Hamstersaurus Rex Gets Crushed Read online

  At lunch I found Dylan. Maybe she could offer some explanation as to what the heck was happening.

  “Dylan, I feel like I’m going nuts,” I said, setting my tray down beside hers.

  “Oh,” said Dylan, mashing at her peas with a fork.

  “Oh?” I said. “Your best friend confides that he might be losing his marbles and all you can say is ‘Oh’?”

  Dylan gave me a pained look. “That’s too bad . . . that you’re going nuts.”

  “Yeah, it is too bad,” I said. “Don’t tell me you hate me now, too!”

  “I don’t hate you!” said Dylan. “I thought you hated me.”

  “What? Of course not!” I said. “Why?”

  “Because you didn’t talk to me for, like, four whole days!”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No!” said Dylan. “You acted like I didn’t exist. Not a single word.”

  “Well, about that—”

  “Look, I’m sorry that I chickened out,” said Dylan. “If I hadn’t, maybe I could have stopped whatever happened from happening. I’m useless.” Dylan stared at the floor.

  “You’re not useless,” I said. “I need you, pal. Now more than ever.”

  “Really?”

  “Even more than when that pail was stuck on my head in preschool,” I said.

  Dylan took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, Sam,” she said. “I’ll do it for you. And I promise I won’t chicken out and let you down again. So what’s the plan?”

  “I know who kidnapped Cartimandua,” I said. “But Martha won’t listen to me. I need you to intervene on my behalf. Get her to believe me.”

  We found Martha sitting by herself as she ate her beet salad. I kept a safe distance while Dylan tried to talk to her.

  “Look, I know you’re pretty angry right now,” said Dylan. “But you need to know who kidnapped Cartimandua.”

  “Oh, I already do know who kidnapped Cartimandua,” said Martha.

  “You do?” said Dylan.

  “Of course,” said Martha. “It was Sam.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “THAT’S NOT TRUE!” I cried.

  “Oh, isn’t it?” said Martha. “Because I have incontrovertible proof that you’re the guilty party. And since your vocabularies are smaller than mine, I’ll just tell you, ‘incontrovertible’ means it can’t be disputed.”

  “What?” I said. “Come on, Martha! I’m a Hamster Monitor! The ridiculous oath I took means something! I don’t even get what’s happening—”

  “Easy, Sam,” said Dylan, putting a hand on my chest. “What proof do you have, Martha?”

  Martha pulled out an UltraLite SmartShot Mini. For a split second I was overcome with AV jealousy—the new Mini is sooo small—until I remembered I was on trial here for a crime I didn’t commit. Martha flipped open the LCD display and cued up some footage. Then she turned the screen so we could see.

  “Remember how I said I was going to keep Cartimandua under twenty-four-hour video surveillance?” said Martha.

  “I thought you were kidding,” I said.

  “I’m never kidding,” said Martha.

  The camera showed our sixth-grade classroom in the familiar tones of night-vision green. Specifically, it was pointed right at Cartimandua’s cage. In the corner it was time-stamped four days earlier at 6:07 p.m.

  “You set up a hidden camera in our classroom?” said Dylan. “That’s kinda creepy.”

  “I have six hidden cameras in our classroom,” said Martha. “And creepiness is the price we pay for law and order! Anyway, just watch.”

  At 6:08 p.m., a familiar figure walked into frame. He opened the cage, took Cartimandua out, and walked back toward the door. It was me.

  “Want to watch it again?” said Martha.

  “No,” I said. “That’s—that’s—it can’t . . .” I trailed off. My mind was reeling. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Dylan backed away from me like I was poison. “Sam, what were you thinking?” she whispered. “Why did you do it?”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I said.

  Martha looked like she actually might hit me. “So I guess Cartimandua and Hamstersaurus went on another ‘hamster date’ or something?” she said. “That’s why you kidnapped her? Or do you still want to make the ludicrous argument that it isn’t you on the tape? By the way, ‘ludicrous’ means—”

  “No, it’s clearly me on the tape,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Guys, I know this is going to be one of the weirder things I’ve ever said, but . . . I’m pretty sure I was mind-controlled. By a mole.”

