Dinkin Dings and the Frightening Things
Table of Contents
Dedication
Copyright Page
Title Page
THE THING ABOUT DINKIN DINGS
SECRET, INVISIBLE KILLER SHARKS AND OTHER BATH TIME PERILS
NEW NEIGHBORS
ENTER THE FRIGHTENING THINGS
THE TROUBLE WITH FLESH-EATING ALIEN SPACE ZOMBIES FROM BEYOND HORROR
HARD TO BELIEVE
TO SCHOOL AND BACK
MOLLY CODDLE (THE ZOMBALIEN NEXT DOOR)
ESCAPE ROUTE SEVEN-ZERO-SEVEN
THE NOT-QUITE DEATH OF DINKIN DINGS
THREE MINUTES LATER
THE CHAPTER WHERE DINKIN BRAVES THE SUPERMARKET
DOG DAY AFTERNOON
THE RETURN OF THE FRIGHTENING THINGS
THE PLAN (AS OF 12:58 AM)
THE CHAPTER WHERE DINKIN AND THE FRIGHTENING THINGS NEATLY EXECUTE THE PLAN
THE LAIR OF THE ZOMBALIEN
TEA WITH MOLLY
WHEN ZOMBALIENS ATTACK!
THE TASTE OF FEAR
JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE
LOOK OUT FOR DINKIN’S NEXT TERRIFYING ADVENTURE!
To Ruth and Ian, and to things that go bump in
the night ~ GB
To my parents ~ PW
Check out Dinkin’s Bebo page at:
www.bebo.com/dinkindings
GROSSET & DUNLAP
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Text copyright © 2009 Guy Bass. Illustrations copyright © 2009 Pete Williamson. First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Stripes Publishing. First published in the United
States in 2011 by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
eISBN : 978-1-101-51334-7
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THE THING ABOUT DINKIN DINGS
Dinkin Dings was afraid of everything. And not just actual scary things, like getting stuck in an elevator with a hungry tiger or pushed out of an airplane with only a tissue for a parachute. No, he was afraid of pretty much, absolutely, and totally everything. Dinkin could find reasons to be scared of things that weren’t scary at all.
Here are his forty-seven most terrifying things as of 9:19 on May 19: Fairgrounds,
loud sounds,
busy neighborhoods and towns,
computer games, and towns,
computer games,
goofy names,
polished, wooden picture frames,
road signs,
straight lines,
breakfast, lunch, and dinnertimes,
lamp posts,
cold toast,
sweaters worn by game-show hosts,
garbage cans and their garbage can lids,
sheep and goats (and lambs and kids),
telephones,
microphones,
whispers,
sisters,
moans and groans,
smelly feet,
rotten meat,
crosswords that are incomplete,
trees,
peas,
knees,
fleas,
laser-guided killer bees,
carpet stains,
busy trains,
elephants with robot brains,
prison bars,
haunted cars,
every sort of thing from Mars,
doors,
chores,
dinosaurs (especially
ones that live indoors),
the art of mime,
mutant slime,
and lists of things
that seem to rhyme.
In fact, there were only three things that Dinkin wasn’t afraid of.
He wasn’t afraid of The Frightening Things.
SECRET, INVISIBLE KILLER SHARKS AND OTHER BATH TIME PERILS
Risk of drowning: 18% Risk of shampoo-in-the-eye: 65% Risk of secret, invisible killer sharks: 91.7%
“Dinkin! Time for your bath!” called Dinkin’s mother, knocking on his bedroom door. It was four minutes after eight in the evening on the eleventh hottest day of the year.
“I’m not ready yet!” said Dinkin as Mrs. Dings opened the door. There was Dinkin in a pair of red swimming trunks, with water wings on each arm and leg. He was wearing a homemade breathing apparatus made from a plastic bottle, part of an old hose, and an entire roll of packing tape.
“The Bath-Buster 2.0 hasn’t even been tested—what if it malfunctions? I could drown!” he said through his breathing mask.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Mrs. Dings, hurrying Dinkin into the bathroom.
“Did you check for poisonous jellyfish?” mumbled Dinkin.
“Yes,” said his mom.
“And sharks? Did you check for sharks?”
“Dinkin, dear, I think you’d know if there was a shark in your bath.”
“What if it were an invisible shark? An invisible killer shark that escaped from a secret, invisible laboratory that makes secret, invisible killer sharks,” said Dinkin.
“Oh, I think your father checked for invisible sharks,” said his mom.
“Did he use the De-Invisibilizer?” said Dinkin suspiciously.
“Of course I did,” said Dinkin’s dad cheerfully, appearing at the bathroom door. “I de-invisibilized the whole house this morning. Didn’t I, Mrs. Dings?”
