Stink and the Midnight Zombie Walk Read online

  CONTENTS

  Vomitocious

  The Smellatorium

  What About B.O.B.?

  Curse of the Zombie Baloney

  Zombie Lunch Lady

  Nightmare on Croaker Street

  Cruella De Zombie

  The Midnight (Ten O’Clock) Zombie Walk

  Guts!

  Brains!

  Eyeballs!

  “Take that. You’re dead,” said Fred Zombie.

  “I’m not dead. I’m un-dead,” said Voodoo Zombie.

  Stink and Webster were playing Attack of the Knitting Needle Zombies when Fred Zombie’s eye fell off and rolled across the floor.

  “Holy eyeball!” yelled Stink.

  “Hey, where did you get these way-cool zombies anyway?” said Webster.

  “When I was, like, five, my grandma Lou made me monsters out of yarn. So I turned them into zombies. See? This one still has a needle in his head.”

  “Stick a needle in his eye,” said Webster. “Sick.”

  “One more week,” said Stink.

  “One more week,” said Webster.

  “One more week till what?” asked Judy Moody, Stink’s big sister. Sometimes she was such a Nosy Parker.

  “DUH! The Midnight Zombie Walk!” Stink and Webster said at the same time. Stink pointed to the website.

  Webster pointed to the countdown clock. “See? Only seven more days!”

  “Book Five. Creature with the Cootie Brain,” said Stink.

  “Zombies. Cootie brains. What’s so great about those books, anyway?” Judy asked.

  “Only everything!” said Stink.

  “They’re funny,” said Webster.

  “And gross,” said Stink.

  “And creepy,” said Webster.

  “Vomitocious!” said Stink and Webster.

  “And they have comics at the end of every chapter,” said Stink.

  “And they count for reading points toward the one million minutes,” said Webster.

  “Our school is trying to reach one million minutes of reading,” said Stink.

  “Hel-lo! I know! I go to your same school,” said Judy. She waved a Nancy Drew book in front of them.

  “See, there are four zombies, named Hoodoo, Voodoo, Gilgamesh, and Fred. And they speak in Zombie,” said Stink.

  “Yeah, in Zombie everything starts with a Z,” said Webster.

  “Like, your name would be Zudy Zoody, my zorky zister,” said Stink.

  “Very funny, Zink!” said Judy.

  “In Book One, super-galactic alien zombies from outer space descend on Braintree, Massachusetts, and take over Nightmare Street,” said Stink.

  “And in Book Two, the zombies can’t get enough brains. So they take over fifth-grade recess! Fifth-grade brains are juicy.”

  “Then there’s Dr. Decay and the Zombies of Doom. In that one, Hoodoo gets bitten by this evil zombie, Dr. Decay, and his brains are all hanging out and —”

  “Gross,” said Judy. “I didn’t ask for a book report!”

  “You’d like it,” said Stink. “There’s even a Band-Aid–crazy zombie, like you.”

  “You guys have zombies on the brain,” said Judy.

  Webster picked up Hoodoo and Voodoo. “We’re going to brain you!” Hoodoo and Voodoo said to Fred.

  “We eat brains!” said Stink.

  Fred attacked Voodoo. “Mmm, mmm, good.”

  “Brains for lunch,” said Webster. “Munch, munch munch-a-roni.”

  “And breakfast. And dinner. Body parts. Yum. We love body parts!”

  “Somebody ate your brain, Stink, if you think you’re going to a Midnight Zombie Walk,” Judy said.

  “Why?”

  “Hel-lo! Mid-night! That means staying up as late as Santa on Christmas Eve.”

  “So? I can eat a whole bunch of Zombie Zitz and get hyper and stay awake past midnight.”

  “Actually, the walk starts at ten o’clock,” said Webster.

  “Ten o’clock is so not midnight,” Judy said. “Besides, it says here you have to buy the new zombie book to get in. Books cost money. Twelve dollars and ninety-nine cents each.”

  “Twelve ninety-nine plus twelve ninety-nine. That’s like . . . ninety-nine dollars,” said Stink.

  “Twenty-five dollars and ninety-eight cents, to be exact,” said Judy. “You spent all your money on that video game, Zombietron 4.3. Where are you guys going to get twenty-five dollars and ninety-eight cents?”