  I’m not gonna lie, it was a hard sell. It took a long time to convince them both that I was neither crazy nor evil. But eventually I did it. Real friends believe you (that’s one of the best things about them). By the time the lunch bell rang, Martha and Dylan were ready to help me take on the evil Mind Mole and save Cartimandua and Hamstersaurus Rex.

  On the way back to class, we caught up with Jared Kopernik in the hall.

  “Hey, Jared,” I said. “Were you, by any chance, recently brainwashed by an evil mole with a massive head?”

  Jared looked at me like I was insane. It was the way most people looked at him most of the time. “Hmm,” he said. “Not to my knowledge, no.”

  “Think back,” I said. “Do you remember staring into a pair of creepy little mole eyes? And then waking up a couple of days later in a weird place?”

  “Wait,” said Jared, clutching his head with both hands. “Yeah, I do kind of remember something like that. I was out behind the abandoned inner-tube factory looking for UFOs when I saw something skitter behind a pile of rusty old Schrader valves. I thought it might be a baby Bigfoot—this is their migratory season—so I went to check it out. I peeked over the pile, and then I remember seeing those . . . eyes. And then, WHAM! It’s two days later and I’m eating dinner with my folks.”

  Jared couldn’t remember much more than that, but he seemed really disappointed he hadn’t been abducted by extraterrestrials or even Bigfoots. (Bigfeet?)

  Martha, Dylan, and I huddled.

  “It sounds like you’re on the right track, Sam,” said Dylan. “So this big-brained mole is another SmilesCorp mutant?”

  “And he’s even deadlier than Squirrel Kong because he can hypnotize people,” said Martha, taking rapid notes in perfect cursive.

  “Yep,” I said. “In fact, I don’t think any of this is Gordon Renfro’s plan at all. The Mind Mole called him ‘a puppet.’ He’s just another victim, like Wilbur, Jared, and me!”

  “Makes me almost feel sorry for the guy,” said Dylan. “Almost.”

  “From the incidents you described,” said Martha, “it also sounds like the Mind Mole is capable of moving objects around by just thinking about it.”

  “Telekinesis!” said Dylan, pounding her fist into her palm. “That explains the floating jersey.”

  “And the bulletin board that attacked me, and the Ms. Super Plunger Jr. game that almost flattened me and pretty much everything else,” I said.

  “So there really wasn’t a ghost after all?” said Dylan. She looked mightily embarrassed.

  “No, ghosts aren’t real, Dylan,” said Martha.

  “Oh, and moles with paranormal mental powers are?!” said Dylan.

  “Obviously,” said Martha.

  “So we know the Mind Mole abducted Cartimandua, but what about Hammie?” I said.

  “When Cartimandua went missing, I looked for him,” said Martha. “He hasn’t been in his little weird-smelling closet since you got hypnotized.”

  “Meeting Club Headquarters,” I corrected her.

  “I hate to say it,” said Dylan, “but maybe the Mind Mole got Hammie Rex, too.”

  “I hope not,” I said. “But when I left him, I’m afraid he was feeling pretty ‘emo.’ Certainly in no condition to put up a fight.”

  “Then that’s one more missing hamster we need to add to the Hamster Monitor hamster docket!” cried Martha.

 
; That afternoon, Dylan, Martha, and I looked high and low for any sign of Hamstersaurus Rex (Martha even bailed on her competitive origami team practice, so I knew it was serious). We checked and rechecked everywhere he might be: Meeting Club HQ, the cafeteria, Mr. Copeland’s room, the athletic fields, and the woods behind the school where Hammie and I sometimes shot our movies. We even checked my garage at home just in case he’d somehow made his way back there. We didn’t find him.

  Outside, the sun was setting as we sat in my room, exhausted from our search. My mom brought us a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. They didn’t make anyone feel better.

  “Don’t worry, Sam,” said Dylan. “We’ll find the little guy.”

  “And we’ll find Cartimandua, too,” said Martha. “A Hamster Monitor Always Gets Her Hamster. That’s our motto. I just it made up, but I think it’s good. How would you guys feel about sleeve patches that say that on—”

  “Wait,” I said. “Maybe we already know where Cartimandua is. I mean, maybe I do.”

