Chapter 19

chapter nineteen The Fly Guy's insides are rank and dark. There's just enough room for the four of us, plus Drooler. As I wiggle around, my elbow hits something soft and wet. Light starts to dribble in, shining like a prism through the Fly Guy's many eyes. His, heh, flyballs. "This is a great view," I whisper. "If you really dig kaleidoscopes." "No one really digs kaleidoscopes," Dirk grunts. June scowls. With a tap, a metal spork-knife pops out of Blasty, and she cuts a slit in one of the flyballs. We have a clear view now—and I don't like what I see... There are two nurses. The first has a head like an anglerfish, with a buzzing light dangling above its lone eyeball. The second nurse's face is splayed open, revealing a second, more horrific face underneath. They scurry about, preparing the morgueatory for something... -DIRE NURSES!

Oh, the numbers look good. Raxaul will be so pleased. Don't be such a try-Hard, Deborah. We exchange confused glances. Split-Face's name is Debra? Monsters are weird... Suddenly, we hear whistling. It comes from the corridor beyond, growing steadily louder. "He's coming!" Debra says. "Look busy!" "I am busy!" the other one shoots back. He plugs something like an other-dimensional oxygen tank into the fleshy walls, and it starts ka-chug ka-chugging softly. Debra grabs a flagpole-sized lever that juts out of the ground. She leans into the lever, until—

VRROOOOM A large, circular section of the floor at the center of the morgueatory begins to slide open, revealing a pool of oil-goop underneath. June shifts, pushing her head next to mine. "I really hope we didn't show up for evil bath time..." she says. The whistling grows louder. It's a cheery little tune —the kind of melody Willy Wonka would hum right before faking a fall and feeding a bunch of bratty kids to a factory. Wait! Crud. We're a bunch of bratty kids! "He's here!" Eye-Bulb hisses, smoothing his scrubs. The nurses quickly stand at attention. And then he enters. The monster of the hour. The employee of the month for the last four hundred months... -WRACKSAW!

articles, tentacle-legs, skin like a mood ring. Current mood annoyed My skin turns all goosebumpy as Quint says, "That whistling... it appears to be air passing between the thin tendons connecting his head to his body." Debra makes a gleeful tchk-tchk-tchk sound. "Wracksaw, sir," she says. "Your calculations were correct. The pool has further softened the subject's tissue." "Of course my calculations were correct," Wracksaw says, drawing out each s. "My calculations

are never less than perfect." Oh, we can take this dude. He's just a science nerd. ahem One of Wracksaw's armacles reaches out, tugging a thick cord that hangs from the ceiling. The pool starts to bubble, like he's getting ready to boil a Blarg-sized helping of Kraft mac and cheese. Then something begins to rise from the liquid darkness... Drooler meeps. "Aww, you want a better look?" Dirk asks softly, gently releasing the little guy and setting him on the floor. Wracksaw slithers toward the pool. Spongy pods on the surface lock together, creating a bridge, allowing Wracksaw to cross to the center. Goop sloshes over the shape that breaks the surface. I know who—what—that is.

We all do. GHAZT! DEAD!