  Stink crossed his arms. “No sweat. I have a plan.”

  “Don’t you mean a brainstorm?” Judy asked.

  “Good one,” said Stink.

  “Your plans stink,” said Judy.

  Stink cracked up. “My plan does stink.”

  “It does?” Webster asked.

  “Of corpse. The smelliest,” said Stink. Stink and Webster rolled on the floor laughing.

  Judy made the cuckoo sign. “You guys know you’re a little weird-o, right?”

  “A little weirdo? Well . . . your brain is little,” said Stink. “At least we don’t have pea brains.” He held up two fingers to show the absolute pea size of Judy’s brain. “Teeny. Tiny. Weeny brain.”

  “The better not to get eaten by a zombie,” said Judy.

  On Monday after school, Webster asked Stink, “So what’s your plan?”

  “Plan? What plan?”

  “The super-smelly plan that’s going to make us ninety-nine gazillion dollars. So we can both buy the book? So we can go to the Midnight Zombie Walk?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “I just said that to mess with my sister.”

  “We need a not-fake plan,” said Webster.

  “Let’s think,” said Stink. “Two brains are better than one.” He slurped a brain-shaped sucker. Webster munched Zombie Zitz and Candy Scabs.

  Ding! “I know,” said Stink. “Let’s have a blowout yard sale and sell all our old stuff. Like action figures we don’t play with anymore.”

  “Yeah! We can sell dinosaurs, cowboys, Mr. Spud Head, Debbie Dump Truck, my old Handy Andy, and Buzz Lightspeed. Too preschool.”

  “Deal,” said Stink.

  * * *

  Webster ran home to raid his closet. He came back with a big box. In the box was one old marble, a toy lizard without a tail, and a plastic egg.

  “That’s it?” asked Stink. “This is so not going to make us rich.”

  “Giving away stuff is harder than I thought,” said Webster.

  “Tell me about it,” said Stink. He pointed to the small pile on his bed. One Poky Little Puppy, a broken light saber, and a Red Robot pencil sharpener.

  “Actually, I think I want to keep the pencil sharpener,” said Stink.

  “Forget it,” said Webster. “Judy’s right. This plan stinks.”

  “The stinkiest.” Stink sharpened pencils with his Red Robot. Pencil shavings littered the floor. They looked like moth wings. He picked them up and sniffed. They smelled good, like trees.

  “Wait a second,” said Stink. “Maybe I do have a stinky plan after all.”

  “What is it?”

  “We sell smells,” said Stink.

  “Shells?”

  “No, smells! We get a paper cup, right? We put smelly stuff in the cup. Then we charge fifty cents for people to smell it.”

  “What people?”

  Stink shrugged. “Any people.”

  “But who’s going to give us money just to smell stuff?”

  “You’ll see. People love to smell stuff.”

  “People don’t love to smell skunks.”

  “But we can sell good smells, like . . . berries and dirt and stuff. No skunks. And no cor pse flowers.”

  “Who will pay us to smell dirt?”

  “Riley Rottenberger. She likes anything rotten.”

  “Riley Rottenberger would pay to smell putrid rotten burgers,” said Webster.

  * * *

  Stink set up a table in the yard and lined up his smell cups. Candy cane, pinecone, cinnamon, fruit gum, dirt, and dish soap.

  “Dish soap?” asked Webster.

  “What? It smells good. Like lemons.”

  Also pencil shavings and eraser crumbs. Stink made a sign. 50¢ A SMELL. He set a fancy dish on the table. He put one dollar in the dish.

  “The secret to selling stuff is you put some of your own money out. People see it, and they’ll pay money to smell stuff, too. Plus the fancy dish makes it look like a real store. Trust me.”

  “Fifty cents a sniff!” yelled Webster.

  “Two for a dollar!” Stink called to anybody who came down the street. Mrs. Ling, the neighbor. Jack Frost, the mailman. But they all said, “No, thanks.”

  “Fifty cents a smell,” Stink called to a kid on a bike.

  “But I can smell stuff at home for free. I’m smelling free stuff right now.”

  “Nah-uh,” said Stink.

  “Ya-huh. Air.”

  “This isn’t working,” said Webster. “Let’s give up.”

