The Schnoz of Doom Read online

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Beaty, Andrea.

  The Schnoz of Doom / Andrea Beaty ; illustrated by Dan Santat.

  pages cm. — (Fluffy bunnies ; 2)

  ISBN 978-1-4197-1051-3 (hardcover) — ISBN 978-1-61312-759-9 (ebook)

  [1. Extraterrestrial beings—Fiction. 2. Smell—Fiction. 3. Twins—Fiction. 4. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 5. Humorous stories.] I. Santat, Dan, illustrator. II. Title.

  PZ7.B380547Sc 2015

  [Fic]—dc23

  2014038769

  Text copyright © 2015 Andrea Beaty

  Illustrations copyright © 2015 Dan Santat

  Book design by Pamela Notarantonio and Chad W. Beckerman

  Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below.

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  For John

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Some people think that Fierce, Obnoxious, Odoriferous Furballs are fictional creatures. That is too bad for them, because it means that they will not be prepared in case of an actual Foof attack. I do not have that problem. I have bunions. In case you do not know what bunions are, I will tell you. Bunions are what you get when you cross bunnies with onions. That is a lie, but it does not matter. What matters is that I have many people who know all about Foofs and who will help me if when they attack.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Erica Finkel, Susan Van Metre, Dan Santat, Pam Notarantonio, Chad Beckerman. Jen Graham, Nicole Russo, and Jason Wells.

  Thanks to Edward Necarsulmer IV, Andrew and Katie, the Urams, and (of course) the Beatys. Special thanks to Michael Uram, who invented the Birds and Others Classification System of Things in the Universe, which will be very useful indeed when the Foofs attack. Hint: They are Others.

  When suddenly. . .

  A massive bubble of gas erupted from the murky bottom of Putrescent Pond and oozed upward through the stinking pool of thick gray slime. The bubble pushed against the pond’s oily skin, which bulged into an enormous greasy dome.

  Three ragged gray creatures with swirly blue eyes stood on the shore and watched intently. They tilted their heads to one side, pointed their enormous schnozzles toward the dome, stamped their puny feet impatiently, and sniffed hungrily.

  Remember this. It’s important later.

  Perhaps that illustration makes you uneasy. Perhaps it rings a bell* or stirs a vague memory of another race of fierce creatures you once read about: the Fluffs (Fierce, Large, Ugly, and Ferocious Furballs). If so, we are sorry to bring back such dreadful memories, but the truth is that these bunnies remind you of Fluffs because they are related. They originated on the planet of the Fluffs. They looked like Fluffs. They acted like Fluffs. In fact, they were Fluffs. The worst kind of Fluffs. Fluffs from a clan so horrific . . . so hideous . . . so heinous . . . so horrible that the Merriam-Webster Dictionary ran out of H-words to describe them. In fact, the Clan was so evil that, during the Great Pudding Wars, the other Fluffs sent them hurling into space using an intergalactic slingshot. The Clan landed on a nauseating planet covered with stinking, swampy, oozing slime pits and stench ponds. They called it Stenchopia.

  You might ask yourself what this clan of Fluffs did that was so horrible that it made their own cousins slingshot them into space. However, asking yourself is not useful. If you do not already know the answer, how could you reply? And if you do already know the answer, why ask in the first place? It makes more sense for you to ask us, since we brought it up. Let’s start over.

  So, you ask, “What could be so offensive to Fluffs that they would exile their own cousins to the armpit of the universe without a can of deodorant to protect them?”

  Good question. Against our better judgment, we will tell you. However, to prevent your brain from exploding from such unsettling information, we will allow the publisher to review our comments and remove any dangerous bits.

  Here is the answer:

  They on the , which was a bit like putting on with peanut butter. Then, fluffy kittens and slightly but never chewy. Until , which nobody saw coming! It singed their , resulting in and most of all: . Sure, they all had a big laugh about it later, but at the time, it was enough to make the Fluffs , which you can’t put into a basket no matter how hard you try.

  Well, now that you know, it’s time to move on.

  Warning: You might want to hold your nose for this next part. Also, if you’re eating while you read, you might consider finishing that before you continue this, unless you are reading during your school lunch. If so, good for you. Reading is an important part of every meal. (This message paid for by a bribe from your English teacher.)

  The conditions on Stenchopia were difficult, and many Fluffs could not survive. The rest adapted through the generations, and the Clan changed.

  Back on their home planet, Fluffs absorbed the energy of the sugary atmosphere through the clear hollow tubules of their fur. These tubules also acted as tiny telepathic transmitters that sent their brain waves to those around them. When coupled with their hypnotic swirly eyes, the Fluffs could control the minds of anyone. Once they devoured a creature, they could transmit the entire form of that creature to the mind of anyone they hypnotized. It was a camouflage that made them lethal.

