Charlie Bumpers vs. the Squeaking Skull by Bill Harley Read Free Book Online Page B

mind if I borrowed his can of shaving cream for the day tomorrow. Ifigured it would be all right, but I wasn’t sure. He’d probably think using shaving cream as rabid mouth foam was funny. He loves a good joke.
    But he’s also a grown-up, which can sometimes be a problem.
    I decided I’d better ask.
    I found him in the family room, sitting in the big chair, watching TV.
    “Dad,” I said.
    “You want something,” he said. “I can tell by your voice.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “The keys to the car?”
    This was my dad being funny.
    “No,” I said. “I can’t drive.”
    “What do you want then?” He still had his eyes on the TV screen.
    “I wanted to know if I could borrow your can of shaving cream tomorrow.”
    All of a sudden Dad started paying attention to me. “Shaving cream?” he asked.
    “Yeah. For my costume.”
    “I thought you were a bat,” he said. “Bats don’t need to shave.”
    “I’m a
rabid
bat, remember? And rabid bats need to have foaming mouths, so …”
    “Okay. But listen to me, Charlie. You keep the shaving cream in your bag until you need to use it. Then just squirt out a little bit and put the can right back in the bag. Do you understand?”
    I nodded. “Sure, Dad,” I said. “I’ll be super careful.”
    “You’d better be,” he said, “or both of us will be in trouble with a capital
T
with you-know-who.”
    He meant Mom. “Thanks, Dad!” I couldn’t believe it.
    “Don’t let anyone else touch it.”
    “Okay,” I said. “I promise.”
    “I must be insane,” he said.

17
You Have to Have a Hairy Face
    The minute I woke up, I remembered what day it was.
    Halloween!
    The costume contest and ten free movie tickets!
    The sleepover at Alex’s house and tons of candy!
    And …
    I tried not to think about
The Shrieking Skull.
The Stupid Shrieking Squeaking Skull.
    I got ready for school, and put everything I needed in my small duffle bag. My mom was already up, taping purple balloons to the Squid’s purpleturtleneck. She had a huge bunch of balloons. There hadn’t been any blown-up balloons when I went to bed.
    I thought about my mom getting up early and blowing up a million balloons.
    “Did you do all those?” I asked her.
    “Your dad helped.”
    The Squid tried on the shirt with the balloons attached. She looked completely ridiculous, sort of like a giant bag of purple marbles.
    “I’m a bunch, I’m a bunch, I’m a bunch of grapes,” she chanted, dancing around the room.
    “Grapes don’t dance,” I said.
    “Yes, they do,” the Squid answered, like she was an expert on grapes.
    Then Mom made her take the balloon shirt off, even though she wanted to wear it to school.

    We weren’t going on the bus. Mom had decided to drive us that morning because of our costumes. So did a lot of other parents. The line of cars to drop kids off in front of the school stretched all the way down the street.
    In the hallway, everybody was carrying their costumes. There were a lot of normal ones—capes or superhero costumes or masks of different cartoon and television characters. I saw the kid with the rhinoceros head. It was pretty cool and I got a little worried that maybe he would win—but then I saw there was nothing else to the costume, just the head. Maybe the judges wouldn’t consider that a complete costume.
    Tommy ran up, holding out two hairy rubber hands. “How do you like my werewolf paws?” he asked.
    “Stupific! What about the hair on your face?” I asked.
    Tommy frowned. “My mom wouldn’t let me do it. But I have a plan.”
    “What?” I asked. Tommy was usually a genius when it came to plans.
    “I’m going to cut off some of my hair this afternoon, then I’ll glue it on my face when we go out tonight.”
    “Really?” I said. “How are you going to make it stick?”
    “I found a bottle of white glue in the kitchen junk drawer. I tried it on a small patch on my chin last night and it worked. If you’re going to be a werewolf, you have to have a