  “We can’t just give up,” said Stink. “New ideas take time. It’s a known fact that it takes seventy-two hours for a human being to like a new idea.”

  “It does?”

  “Sure. Everybody knows that. Just like everybody knows that smell is the best out of all five senses.”

  “It is?”

  Sheesh. Sometimes his best friend sure was behind the Magic 8 Ball.

  “What’s all this?” Judy asked, coming outside. She picked up a cup. She took a sniff. She made a face. She took another whiff.

  “One dollar,” said Stink. “Hand it over. You took two whole smells.”

  “We’re selling smells,” said Webster.

  “Then you owe me two dollars for stealing my bowling pin eraser set.” Judy held up the cup full of eraser crumbs.

  “Great,” said Webster. “Now we’re in the minus instead of the plus.”

  “Does Mom know you’re using her good dish?” Judy asked.

  “Nothing is going to happen to Mom’s dish. I swear!”

  “It’s your life,” said Judy, heading back inside.

  Stink and Webster waited. Not one person came down the street. Not one car drove by. Not one whiff. Not one sniff.

  “Has it been seventy-two hours yet?” Webster asked.

  “Wait,” said Stink. “Let’s turn this into a Smellatorium!” He picked up a cup and wrote Zombie Toe Jam. Eraser crumbs were now Zombie Zits.

  “Do zombies have B.O.?” Webster asked.

  “The worst! Duh!” said Stink. “They’re dead!”

  Webster wrote Zombie B.O. on a cup. Soon each cup was a zombie smell.

  “Step up to the Smellatorium, if you dare,” called Stink.

  “Zombie zits, farts, and B.O.!” yelled Webster.

  Kids lined up at the table. In no time, the boys had a dish full of quarters.

  “Two dollars,” said Stink. “Zombie Walk, here we come!”

  “No way. That’s only enough to pay Judy back for the erasers,” said Webster. Just then, Stink saw Missy, the neighborhood dog walker. She had four leashes and four dogs.

  “Hi, Missy!” Stink waved. “Hi, Max, Molly, Bella, and Missy!”

  “I thought Missy was the person,” said Webster.

  “She is. But the other Missy is that Chihuahua.”

  All four dogs tugged on their leashes. They barked. They pulled Missy the Person across the street to Stink and Webster’s Table of Smells.

  The dogs barked and leaped and jumped. “Down, boy,” said Missy. “Bella! Max!” She tugged on their leashes.

  “Want to smell?” asked Stink. “It’s only fifty cents per sniff.”

  “And it’s for a good cause,” said Webster.

  “What’s the cause?” asked Missy.

  “Zombies,” said Stink.

  Just then, Bella and Max leaped up onto the table. They went crazy sniffing. Their leashes got all tangled.

  “The dogs are smelling for free!” said Webster.

  “Bella! Down, girl. Bad dog, Max!” said Missy the Person.

  She pulled on their leashes and CRASH! The fancy dish fell off the table and smashed to pieces on the sidewalk.

  Stink’s mouth hung open. Webster’s eyes bugged out of his head.

  “I’m so sorry, Stink,” said Missy the Person.

  “It’s . . . that’s . . . my mom’s,” said Stink.

  “I’ll pay for it, of course,” said Missy. She dug in her backpack. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Twenty-five dollars and ninety-eight cents,” said Stink and Webster at the same time.

  “Plus tax.” Stink grinned.

  Missy held out her hand. “Will you take four dollars, a cough drop, and a purple paper clip?”

  At school on Tuesday, Stink tapped Sophie of the Elves on the shoulder. “Hey, So —”

  Sophie turned around. She had smears and smudges of green all over her face. And green streaks in her hair.

  “Why is your face green?” Stink asked.

  “Face paint,” said Sophie. “I couldn’t get it all off.”

  “Why were you wearing green face paint?”

  “Zombie,” Sophie whispered, and turned back around.

  Stink almost jumped out of his seat. “Zombie! You’re into zombies, too?”

  “Of corpse,” said Sophie. “Shh! Mrs. D.’s looking. Talk later.”

  * * *

  At lunch, Stink and Webster sat across from Sophie. Stink took out his baloney sandwich. With ketchup.

  “Welcome to the vomiteria,” said Sophie. Stink and Webster cracked up.