  “Explain,” said Dylan.

  “Well, I’m the one who kidnapped Cartimandua, so I must know where I took her. Right?”

  “But you don’t remember anything about the time you were under the Mind Mole’s mole-control,” said Dylan.

  “Maybe deep down, I do?” I said.

  “Right!” said Martha. “The information could still be buried in your subconscious. I could hypnotize you!”

  “Tap the brakes,” I said, backing away. “I’m not so sure that’s—”

  “Don’t worry, I have a technique that I learned at Magician Camp two summers ago,” said Martha. “It’s utterly safe. I got hypnotized there dozens of times, and look at me. I’m perfectly normal.”

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “As crazy as things have gotten, maybe it’s our best option,” said Dylan. “If hypnosis can help us find Cartimandua, then maybe it can lead us to Hamstersaurus Rex, too.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But I better not wake up interested in antique dolls.”

  “Excelsior!” said Martha. “Now, does anyone have a pocket watch?”

  “Sure,” said Dylan. “I just got three for my ninety-fifth birthday.”

  Martha cocked her head. “I thought you were twelve,” she said.

  “It was sarcasm, Martha. You’re going to love it someday,” I said as I grabbed a yo-yo off the floor. “Would this work instead?”

  “Perfectly,” said Martha. She dangled the yo-yo in front of my face, slowly swinging it back and forth, like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. “Sam, I want you to relax. Imagine you’re in a very safe, calming place. Perhaps in a classroom, taking a high-school-level math test. Or maybe reviewing your permanent record with the secretary general of the United Nations—”

  “How about I’m in a hammock?” I said.

  “Okay,” said Martha, “you’re taking a high-school-level math test in a hammock—”

  “No, no, just sitting in a hammock. Doing nothing,” I said. “And Hammie Rex is there, too, and he’s also doing nothing.”

  “Suit yourself; seems like a waste of time,” said Martha. She shrugged. “Anyway, I want you to focus on my voice to visualize that hammock. Feel the breeze on your face. Breathe in the smell of fresh-cut grass. Hear the rhythmic cadence of Hamstersaurus Rex dripping drool. Plink. Plink. Plink. Every muscle is starting to loosen. The tension is leaving your body. Your breathing is slowing down . . . I’m going to count backward from forty-seven, and when I reach one, you’re going to find yourself in a deep, deep hypnotic state. You will not awaken from this hypnotic state until I say the phrase ‘Punctuality is preferred,’ okay?”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Martha. “Forty-seven . . . forty-six . . .”

  As she spoke, I began to feel calmer and calmer. Drowsy, even. I yawned. It was a very comfy imaginary hammock. And Hamstersaurus Rex was right there beside me, warming his scaly belly in the summer sun. I scratched under his chin, and the little guy belched. Martha’s voice had faded to a to a distant, pleasant drone.

  “. . . three . . . two . . . one,” said Martha. “Now, Sam, I want you to think back to four days earlier. Remember where you went, what you did . . .”

  Just like on the video, I remembered walking into the classroom, unlocking Cartimandua’s cage, and carrying her out of the school. I walked through the town of Maple Bluffs, crossing parking lots and lawns, streets and fields, and at some point, a golf course. People waved to me, and I didn’t wave back. I knew where I was going. And at last, I found myself standing before a nondescript strip mall. On one side was a Coat Barn. On the other was Harry’s Health Food Hut.

  “I want you to tell me where you took Cartimandua” came Martha’s pleasant voice, now a faint echo, as I somehow wandered through my own memories.

  The windows had been blacked out so that I couldn’t see inside. I heard the rasp of the lock, and I pushed through a door and into a darkened lobby. It was piled high with the big rolls of the butcher paper that had been used to block all sunlight from the outside world. There were stacks of empty crates marked “Grade AAA Premium Earthworms” and “Billy’s Bait Shop Bulk Beetles.” (Mole food, I realized.) I handed Cartimandua off to a shadowy figure. He had the grinning face of Gomer Gopher. I knew where I had taken the poor hamster.

  “RaddZone,” I said.

  “Punctuality is preferred,” said Martha.

  Instantly, I felt clearheaded and alert.

