Chapter 4

Chapter Four The whole walk back to town, our heads are spinning. I mean, not really spinning—that would be weird because human heads are not designed to spin. In fact, a spinning head is probably fata... Unless you're a zombie. Oh man, zombie heads can spin. One time I whacked one with my hockey stick, and—

SPIN, SPIN SPIN. So maybe not technically spinning, but yeah— we are confused. We just got whooped. Whooped by a human! A human who speaks the language of .e...c.! A human who stole my Louisville Slicer! I'm lost in a general sort of "feeling sorry for myself" vibe—which is not a Jack Sullivan–type

feeling. I never feel sorry for myself. The worse things get, the more gung-ho positive I am. That's like my trademark! Well, actually, the Louisville Slicer is my trademark. And... CRUD, SHE STOLE IT THE HUMAN STOLE MY TRADEMARK! I mean, what's Luke Skywalker without his lightsaber? Just a farm boy with a whiny streak. Or what's Katniss without her bow and arrow? She's probably the first tribute to bite the big one, that's what. We're coming into Wakefield Town Square—the place where me, my human buddies, and the good- dude monsters live in awesome harmony. Monster City! And in Monster City I see worried monster faces. "Aww," I say. "That's nice. They're sad for me 'cause I don't have my bat." "Jack, they have no idea you lost your bat," June says. "Didn't lose," I say. "Stolen."

June sighs. "You know what I mean...." "Um, no—actually I don't know what you mean. Retainers are lost. Phone chargers are lost. This is GRAND THEFT!" June groans. "OK, fine, Jack, whatever. Bottom line: the reason the monsters are bummed is just because now they're extra afraid of the snow." June's right. I see it on their faces. Fear. THE WINTER HURT THE HUMANS. THE SNOW PUMMELED THEM. WAKE ME WHEN THIS NIGHTMARE HAS PASSED.

"No, no—the winter didn't hurt us. It was a bad human and a giant monster!" I shout. I catch sight of Bardle. He's the first monster friend we got to know well. And he's eyeing me like he knows something is up. He beckons to us from the doorway of his home base, Joe's Pizza. Moments later, we're inside, sitting in an old grease-stained booth. Bardle's across from me... Bardle pours me a cold grape soda, and I knock it back it one big swig. I was going to deliver a very

serious, dramatic speech—but I start talking, my friends get excited, and it just comes out... We saw a human. She was writing a big, monstrous type monster and the human stole my Louisville slicer. More importantly, Bartle-she spoke the words of rezac, the language that bad dudes speak. Bardle's face freezes. "A human spoke that language? Are you certain?" I nod. "What did she say?" Bardle asks. "I must know the words!"