The Schnoz of Doom Read online

  “Let’s—” Joules began, but the bell rang and her whisper was drowned out by the clamor of students grabbing their books and hustling out of the room.

  The twins jumped from their seats, but before they reached Mr. H, he swung the dog crate onto the counter. The rabbit drummed its feet furiously and stared out the cage with a crazed swirly-eyed look.

  “Mr. H,” said Kevin, “can we look at that rabbit?”

  “Ah! My favorite scientists!” said Mr. H. “How are you Rockmans today?”

  “We’re fine, Mr. H,” said Joules. “But we’d like to get a closer look at that rabbit.”

  “It’s an Other,” said Mr. H. “Those noisy short freshmen have made it very nervous, and it needs silence.” He raised his finger to his lips. “Shhhhhh!”

  He gently shushed the twins and plucked his jacket off Mack, who swept up his books and scurried out of class in search of more extra credit. Mr. H draped the jacket over the cage.

  “You can see it tomorrow,” he said. “It’s a beautiful specimen.”

  “It might be dangerous!” said Kevin.

  “That’s where you are wrong, Kevin,” said Mr. H. “Birds are dangerous! Especially those big ones with propellers. A little Other like this couldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But . . .,” said Joules.

  “I admire your keen interest,” said Mr. H. “It makes me hopeful for the future of science. But there’s no danger here. This is just a fluffy little Other with a rather large nose and swirly, swirly—”

  A glazed look passed over his face.

  “They are fascinating eyes,” said Mr. H. “Very interesting eyes . . .”

  He paused.

  “Mr. H?” said Kevin.

  “Hello, Kevin!” said Mr. H, looking at Kevin as if for the first time. “Shouldn’t you get to class? I’m going to leave this Other right here in this cage in a building with hundreds of schoolchildren nearby. What could possibly go wrong?”

  They wanted to tell Mr. H that millions of things could go wrong, but he had turned away and was rifling through a smelly basket of mismatched gym socks he had collected from the gymnasium for a microbiology experiment.

  Neither Joules nor Kevin spoke, but the same thought ran through both their minds as they grabbed their books and headed toward social studies class:

  Famous Last Words.

  Remember that basket of adorable puppies from the last chapter? No? We don’t, either. That is too bad. It would be pleasant to think about puppies right now. Instead, we must think about Foofs so that you understand what is going on. Those of you too frightened/spongy/your-adjective-here to think about Foofs should imagine puppies instead. This will not make you safer, but it might make you happier.

  For an update on the Foofs, turn the page.

  The Fierce, Obnoxious, Odoriferous Furballs took one last look at the wreckage of their beloved planet. They climbed into the rocket and pushed the giant button on the control panel marked “Push in case of butterfly toots.”

  With a deafening rumble, the engines ignited and the rocket shook violently. The Fierce, Obnoxious, Odoriferous Furballs did not notice. Their minds were filled with thoughts of bottled stench, enslaved humans, and soft, cottony tissues with a hint of lotion capable of soothing even the sorest schnoz.

  The rocket jolted twice, then blasted into space toward a blue planet whose foolish creatures never suspected that they should run and hide while they still could.

  The remainder of the school day was boring for Joules and Kevin. Math was by the numbers and history was old news.

  In the afternoon, though, a minor disaster occurred in Miss Chupakabra’s third-grade classroom. During their annual Celebration of World Foods, a bowl of sauerkraut collided with a jalapeño dip and a pot of stinky tofu. The new “food” released fumes that spread down the hall. Teachers slammed their classroom doors as the fumes overran their rooms. There were three exceptions: the lunchroom and the gym, which were filled with so many suspicious smells of their own that nobody noticed, and the biology room, where Mr. H was too busy to notice the fumes. He was classifying a fly that kept landing on his sandwich and then flying away. Each time it landed, the professor moved it from “Birds” to “Others” on his classification chart. It was time-consuming, and eraser-consuming as well.

  Mr. H did not even notice when Miss Chupakabra brought him a large bowl of jala-sauer-fu to study. Like all the teachers at TBD School, she understood Mr. H’s love of scientific investigation and often brought him curious things she found in her classroom. She left the bowl of fuming dip on the counter beside an unidentifiable and slightly hairy green glob that might have once been a kindergarten art project.