“You did, Mr. Dings,” replied Mrs. Dings, crossing her fingers behind her back. She had no idea what a De-Invisibilizer was—she could never keep up with Dinkin’s inventions. In the last week alone, he had created:
-the Anti-Sub-Atomizer Belt (to protect against spontaneous shrinkage)
-the Void-Avoider (for the prevention of sudden other-dimensional entrapment)
-the Insect Detector-Inspector-Deflector (for the detection, inspection, and deflection of all insects-except weevils, which naturally required the Weevils-Upheaval attachment)
-the Anti-Everything Machine (which, due to various explosions, was still in the development stage)
&nbs
p; All of Dinkin’s inventions seemed to be held together with sticky tape and string, and made from anything he could get his hands on, from liquid soap bottles to hair dryers to bicycle pumps.
“Well, as long as you de-invisibilized everywhere,” said Dinkin, climbing carefully into the bath while using his not-quite-waterproof Aquat-O-Meter to scan for possible bath-related threats.
“Don’t be too long,” said Mr. Dings. “We don’t want you turning into a prune.”
“Turning into a prune?!” squealed Dinkin. There were several things that Dinkin was terrified of turning into, including a fork, a snail, and a cloud. But a prune sounded like the worst thing of all! Dinkin washed himself in exactly twenty-two-and-a-half seconds, then leaped from the bath and dried off.
“A prune!” he said. “Why does no one warn you about these things? Danger is everywhere!”
And it was six seconds later that Dinkin heard The Sound of the End of the World.
NEW NEIGHBORS
Chance of rain: 27%
Chance of world ending: 65%
After hearing The Sound of the End of the World, Dinkin fled to his room and locked himself in his Fortress of Ultimate Protection. The fortress may have looked like four cardboard boxes tied together with string, but it was the only place in the world that Dinkin ever got close to feeling safe.
Dinkin had read all about the end of the world at the library. In a dusty copy of the 1969 Encyclopedia Scaremonger, he had discovered that:
“It’s all right, Dinkin,” said Mr. Dings, coming into Dinkin’s room. He peered out the window to the street below. “It’s just a moving van pulling in next door.”
“Moving van?” whispered Dinkin. He peered out from inside the fortress.
“Yes, it’s our new neighbors,” said Mr. Dings. “You remember . . . our last neighbors decided to move after you kept laying traps in their garden.”
“They were bears!” cried Dinkin. “Bears disguised as people! It was so obvious! What was I supposed to do? Let them eat us?”
“Well, I hope you’re not thinking of accusing anyone else of being a bear. You got us into an awful lot of trouble last time,” said Mr. Dings with a long sigh. Then something caught his eye. “Hey, Dinkin, look!”
“What? What?!” said Dinkin. He crept over to the window on his hands and knees, then popped his nose onto the windowsill and peered out.
All he could see was the moving van in the driveway, looking very much like an enormous, sleeping monster.
“It looks like our new neighbors have a daughter!” said Mr. Dings. Dinkin squinted. There, in the front garden, was a girl. She looked younger than Dinkin. She had blond pigtails and a missing front tooth, and was wearing a T-shirt which said 100% PONY CRAZY on the front in fat, pink letters. She was playing with a small, brown dog.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” said Mr. Dings. “You can make a new friend!”
But Dinkin was already fearing the worst. Girls were scary enough as it was. Dinkin took one look at that girl and realized it was much worse than he could ever have imagined. That girl wasn’t a girl at all. She was something much, much more terrifying.
ENTER THE FRIGHTENING THINGS
Actual time : 12:01 AM Dinkin time: horror o’clock
Dinkin sat awake in his bed. It was one minute since he had recited the Ancient Summoning Chant. Would his friends get here in time to save him?
“Where are they?” he whispered, fear gripping him like a hand around his throat. Suddenly, his bedroom window began to rattle like a snake’s tail. His closet door creaked slowly, as if something was trying to escape from inside. From under his bed came a low growl, like the sound of rolling thunder.
Dinkin stared as something crawled out from under the bed. The latch on his window popped open, and a freezing, moaning wind swept into the room. The closet door swung on its hinges with a creak, and he heard the rattle of dry bones. As Dinkin felt the shapes loom over him, he reached out a trembling hand for the bedside lamp and turned it on.
It was the stuff of nightmares! To his left was a ghostly apparition, floating in the air and wailing a bloodcurdling wail. To his right was a hideous, fat monster, with skin as green and scaly as a crocodile’s neck, and sharp, yellowing tusks.
And a living skeleton, with eyes like two bottomless pits and long, bony fingers. Dinkin stared at the creatures before him, his eyes wide.
“What took you so long?” he said. “I summoned you ages ago.”
“Sorry, Dinkin,” said the skeleton, whose name was Edgar. “I’m afraid my foot fell off again—I had to scramble around to find it among all your shoes. You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to clean up in there once in a while.”
