited to Joe’s Pizza. And no way we were ever going to just show up and have all the other kids eyeing us and whispering, ‘Who brought the dork squad?’

So yeah, it wasn’t really our scene. I wanted it to be our scene. I would have given anything for it to be our scene. But it wasn’t. Our scene was more ‘stay at home, play Minecraft, let Quint’s mom cook us Bagel Bites.’

But now . . .

Well?

Now it sounds like Joe’s Pizza is an entirely different scene. A monster scene. And that causes Quint to begin rapidly hitting me . . .

Thrull looks up at me. I hand him my hockey stick (the one I conk zombie noggins with) to use as a crutch and we all help him to his feet.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We’ll get you back to Joe’s Pizza.’

Dirk gathers up his gardening supplies. I sheath my weapon. Quint sniffs his armpit. And with that, our very strange group hobbles out of the Circle One Mall, home of the Wormungulous.

I have big plans for this mall – plans to never return.

chapter six

Thirty minutes later, the five of us – plus Rover – are standing across the street from Joe’s. And my brain is just like, ‘What the huh?!’

I see ample evidence that this is not the Joe’s Pizza we’re used to . . .

– Ample Evidence –

‘Mr. Thrull, what exactly is this?’ Quint asks.

‘This is where I live,’ he says, shifting and adjusting his weight on the hockey stick. ‘Come.’

That sounds reasonable enough – but something stops me.

‘Um, one second, Mr. Thrull!’ I exclaim. ‘Quick buddy huddle!’

I grab my friends and we all dash out of hearing distance.

‘Should we go in there?’ I ask.

Dirk and June both nod. ‘I think so . . .’ June says.

‘Why not?! You know how old folks always tell you not to trust strangers? Great advice! You know what’s better advice? Don’t trust monster strangers! The dude’s wearing bone jewellery.’

Quint opens his mouth to respond, but a strange sound interrupts us. It’s like the sound of a blade, slicing between us, silencing us.

‘Do you guys hear that?’

It’s like the wind, rustling through the trees. But louder. The sound fills the air. Like a flute or a, uh – what’s that lame plastic instrument from elementary school? A recorder! It sounds a bit like that. But the sound is deeper, rougher – and the longer I listen to it, the more it begins to sound like a strange, devilish, musical scream. There’s no other way to describe the sound. It is an inhuman SHRIEKING.

But there’s no time to ponder the strange sound, because Thrull is limping toward Joe’s. If we’re going in, the time is now.

‘Come on!’ June says.

I listen to the noise a moment longer. The sound enters my ears and proceeds to march straight down my spine, twisting it, terrifying me to my core.

It’s only a noise.

Yet it scares me beyond belief.

‘Jack!’ Quint barks. I shake my head, trying to shake out the fear, and I reluctantly follow my friends. From inside Joe’s, I hear glass shatter and freakish, inhuman laughing.

But I continue following.

We all do.

Rover trots beside me. As we step up onto the sidewalk, I tell him to stay, and he flashes those puppy-dog eyes at me. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be back, buddy,’ I say. ‘I think . . .’

Continuing forward, we pass the monsters hanging out outside. I try to give them good, solid, manly nods – but they just look at me like, ‘Buddy, you are in the wrong place.’

Thrull places his hand against the door, and pushes it open, and we step inside. Inside, to the strangest sight imaginable . . .

Tentacles dance in the air! Furry beasts armwrestle! Scaled things play some strange version of darts. At the counter, insect-like monsters suck down entire pizzas in a single bite. Small flying creatures swoop through the air, delivering food. And everywhere, at tables, in booths, are HULKING MONSTERS chatting it up in some sort of monster language.

A few speak English. Bits and pieces of strange monster dialogue float over:

‘. . . ONCE POUNDED A GURLAK INTO THE MUD WITH JUST MY TAIL . . .’

‘. . . MORE SNOZZLE STEAKS, CHEF! . . .’

‘. . . TASTES BETTER WHEN IT’S STILL BREATHING, IF YOU ASK ME . . .’

A massively round monster behind the bar wings a pizza pie through the air, directly into the mouth of a heaving creature that is seemingly all mouth and nothing else.

And then there’s us.

There’s me.

The thirteen-year-old human.

The scared, confused, overconfident-but-only-overconfident-in-order-to-hide-his-crippling-fear kid.

‘My friends!’ Thrull bellows. ‘Listen!’

The grumble of monster voices grows quiet. They turn in their chairs. Some crane impossibly long necks. I can feel their eyes – some with thousands of little eyeballs, like flies – watching us.

Thrull purses his lips. He sighs through his neck-gills, then says, ‘Œŕŗūæŀ, known in this world as BLARG!’

The monsters simply stare. Silence hangs in the air like a poorly timed fart. Finally, a small, zero-armed creature, perched on a chair, laughs and leans forward. ‘This small human defeated a servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds? HA! Not likely!’ the creature says, cackling.

Hey! Are they calling me a liar?! I’m many things. I’m lazy. I’m clumsy. I’m a sucker for girls with British accents. I’m pretend-charming but not real-charming. But I’m no liar.

Well, that’s not totally true, either. I mean, I’ve lied plenty. Who hasn’t?

But I’m not lying about this!

I cough into my fist, take a deep breath, and step forward. ‘Um. Ah. No. It’s true. I did. For real. With this,’ I say as I pull the Louisville Slicer from its sheath.

The way the monsters react, you’d think I’d just pulled a severed donkey head from my back pocket. Some gasp like humans. Others make sounds that I can only assume are monster versions of gasps.

They begin to sniff the air and then start to smile. It’s like they can smell Blarg on the blade.

Thrull looks at me with a grin that’s all teeth. He rests one massive paw on my shoulder. I can’t help but feel all warm inside . . .

And then –

‘And these are my friends!’ I say, shouting to be heard over the roar. ‘I didn’t do it alone! They helped! Like, a whole bunch!’

The crowd cheers louder. June and Quint beam. Dirk gives me a slap on the back. And that is how we’re welcomed into the strange new world of Joe’s Pizza.

Soon, monsters are surrounding us, asking questions, telling stories, offering us food. A dozen monsters crowd around me as I recount the tale of how I battled Blarg. They keep pouring me flat Joe’s soda and I keep talking.

Later on, I spot Thrull, off in a dim corner, sitting at a table. He’s talking with another creature – this one thin, with spindly limbs and a rough, jagged beard.

Thrull catches my eye and beckons me over. I pull Quint, Dirk, and June with me.

‘Please sit,’ Thrull says, then indicates the other monster. ‘This is ßàŗġťŀ – pronounced “Bardle” in your tongue.’

Bardle smiles – an act that seems to take him great effort. His face scrunches up, revealing deep scars slashing this way and that.

‘Bardle is aged,’ Thrull says. ‘For many lifetimes, he was a conjurer in our dimension.’

‘Dimension?’ Quint asks, leaning forward.

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