  Besides Mr. H, the only other person at TBD School unaware of the putrid smell was Kevin. His nose was now completely stuffed, and he sneezed every few minutes. Joules was not so lucky and spent the afternoon holding her nose with one hand and writing with the other. Luckily, the last class of the day was physical education. Funky smells from the rest of the school had no power to match the aromas that dwelled in the gym.

  Despite its aromas, Joules loved gym class. It was the one class of the day with real sticks: hockey sticks, lacrosse sticks, pole-vaulting sticks. Kevin was not so keen on gym. It was difficult doing pull-ups and push-ups with a notebook in his hand. However, he did not want to put his notebook down. It made him uneasy to be without it. Kevin’s notes were a source of comfort to him, but more important, they were useful. His chart of Wiffle ball statistics told him exactly where to stand to avoid getting hit in the face by a Wiffle ball. Anyone who has ever experienced the painful red welts of Wiffle-face will understand.

  For Kevin, the worst part of gym class was the teacher, Mr. Arnie Shwartzaninny. Or as everyone called him, Mr. Shhh. Not as an abbreviation of his long name, but because he had a voice that sounded like an airsick goose and nobody wanted to hear him talk.

  As a boy, Mr. Shhh had suffered from a condition called noodle arms. Unable to do more than a few pull-ups, he was teased by gym-class bullies. This gave him great sympathy for noodle-armed kids. It also inspired him to invent a clever exercise contraption known as Noodle-Armor, which cured his noodle arms and made him a bazillionaire. Unlike other bazillionaires, who buy private islands and spend their lives keeping poor people off them, Mr. Shhh dedicated himself to helping the noodle-armed youth of America. He volunteered as the gym teacher at TBD School, where he helped fifth graders live better lives through upper-arm development.

  Mr. Shhh had enormous, muscular arms sticking out of his V-shaped body, which dwindled from his very wide shoulders to his tiny pointy feet.

  Because Kevin had difficulty with pull-ups, Mr. Shhh considered him a challenge and spent every class helping Kevin defeat his noodle arms. After ten minutes strapped into the Noodle-Armor, Kevin’s arms didn’t just look like noodles, they felt like noodles, too.

  By the end of class, he was ready to go home. He was very sweaty and very stinky. And he was still stuffed up. While he couldn’t smell anything, the way the other students fled when he came near was a pretty good clue that he needed to go home and shower. That was exactly what Kevin wanted to do.

  Joules also wanted to get out of school. She wanted to get to the factory. Like Kevin, she worried that the arrival of these weird new rabbits spelled danger. Also, she wanted to beat Mack. Plus, there was a piece of cake at stake.

  Even though they were in a hurry, they knew they had to check the biology room and see if Mr. H had the rabbit under control.

  When the bell finally rang, Joules grabbed her backpack and Kevin’s, since he was too tired to carry it himself. They headed back toward the biology room. On the way, they passed two second graders whose arms were bandaged together using the “human splint” maneuver. Well done, Principal Posner! They also passed a mummy in red high-tops by the water fountain.

  “Hey, Anna,” said Joules.

  “Mmmmmm!” said the mummy.

  “That’s Alexandra,” said Kevin.

  “Whatever,” said Joules.

  They stepped into the biology room. Mr. H was not there, but the dog cage was still on the counter. They stepped closer and looked at the weird gray rabbit. The rabbit glared at Kevin and Joules with swirling blue eyes and flashed its fangs.

  “Do you remember the last time we saw a rabbit with eyes like that?” asked Joules.

  “How could I forget?” asked Kevin. “This one is different, though. Look at that nose.”

  “Maybe it’s just a rabbit.”

  Kevin leaned closer.

  Bam! The rabbit slammed itself against the door of the cage. Kevin jumped back, knocking the bowl of jala-sauer-fu off the counter. The slimy green goo slopped over his pants.

  “Ewww!” Kevin said, wiping it away with his hand. “Give me a paper towel.”

  He looked up, but Joules was already in the hallway.