“I was asleep,” said Herbert the monster, yawning and scratching himself somewhere unpleasant.
“I couldn’t get the window open!” screeched the ghost, who was named Arthur. “You try opening a window when you keep going through everything! It’s not as easy as it looks being me!”
“Then why didn’t you just go through the window to get in?” said Edgar.
“Oh, so you’re an expert on ghosts now, are you, Mr. Limbs-keep-falling-off?” said Arthur, whizzing around the room like a dizzy fly.
“Don’t use that tone with me, you pointless puff of smoke,” snapped Edgar, shaking a bony finger. “I was just stating the obvious. I mean, how long have you been a ghost? Five years? You’d think you’d have at least mastered the basics by now.”
“Maybe if you didn’t put me down all the time, I’d have the courage to fly through something!” yelled Arthur.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake—so now it’s my fault that you’re the afterlife’s greatest underachiever?” Edgar cracked.
“Stop it!” cried Dinkin. “We don’t have time for this!”
“Do we have time for breakfast? I’m hungry,” said Herbert.
“No, we don’t have time for breakfast! And anyway it’s the middle of the . . . Look, we’re getting sidetracked! The fact is, we’re all in serious danger!” said Dinkin.
“What’s happened?” said Arthur.
“The worst, most terrifying, most horrendous thing in the world has happened!” said Dinkin. “That’s what!”
“What is it?” cried Edgar, his bones rattling. “More bears? Tell me it’s not more bears . . . ”
“Worse . . . ,” said Dinkin, leaning toward the light. “It’s the girl next door.”
“AAAAAHHH!” screamed Arthur. “Let’s get out of here!” He grabbed hold of Dinkin, turning him ghostly, and started zooming around the room with him, flying through the bed, through the walls, even through Herbert and Edgar!
“Put me down! You know I hate it when you make me all ghostly,” said Dinkin. “And I haven’t even told you why she’s terrifying yet!”
“You mean, it’s worse than the fact that she’s a girl?” said Arthur, releasing Dinkin so he dropped to the floor with a SPLUD!
“It’s much worse,” said Dinkin, picking himself up and rubbing his head. “I only got a quick look at her, and she was pretty far away . . . but as sure as peas are actually bedbugs rolled into a ball and painted green, the girl next door is not even human!”
“You mean . . . ?” said Arthur.
“Worse,” said Dinkin.
“You . . . you can’t possibly mean . . . , ” said Edgar, gnawing at his bony knuckles.
“Worse,” said Dinkin.
“Not . . . not . . . not . . . ,” began Herbert. Then after a moment he said, “Wait, I’ve forgotten what we were talking about . . . ”
“I knew it from the first moment I saw her,” said Dinkin. “The blank staring eyes, the bloodthirsty expression, the pigtails . . . it was so obvious! The girl next door is a flesh-eating alien space zombie from beyond horror!”
“AAAAAHHHHAHHH!” screamed The Frightening Things, who were usually even more scared of absolutely everything than Dinkin. Still, they were always willing to help, and that meant Dinkin never had to face his fears alone.<
br />
“That’s still not even the most terrifying part,” sighed Dinkin. “’Cause if I know my flesh-eating alien space zombies from beyond horror as well as I think I do, she’s planning on turning the whole planet into mindless, flesh-eating slaves!”
“But what on earth can we do?” said Edgar, his bones rattling with fear.
“We do what we always do,” said Dinkin. “Panic!”
THE TROUBLE WITH FLESH-EATING ALIEN SPACE ZOMBIES FROM BEYOND HORROR
Time spent working on The Plan Not to Get Eaten by the Flesh-Eating Alien Space Zombie from Beyond Horror or Even Worse, Get Turned into a Flesh-Eating Zombie by the Flesh-Eating Alien Space Zombie from Beyond Horror: 5 hours 14 minutes
Dinkin and The Frightening Things stayed up all night working on The Plan Not to Get Eaten by the Flesh-Eating Alien Space Zombie From Beyond Horror or Even Worse, Get Turned into a Flesh-Eating Zombie by the Flesh-Eating Alien Space Zombie from Beyond Horror (which they ended up just calling “The Plan”). Dinkin got out some pens and a large piece of paper and wrote down everything they knew about flesh-eating alien space zombies from beyond horror (“zombaliens” for short). The five things everyone agreed on were:1. Zombaliens spend all their time trying to conquer the universe by turning everyone into zombies, except on Sundays, when they watch all the TV they missed while they were busy turning everyone into zombies.
2. Zombaliens wear human disguises to blend in so that they can zombify in secret and go shopping and stuff.
3. Zombaliens use lemon juice and furniture polish to cover up their natural smell, which is a cross between sour milk and old ladies’ underwear.