  However, on Stenchopia, the hollow tubules of the Fluffs’ fur quickly gummed up with swamp slime, so they could not transmit telepathic signals. Even worse, without a sugary atmosphere (which was lacking on Stenchopia), the Fluffs had no food source. They shrank. Many perished. But not all.

  Those Fluffs with bigger noses than the others sniffed in the stinky air of Stenchopia and found traces of energy in the putrid vapors wafting off the stench ponds. It was not much energy, but it was enough to survive. Those survivors passed the genes for their larger noses
on to the next generation, who passed them on to the next generation, who . . . blah blah next generation blah blah next blah blah . . . you get the idea. Ultimately, those with the biggest, most efficient noses survived and thrived. Through the generations, their noses became magnificent wobbling schnozzles that could efficiently harvest the power of stench. This was the power of the schnoz.

  Other traits also developed through the generations. The Clan’s feet shrank. Their once clear, hollow fur became dull and gray and coarse. While descendants of the original Clan no longer communicated telepathically using their hollow-tubed fur, they developed an amazing new power of communication: They talked.

  Actually, that was not very amazing. You probably do it all the time. But you probably can’t control anybody’s mind with your brain. The Clan could. The pathways connecting their brains and their schnozzles developed into a sophisticated network capable of transmitting telepathic signals via smell. Smellepathy.

  Smellepathic signals sent images, feelings, and ideas to the brains of others, leaving them at the mercy of the large-schnozzled Clan. When added to their hypnotic swirly-eyed gaze, this power made the Clan unstoppable. Like their cousins, they used the identity of devoured creatures as camouflage and tricked the planet’s animals into doing things for them, like becoming snacks. Although the Clan gathered energy through their enormous schnozzles, they still loved a good snack, in the same way that people enjoy popcorn. It has no nutritional value, but oh, that crunch!

  And so it was that over many generations, the Clan became a completely new race of fluffy bunnies. Very, very stinky bunnies.

  They became the Fierce, Obnoxious, Odoriferous Furballs.

  Foofs.

  And the rest—as they say—is history.

  Table 1: Know Your Foof, taken from The Illustrated Guide to Fluffs and Other Space Creatures You Don’t Want to Meet, by Professor Donald J. Dewdy. (Work unpublished.) Perhaps you remember a similar chart in Attack of the Fluffy Bunnies. In that chart, Professor Donald J. Dewdy offered a comparison between the Fierce, Large, Ugly, and Ferocious Furballs (Fluffs) and simple Earth rabbits or, as you might call them, bunnies. In the following table, Professor Dewdy offers a comparative analysis between the Fierce, Obnoxious, Odoriferous Furballs (Foofs) and chocolate. No one knows why Professor Dewdy chose to compare aliens with a delicious treat instead of something useful like a human or another alien, but we are sure that he had a good reason. Or maybe he was just hungry. In the end, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if you wish to have a delicious warm drink, melt chocolate into a glass of hot milk, stir, and add whipped cream. Do not melt a Foof in a glass of hot milk, stir, or add whipped cream. It wastes the whipped cream and annoys the Foof.

  TABLE 1: KNOW YOUR FOOF

  CHOCOLATE

  FOOFS

  Genus and species

  Chocolate is not a living thing and does not have a genus or species. It is, however, made from the seeds of the cacao tree or cocoa tree. Actually, they are the same tree, but one name is for people who like the letter “a” while the other is for people who prefer the letter “o.” People who love the letter “v” are weirdos who probably don’t like chocolate at all.

  Lepus foofilicious

  Habitat

  On top of cakes. In flat bars wrapped in thin silver foil. Swimming in cups of hot milk with floating islands of whipped cream. Yum.

  The putrescent slime ponds of Stenchopia in the Stinkpit System

  Diet

  Chocolate and diets are like matter and antimatter. They cancel each other out in a gigantic explosion, after which nothing matters.

  Foofs ingest “nutrients” by inhaling the gaseous bubbles that burst forth from the putrid ponds on their planets.

  When they receive enough nutrition, the Foofs’ extreme metabolism gives them ridiculous strength and lets them grow to enormous heights of 7 feet or more.

  CHOCOLATE

  FOOFS

  Communication

  It is a basic law of the universe that inanimate objects cannot communicate with living beings. Because of this law (also known as the Hershey’s Principle), chocolate cannot communicate with people. It does not have—wow . . . is that a bonbon?—the ability to in any way influence—must have bonbon—thought patterns and . . . yummmmmmm.

  Correction: Chocolate possesses the most powerful property for communication in the universe. It is delicious.

  Smellepathy: Foofs control the brains of other creatures via smell. Smellepathic signals send images, feelings, and ideas to the brains of creatures under their control.

