Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online

the garden show? We’ve lost our chance for a blue ribbon! Or any ribbon,
for that matter.”
    “You have to believe me, Dad. Come on.” I held tightly onto Dad’s sleeve. And
I wouldn’t let go.
    As I dragged him out front, I wondered what we would find.
    Blood-red tomato juice smeared all over their ugly faces?
    Squishy pulp hanging from their tiny fat fingers?
    Hundreds of seeds stuck to their creepy little feet?
    We approached the gnomes.
    My eyes narrowed on the hideous creatures.
    And finally we stood right before them.
    And I couldn’t believe what we found.

 
 
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    Nothing.
    No juice.
    No pulp.
    Not a single seed. Not one.
    I searched their bodies. Frantically. From their ugly, grinning faces to
their creepy, stubby toes.
    No clues. Nothing.
    How could I have been wrong? My stomach lurched as I turned to face my dad.
    “Dad…” I started in a shaky voice.
    Dad cut me off with an angry wave of his hand. “There’s nothing to see here,
Joe,” he muttered. “I don’t want to hear another word about the gnomes.
Understand? Not one!”
    His brown eyes flashed with fury. “I know who’s responsible for this!” he
said bitterly. “And he’s not going to get away with it!”
    He whirled around and trotted into the back yard. He scooped up a handful of
smashed tomato.
    The juice oozed between his fingers as he circled the house and charged next
door.
    I watched Dad march up the McCalls’ steps and jab at the doorbell. He began
howling before anyone answered the ring. “Bill! Come out here. Now!”
    I crouched behind Dad. I’d never seen him this angry before.
    I heard the lock turn. The door swung open. And there stood Mr. McCall. In a
white jogging outfit. Holding a half-eaten pork chop in one hand.
    “Jeffrey, what are you yelling about? It’s difficult to digest with all this
noise.” He chuckled.
    “Well, digest this!” Dad screamed. Then he brought his hand up and hurled the
smashed tomatoes.
    They splattered against Mr. McCall’s white T-shirt and dribbled down his
white sweatpants. Some of the mushy pulp landed on his clean white sneakers.
    Mr. McCall stared down at his clothes in total disbelief. “Are you nuts?” he
bellowed.
    “No. You are!” my father shrieked. “How could you do this? For a stupid blue
ribbon!”
    “What are you talking about?” Mr. McCall shouted.
    “Oh, I see. Now you’re going to play innocent. You’re going to pretend you
don’t know anything. Well, you’re not going to get away with this.”
    Mr. McCall stomped down the steps and planted himself about an inch away from
my dad. He puffed out his broad chest and hung over my father menacingly.
    “I didn’t touch your lousy tomatoes!” he roared. “You wimp! You probably bought your blue-ribbon tomatoes last year.”
    Dad shook an angry fist in Mr. McCall’s glaring face. “My tomatoes were the
best at the show! Yours looked like raisins next to mine! And whoever heard of
growing casabas in Minnesota, anyway? You’re going to be the joke of the garden
show!”
    My whole body shuddered. They’re going to get into a fist fight, I realized.
And Mr. McCall will squash my dad.
    “Joke?” Mr. McCall growled. “You’re the joke. You and your sour tomatoes. And
those stupid lawn ornaments! Now leave before I really lose control!”
    Mr. McCall stomped up to his front door. Then he spun around and said, “I
don’t want my son hanging around with Joe anymore! Your son probably wrecked
your tomatoes. Just as he wrecked my melons!”
    He disappeared into the house, slamming the door so hard, the porch shook.
     
    That night I tossed and turned in bed for hours. Faces painted on melons.
Crushed tomatoes.
    Whispering lawn gnomes. I couldn’t think of anything else.
    It was way after midnight, but I couldn’t sleep. The gnomes with their
leering smiles danced before my closed eyes.
    Those grinning faces. Laughing. Laughing at me.
    Suddenly the room felt hot and stuffy. I kicked off the thin