Chapter 3

chapter three When we finally stop tumbling and tilt-a-flipping, we're sprawled out on concrete. My eyes keep spinning for a long time—and when they finally stop and focus, I see hair. June's hair, in my face. It tickles. "When's the last time you washed your hair?" I ask her. "You might wanna do it soon 'cause it kinda stinks like maple syrup." June groans. "That's not my hair, dumb dumb. Look around." Sitting up, I see that we've landed in the parking lot of a roadside breakfast joint: Suzie Stacks Pancake Barn. Flies buzz around in lazy patterns. They're loud. But not as loud as the sound of bones snapping and cracking. It's Tiny Splotcher—he's rising. Joints and limbs pop at impossible, unnatural angles, allowing him to free himself from the lasso-line. But June and I—and our darn non-snappable-andre- snappable appendages—are still stuck fast.

You thought you would take me because I am the little one. Yes, that was a mistake. It wasn't like a height judgment thing. The monster's glowing, oozing claw-appendage flashes open, revealing a terrifying array of needle- spikes. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—WAIT!" June says, holding up a hand. "Could you, maybe, go easy on us? Because, uh..." "Because, well..." I start, before June jumps back in. "Because my friend here is super scared right now. Huge needle-phobe."

"What the—HEY!" I shout. "Am not; you're the one—" "See," June says, smiling at the Splotcher while nodding her head my way. "A little defensive, too. He hates needles. At the doctor's, he closes his eyes—but he makes the nurse tell him when the shot is coming because he also hates not knowing." "We never went to the doctor together!" I exclaim. What's going on here? Has the monster apocalypse finally gotten to her? And, yeah, I hate shots. Everyone hates shots. If I ever met someone who liked shots, I'd step away slowly, 'cause— "At the school nurse's one time, he just flat-out fainted," June says. "Not a criticism, just saying." Tiny Splotcher snaps one last limb, and a dangling arm fixes back into place. His shoulder makes a sound like two canned hams hurled against a brick wall. Leaning forward, he hisses, "I have had many shots. Many injections. But unlike this cowardly young human, I welcome them!" "Oh, had a lot of shots, eh?" June says. "From the school nurse?" Tiny Splotcher makes a wet, hacking sound. "From Wracksaw! Bear witness: we are now in the shadow of his fortress—where me and my fellow monsters have been made great. Been given purpose!"

And that's when I get it. June doesn't have to say it —I know what she's doing. It's almost like—proof that she and I have a special connection, maybe? I'd like to think so. "Ahh, Wracksaw," I say, jumping in. Seems like maybe that's the creature Thrull was taking Ghazt to, but I have to know for sure. "Weird name for a school nurse—" "He is no school nurssssse! He is a brilliant mind!" "Ooh, that's actually perfect! 'Cause one of your buddies gave me this little cut here," June says, turning her injured cheek toward Tiny Splotcher. "Maybe Wracksaw could stitch me up?" My throat tightens at that. So does the Cosmic Hand. Because that cut was made by me. Not a Splotcher. "He would do more than stitch. He has not yet had a human body to experiment on. But... NO! I will not deliver you to him. He is too busy with Ghazt." "Oh, you know Ghazt?" June asks. "We know Ghazt!" "You do not know Ghazt," the guard says, hissing. "You only knew Ghazt." Tiny Splotcher's narrow, insect-like face rearranges into something like a knowing grin. "Was he a companion of yours?" Not sure how to answer that one. Truly.

What do you call a Cosmic General you've been fighting for what feels like forever? An interdimensional rat monster whose powers were stolen by Thrull—and then stolen again, from Thrull, by me, when the Scrapken tentacle on my hand sucked away Ghazt's powers, turning the Scrapken tentacle into the Cosmic Hand? "We were more like... colleagues?" I say finally. "We actually ran for the same office. It was a hard- fought campaign, but I suppose there's a begrudging mutual respect after something like that—" "Then I will take great joy in your sadness," Tiny Splotcher says, his horrible mouth twisting into an arrogant smile, "when I tell you that..."

gas, it's dead. WHAT?? Dead?! Wait... No. That's not... Dead? In case my brain-thoughts didn't make it clear enough, I shout, "Dead?! Wait... No. That's not... Dead?!?" I mean, Ghazt wasn't in great shape when Thrull carried him off... but dead? Could he really be gone? For good? June catches my eye. I suspect she's thinking what I should be thinking: What about the info inside