  “So Cartimandua’s being held prisoner in the funnest place on earth,” said Dylan.

  “And the Mind Mole is still there,” I said. “It’s his evil lair.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “ANY SIGN OF the little guy?” I said, squinting against the afternoon sun. “Sandwich crusts? Flavor-Wedge crumbs? Hamster-shaped holes in the wall?”

  “Nah,” said Dylan. “RaddZone still looks deserted.” She lowered her binoculars and wiped her hands on her jeans. We had borrowed the binocs from Beefer. Despite being a little sticky, they gave a good view from the vacant lot across the street where we were hiding. The only problem was, there was nothing to see.

  “I wish we could get inside and poke around a little bit,” I said. “That’s where Hamstersaurus Rex is.”

  “Did you see the little guy in your hypno-memory?” asked Dylan.

  “No, but I’m sure he’s there,” I said. “He has to be, right?”

  Too bad the funnest place on earth was locked up tight with a handwritten sign on the door that said “Closed Until Further Notice.” No one entered or left. Repeated calls to what was listed as Una Raddenbach’s home phone number had gone unanswered. Maple Bluffs Animal Control was still busy wrangling the other escaped weirdo critters all over town—so far my complaint had only made it down to number thirty-four in the queue. Similarly, SmilesCorp’s official complaint department had refused to acknowledge our calls and messages. Finally I received a strongly worded email from SmilesCorp’s lawyer’s lawyer. Martha explained it was ordering me to cease and desist all communication on the matter.

  Which meant saving Hammie was truly up to us now.

  While Dylan and I spied on RaddZone, Martha was at her house with a stack of library books and her laptop, trying to learn more about whatever “PaleoGro” was supposed to be—and more important, guarding our canister of it against the Mind Mole’s minions. We were suspicious of everyone now. When your enemy had the ability to brainwash anyone, you had no idea who to watch out for!

  “Sam,” said Dylan in a tone of voice that I recognized and didn’t very much like. It was the same tone of voice she’d once used in kindergarten to persuade me to eat a hamburger bun full of sand. “What if we could get inside?”

  “That would be really a bad idea,” I said. “I was just blowing off steam earlier. We can’t go off half-cocked. This is a recon mission. Check out RaddZone and report back.”

  “Well, the front door is still closed. The lights are still off. And
the sign on the door hasn’t changed,” said Dylan. “Same as an hour ago. And an hour before that.”

  “Maybe if we keep watching, we’ll see somebody come out or go in,” I said. “Or maybe we’ll discover some other clue to figuring the Mind Mole’s weakness—”

  “The clock is ticking,” said Dylan. “Cartimandua and Hamstersaurus Rex are in real danger. Every minute we waste is a minute we won’t get back.”

  She had a point. “Okay,” I said, “we’re not going to do what you want to do, but just for argument’s sake . . . what do you want to do?”

  “On my last patrol, I noticed a basement window around the back,” said Dylan. “If I could pry it open, maybe I could sneak in and look around for the missing hamsters.”

  “Fantastic idea. One teensy little thing: the Mind Mole is in there!” I said. “He can drop an air hockey table on you with a thought, or worse, take control and make you his puppet. Believe me, it’s no fun being mind-moled. And besides, your ankle is still broken.”

  “Look,” said Dylan, “I can’t stop thinking about what happened at school. When Cartimandua was abducted, if I hadn’t let fear get the better of me, maybe things would be different right now. But instead, I ran away. Well, I hobbled away.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “We saw a fern self-destruct. Demonic lockers were slamming themselves. Anybody would have been scared.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Dylan. “I let you down. I let Hamstersaurus Rex down. And I want to make it right.”

  I sighed.

  “Besides,” said Dylan, “I have a foolproof plan. I won’t look in his moley little eyes, and he won’t be able to hypnotize me. If I hear anybody coming, I’ll just do this.” She closed her eyes and squinched up her whole face, tight.

  “That’s your foolproof plan?” I said. “This?” I squinched my own face up.

  “Yep,” said Dylan. “Maybe Cartimandua isn’t even there anymore. But this way we’ll know for sure, and we won’t have to waste any more time staring at an empty building. And if she is in there, I can get her back. Hammie Rex, too!”