  “C’mon,” she yelled. “We’ve got another rabbit to catch!”

  “Thanks for the help!” Kevin said, shaking his hand and flinging a glob of goo through the air.

  It landed on the rabbit, which sniffed hungrily and growled softly. Kevin picked up the empty bowl from the floor and put it back onto the counter beside the cage. He gave the rabbit one last look and ran after his sister.

  The History of the Nose

  The nose was invented by the ancient Tucanese people in 1400 BC as a display rack for eyeglasses. Since eyeglasses would not be invented for another 2,500 years, the nose failed miserably. (Note: Eyeglasses as we know them were invented in AD 1284 by an Italian named Salvino D’Armate, who also invented the phrase “You wouldn’t hit a guy wearing these, would ya?”)

  During the late early period (AD 100–250) and the early late period (AD 100–250), the
nose was used by nomadic ice herders as portable storage cabinets for nuts, berries, and other snacks. This practice was abandoned when the ice herders noticed local squirrels taking “a little too much interest” in their faces.

  The nose increased in popularity after south Indian pepper farmers discovered the sneeze in AD 950. The nose gained further popularity when the Vikings began using it as a finger warmer on their long sea voyages. This ended with the Great Nostril Kerfuffle of AD 1000, when Fingnor the Lollygagger famously asked, “Vargr ok jörð heppni sefr?” and “Af járni er dómr?” which is Old Norse for “Whose finger is in my nostril?” and “Would it kill you to trim your nails?”

  The most significant contribution of the nose came in California in 1849 when miner Frederick Snifflehanger discovered a green nugget in his nostril and reportedly said, “It’s cold in here. I’m ill.” His words were misheard by fellow miner and earwax collector Sherman Hotzpilfer, who said, “There’s gold in them thar hills?” His cry started a gold rush that lured 100,000 people to California. That might have turned out badly for Sherman. Luckily, there really was gold in them thar hills. Sherman Hotzpilfer became ridiculously rich and spent his entire fortune on earwax, which he carved into lifelike statues of famous people for tourists to admire.

  Thank you, Nose.

  Remember the Fierce, Obnoxious, Odoriferous Furballs from earlier? Good! Otherwise, this would not make much sense to you! In any case, here is an update:

  Joules walked five steps in front of her brother on the way home. She was in a hurry to beat Mack to the factory. She was also trying to stay upwind from Kevin, who was a little on the smelly side. Okay, who are we kidding? Kevin reeked. Between his sweat from gym and the jala-sauer-fu on his pants, he was ripe. They reached the house and Joules unlocked the front door.

  “Do I smell weird?” asked Kevin, trying to sniff the air through his stuffed-up nose.

  “No,” Joules lied. “You smell great. Wow! It’s like you’re wearing perfume.”

  “I should take a shower before—” Kevin started.

  Joules gave him the stink-eye.

  “—before I go to bed,” Kevin continued.

  “Good plan!” said Joules. “Let’s roll.”

  Joules opened the door and the twins dumped the contents of their backpacks onto the living room couch. Joules pulled a new packet of Pop-Tarts from beneath the couch and tossed it into her backpack in case she got hungry later. Kevin packed his notebook and pen in case he got the urge to make a detailed list later.

  The twins headed to the garage, where Joules grabbed her favorite (i.e., sharpened) hiking stick, and Kevin dug through a box of junk. The garage was filled with “ingredients” for Mr. and Mrs. Rockman’s recipes. Among other things, there were dozens of different kinds of pickles, gallon jugs of taco sauce, enormous boxes of gelatin, and giant tubs of baking soda. Say what you will about extreme experimental cooking, it made hunting for things in the garage an adventure. Eventually, Kevin found what he was looking for behind a crate of dried prunes.

  He held up his old butterfly net and frowned. It had seemed much bigger when he was three. Now it did not look big enough to hold a tiny moth, let alone a rabbit. Especially one with an enormous schnoz. Clearly, it was time to get a new net. He pulled out his notebook and made an entry in his List of Things I Need to Get Just in Case. If you are asking yourself, “In case of what?” the answer is yes.

