The Mystery of the Mystery Meat Read Online Free Page B

old oak tree that scratched against the roof; it was the way Freekin and the monsters entered his room so his parents wouldn’t see them. The Ripps still didn’t know that Scary and Pretty lived in the house, and they also didn’t realize that the dozen or so cats in Freekin’s room belonged to a funny little monster who dressed them up and had tea parties with them. Freekin had asked if he could keep them, and his mom and dad were so glad to have their only son back from the Afterlife that theywould have let him have a dozen boa constrictors if he asked for them.
    He hurried over to his desk to help her pull up the window sash.
    “Hey, where’ve you been?” he asked. “We’ve been worried about you. Scary went to look for you.” He gazed past her into the darkness, through gauzy veils of gently falling snow. “Is he coming?”
    She plopped onto his desk, then scooted down onto the floor in a tangle of tentacles. Her adoring kitties meowed and surrounded her, nuzzling her tentacles and chin. Usually Pretty giggled and picked up each and every one of her meowing little fur babies, giving them a nosy-nosy kiss that made them purr and bat at her ponytail ears. But now she ignored them as if they weren’t there. Moving woodenly, she stood up and stared blankly at Freekin.
    “Pretty, are you okay?”
    Her eyes widened. Some of them began to spin clockwise. Others spun counterclockwise.
    “Terror,” she whispered. “Coma.”
    Pretty glided closer to Freekin, her arms stretched straight out in front of her body, her eyes spinning. Drool hung like a teardrop on the pointed tip of one of her fangs.

Chapter Three:
In Which Pretty’s Spell Backfires!

    “Pretty, what…are…you…do…” Freekin gasped, breaking out in goose bumps, his hair—what there was of it—standing straight up. His hands shook; his mouth worked. He had never been more afraid in his unlife.
    “Pretty, stop,” he begged, taking a step backward.
    “Terror,” she said again, trundling toward him. Her eyes became so wide that one of the little ones popped outof its socket and bounced onto the hardwood floor. Two of the kitties pounced on it as it rolled beneath Freekin’s bed.
    “Pretty, please.” Freekin tried to raise his hands to shield his eyes, but his arms hung limply at his sides.
    “Coma,” Pretty said in a stage whisper. “Wahahaha.”
    Freekin staggered backward across the room. His back hit the open closet door; his head rapped hard on the mirror he had hung so Pretty could apply her makeup and curl her ears. He tried to make himself dart into the closet and slam the door shut, but he couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot, he shook like a death’s-head moth pushing out of its cocoon.
    Pretty’s six remaining eyes pulled him under the dark sea of her gaze. Wave after wave of terror washed over him as she glided forward like a spiral-eyed, multi-fanged jellyfish of destruction, padding closer, ever closer, on her tentacles.
    Freekin tottered; he opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His teeth clacked and his knees buckled, and he began to sink to the floor like a drowning victim.
    “Gazeekeekiwoodiwoodi!”
someone screamed. It was Scary, flying in through the window. He took one look at Freekin, and then at Pretty, and zoomed in front of Freekin, throwing open his wings to shield his human buddy from his monster pal. He gibbered at Pretty, and then he started to whimper. He flew backward against Freekin, and the two tottered onto the floor.

    Pretty’s spinning eyes stared back at her from her own reflection in the mirror.
    Her fangs clacked. Another small eye popped right out of the socket, and some more of her cats began to bat it around.
    “Oh, oh,” Pretty whimpered. “Me so terrifying!”
    Her remaining eyes rolled back in her head and she fell backward with a crash. Her tentacles twitched once, twice, and then were still. Her kitties swarmed over her, purring and rubbing against her in sheer joy,