  “Wouldn’t it be weird if all of a sudden the cafeteria served brains?”

  Suddenly Stink’s pink baloney and red ketchup did not look so good. “Freaky-zeaky,” said Stink. He munched on a dried apple instead.

  Sophie opened her lunch box. She took out one cheese sandwich, carrot sticks, a box of raisins, and a . . . zombie!

  “Meet Zombalina!” said Sophie.

  Stink and Webster stared at a four-inch fairy with a ghost-white face, black-rimmed eyes, and freaked-out hair. Her skirt was made of blood-streaked Band-Aids.

  “What happened to Blossomina, Rider of Unicorns and Friend to All Elves, who rids the world of evil sprites?”

  “Sprites, schmites,” said Sophie. “Blossomina is Zombalina now!”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I read Nightmare on Zombie Street Books One and Two this weekend.”

  “Do you know about the Midnight Zombie Walk at the Blue Frog Bookstore this Saturday?” asked Webster.

  “Why do you think I have green paint on my face? I’ve been trying to figure out a zombie costume to wear.”

  Riley Rottenberger butted in. “I’m going as a prom queen zombie.”

  “Do you even know what a zombie is?” Stink asked.

  “It’s like a princess,” said Riley, “only she wears black instead of pink.”

  “A dead princess,” said Sophie.

  “Do we have enough money for the books yet?” Webster asked Stink.

  “Let’s see.” Stink ticked it off on his fingers. “We have four dollars from Missy, ten dollars from your birthday money, my five-dollar-off coupon . . . ”

  “That’s not enough for two books,” said Sophie.

  “Plus the two dollars we got in quarters if we don’t pay Judy back, plus the one dollar we put in the dish. If you count in my allowance, that’s more than twenty-five dollars and ninety-eight cents.”

  “Yesss! We are so there!” said Webster.

  Just then, the principal came into the lunchroom. “Boys and girls,” said Ms. Tuxedo. “I have some exciting news. We just reached nin e hundred seventy-six thousand four hundred thirty-three minutes of reading!”

  The cafeteria exploded with clapping and cheering.

  “Only twenty-three thousand five hundred sixty-seven more minutes to go. Now, I know many of you have been reading the Zombie series, and there’s a new one coming out on Saturday, so I would like to declare this Friday Read to a Zombie Day.”

  The lunch room went wild.

  “Zool!” said Stink.

  “Second- and third-graders will read aloud to K-1 kids in their classrooms. That’ll go a long way toward reaching our goal of one million minutes by Saturday. Don’t forget to join us at the Blue Frog Bookstore on that day to celebrate all our great reading!”

  Riley Rottenberger raised her hand. “What about B.O.B.?”

  B.O.B. was the Big Orange Box outside the front office. Nobody knew what was inside. It was a surprise.

  “Tell you what,” said the principal. “If Virginia Dare School reaches one million minutes, I promise we will have the Big Orange Box moved to the bookstore on Saturday, and finally, at last, once and for all, open B.O.B.!”

  “Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob,” the kids chanted.

  When the room quieted down, Stink asked his friends, “What do you think is in there, anyway?”

  “Maybe B.O.B. really stands for Big Overstuffed Bear,” said Sophie.

  “A Big Overstuffed zombie teddy bear!” said Webster.

  “Or Box of Bears: three hundred ninety-seven teddy bears, one for each kid at Dare School,” Riley butted in.

  “Or maybe B.O.B. stands for Big Oversized Brain, and there’s zombie brains in there or something,” said Webster.

  “Or something,” said Stink.

  “Candy,” said Webster. “Ten hundred tons of candy.”

  “Bookmarks,” said Sophie. “Teachers love bookmarks. And pencils.”

  “B.O.B. is for Big Old Bookmarks?” Stink asked. “That stinks.”

  “I guess we just have to wait till Saturday night to find out,” said Sophie. “Until then, I can borrow Book Three from the library and Book Four from you guys, and Book Five I can get on Saturday ’cause it’s almost my birthday.”

  “Zweet!” said Stink.

  “That will be worth like a zillion reading points,” said Webster.

  “My house. After school,” Stink said. “We can help each other with our costumes. My sister has boxes of body parts and stuff.”