  Under rare and very, very, VERY smelly conditions, the Foofs’ brains heat to a level that fuses the neural-telepathic pathways, making the creatures permanently under the Foofs’ control.

  Smellepathy controls their prey’s brain via the olfactory nerves. The word “olfactory,” which means smelling, should not be confused with “old factory,” because that would be silly.

  To enhance this process, the Foofs emit a “fragrance” that is sometimes confused with the sweet smell of roses outside a perfume factory on a perfect summer morning after a lovely rain shower.

  Ha ha ha ha ha. That’s a good one.

  Predators

  Everyone who ever lived. And their grandmothers. Really. How could you not know that?

  Yes, they are.

  Remember that slime-covered stench bubble at Putrescent Pond? Here’s an update:

  When suddenly. . .

  Joules Rockman lay in her bed with the covers over her head. That was a lie. There was nothing sudden about this. It was, however, a catchy way to start a new chapter. We hope you enjoyed it.

  Joules Rockman did not enjoy it. Like most people who like oxygen, she did not enjoy covers over her head. What Joules did enjoy was breathing, a task that was especially difficult when her mother cooked breakfast, which, sadly, was every day. Most people consider it a comforting treat for their mother to cook them breakfast. However, most people’s mothers were not Mrs. Rockman.

  Both of Joules’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rockman, were lovely people, but they were not gourmet cooks. They were scientists and “extreme experimental” cooks. As scientists, they were more interested in the chemical reactions of cooking than in flavor. Sometimes, their resulting dishes were astonishing. And occasionally, astonishingly delicious. Most, however, were not. Still, every meal with the Rockmans was a thrill. Just not in a good way.

  While Joules and her twin, Kevin, were less than enthusiastic about their parents’ cooking, they knew it was one small way in which their parents showed their love. That was very sweet. Even if it was not sweet smelling. Not wanting to hurt their parents’ feelings, Joules and Kevin nodded politely and said “yum” when asked about their parents’ cooking creations. They also became experts at ditching their meals without being seen and fending for themselves. In fact, they became very good (and rather sneaky) cooks.

  Still, waking up to an unknown vapor that smelled up the house made Joules cranky. She got dressed and dragged herself to the kitchen, where Kevin sat behind a steaming bowl of unidentifiable chunky purplish soup. Kevin held a spoon in one hand and a pen in the other. He jotted something in his notebook, observed the fumes rising from the bowl, crossed out his note, and wrote something new. Halfway through his scribbling, he paused and—ahhh-choo!

  Kevin sprayed a fine mist over his bowl and half the table. Joules rolled her eyes.

  “Nice,” she said while Kevin wiped his nose with a napkin. “The idea is to sneeze into the napkin instead of blowing snot all over the table.”

  “Sorry,” Kevin said and went back to scribbling in his notebook.

  Most people would be horrified by a germ shower in their breakfast, but Kevin didn’t worry about it. It wasn’t breakfast, because there was no way he was going to eat it. Kevin was studying it. Plus, his nose was too stuffed up to smell the nasty fumes that wafted up from the bowl. Usually, being stuffed up is not a good thing. When sitting in front of
a steaming bowl of purple breakfast soup, it is a very good thing indeed.

  Mrs. Rockman entered the kitchen and gave Joules a quick hug.

  “Good morning, darling,” she said.

  Mrs. Rockman pulled open the refrigerator door.

  “Cheese spray!” she said. “That’s what your curried-kale-SPAMberry breakfast soup needs! What could be better?”

  Joules could think of two million and seven things that would be better (none of them involving breakfast soup), but she simply shrugged.

  Mrs. Rockman stuck her head and half of her torso into the fridge and tossed jars of unrecognizable liquids onto the floor behind her.

  “It’s in here somewhere,” she said.

  Kevin and Joules shot a glance at each other and made their move. Joules grabbed two paper bag lunches and a box of Pop-Tarts she had stashed under the living room couch the night before and ran out the front door. Kevin swept up his notebook, grabbed two backpacks from the hallway, and ran out the back door. They met at the driveway. Kevin dropped the backpacks on the asphalt as Joules handed him a bag and a pouch of Pop-Tarts.

  “Thanks,” said Kevin.

  “No problem,” said Joules. “That was a super-fumilicious breakfast.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not a word,” said Kevin.

  “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t breakfast.”

  Kevin nodded, ripped open the foil packet, and devoured a Pop-Tart. Then he stuffed his notebook and lunch bag into his backpack.

  Just then, a white van sped by. The driver flung a rolled-up newspaper out the window. It skidded over the asphalt and flopped open at Kevin’s feet. The left half of the paper was filled with a photo of a crashed rocket in a forest clearing.

  Joules and Kevin Rockman looked at the paper. They looked at each other. They looked at the paper again. The headline read: “Rocket Crashes Near Old Snottie’s Tissue Factory.”