  Kevin and Joules hopped on their bikes and pedaled south past the edge of town. Joules biked upwind of Kevin, holding her hiking stick ahead of her like a jousting lance. Kevin followed, holding the tiny butterfly net in front of his face to keep bugs away. Kevin was not a fan of bugs. Mostly because they were a big fan of him. Especially mosquitoes.

  The old Snottie’s Tissue Factory stood just beyond the edge of town near the Little Muddy River. The town founders had chosen the shores of the river, hoping to create a bustling manufacturing zone with transportation and power for factories. The first factory to arrive was Snottie’s Tissue Factory. Unfortunately, it was also the last. The smells produced by the tissue factory kept its industrial neighbors at a distance (of 300 miles). The town gave up its dream of becoming an industrial power and also moved upwind. And so Snottie’s Tissue Factory sat alone along the river, happily producing tissues to soothe the scratchy noses of people everywhere. When the economy faltered, the company bought a poor country in Eastern Europe, renamed it Snottiestan, and moved its factories overseas, leaving the redbrick factory on the shores of the Little Muddy River to decay. That was a decade ago. It had been vacant since then.

  The twins biked to the boarded-up factory and leaned their bikes against the rough red brick. Joules’s handlebars hit a patch of mortar, which crumbled to dust and fell into the weeds at her feet. The giant smokestack that jutted from the center of the building tilted perilously and looked as if it might fall at any moment. Weeds pushed up through the cracks that snaked across the asphalt parking lot. The decaying factory was losing the battle against nature, which crept up from the river and would soon overtake everything that wasn’t stone, and much of what was. The factory was like a creepy ghost town, so depressing that even the ghosts left.

  A dense mass of brambles and brush surrounded the factory and stretched deep into the woods. Kevin pointed north toward the shadowy forest.

  “The paper said the rocket crashed up there through the woods,” he said.

  “We have to find a rabbit first,” said Joules. “Let’s go this way.”

  Joules pointed her hiking stick toward the back of the factory.

  Going “this way” was not Kevin’s first choice. He preferred exploring “right here.” There was much to see in the parking lot before running around a corner where anything could be hiding. Kevin had seen enough movies on The Late, Late, Late Creepy Show for Insomniacs to know that some places should always be avoided if you don’t want to end up like the first character in a movie to die a gruesome death. In fact, Kevin kept a chart in his notebook for this very purpose and made a mental note to add “Abandoned tissue factory” to the list.

  It did not matter that Kevin wanted to stay in one spot for a few minutes. Joules was already running toward the back corner of the factory. And as Kevin also knew, the only thing worse than running “that way” when someone said “Let’s go” was not running “that way” when someone said “Let’s go.”

  Joules disappeared around the crumbling brick corner. Kevin gripped his puny butterfly net like a baseball bat and ran after her.

  KEVIN’S CHART OF PLACES TO AVOID

  PLACE

  MOVIE

  WHAT HAPPENS THERE

  Big old houses with creaky porches and rocking chairs

  Don’t Look Under the Porch

  Rocking Chair Monster

  That’s Not Your Grandma!

  The old lady you think is going to give you cookies and be nice to you ends up being really, really not nice to you and not giving you cookies, either.

  Cemeteries, crypts, and morgues

  Every movie ever

  These places are filled with dead people. And if these places are in movies, it means the dead people aren’t as dead as they should be. What do you think is going to happen?

  The ocean

  Squidface

  Clownfish of Death

  Sharkapalooza

  Night of the Living Sea Cucumbers

  Everything in the ocean exists to eat people. If something in the ocean hasn’t eaten a person yet, just wait. It will.

  PLACE

  MOVIE

  WHAT HAPPENS THERE

  Deep space

  Lost in Deep Space

  Oh, Look, We’re Still Lost in Deep Space

  How Deep Is This Deep Space?

  Bored to Death in Deep Space

  Attack of the Anything at All Would Be Nice at This Point in Deep Space

  Where Did Everyone Go?

  Hello? Hello? Anybody?

  Bueller? Bueller?

  A million other movies about deep space

  What is going to happen in deep space? nothing. Why? because there’s nothing in deep space. That’s why they call it deep space. It’s nothing but space. The really, really deep kind.