Stitch Head Read online

  “I . . . yes, it is,” replied Stitch Head.

  “I’m SO sorry, Stitch Head!” howled the Creature. “I thought if I Dingle Dangled you in front of the professor, he would definitely remember you and everything would be GREAT. I didn’t mean for you to run off and join the CIRCUS!”

  “Oh, Creature, Freakfinder’s going to destroy the castle. He’s going to kidnap the professor!” cried Stitch Head. “What am I going to do?”

  “I don’t KNOW!” wailed the Creature. “I’ve only ever tried to be helpful ONCE, and it didn’t go well.”

  “Is anyone here not a total crybaby?” growled Arabella. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere till I give Freakfinder three kicks in his big fat nose. Anyway, isn’t this castle full of a hundred crazy monsters? They could scare the pants off an angry mob!”

  “Um, actually, we’re all a LOT less scary than we look,” admitted the Creature. “There’s NOTHING else to do — we have to get OUT of here!”

  “No,” said Stitch Head, wiping away a tear. “No more running. We have to find a way to end this. We have to face them.”

  “FACE them? Are you BONKERS! No WAY! They’ll eat us almost-ALIVE!” cried the Creature.

  “Eat us . . .” whispered Stitch Head, rifling through his bag.

  He took out a round bottle filled with yellow liquid. “That’s it! I think — I think I have an idea!”

  “About time,” huffed Arabella. “It had better include a ruckus . . . or at least a rumpus.”

  “I don’t know what EITHER of those things are,” noted the Creature, “but I’d really RATHER it included HIDING in the best EVER hiding place.”

  “No— no more hiding,” said Stitch Head firmly. “We’re going to make you scary again.”

  Let those who stay at home and pray

  Be safe until their dying day.

  But if you go to Grotteskew,

  Monsters will be eating you!

  While Stitch Head concocted his plan to stop the angry mob from taking over Castle Grotteskew, Fulbert Freakfinder had been trying in vain to wake up his sleeping henchmen. Before long, the sound of their snoring was drowned out by the cries of the approaching townsfolk.

  “Lugs and mumbles, it’s now or never!” grumbled Freakfinder. He grabbed Doctor Contortion’s sack and hurried through the Great Door into the courtyard. “I only hope that I make it to the professor before the monsters get their claws into me . . .”

  If Freakfinder had known that all of Grotteskew’s “monsters” were cowering in fear, he probably wouldn’t have worried. As Stitch Head, Arabella, and the Creature made their way back to the Great Door, they saw the professor’s creations running around in a blind panic, looking for places to hide.

  “They’re coming! It’s every head in a jar for itself!”

  “Humans! Why did it have to be humans?”

  “Quick! To the west wing!”

  “No, to the east wing!”

  “No, to the north wing!”

  “There is no north wing!”

  By now, the angry mob had reached the castle. There were a hundred of them, waving pitchforks, spades, axes, or flaming torches, their deafening cries demanding generous helpings of both death and destruction.

  “Give me back my granddaughter, you beasties, or I’ll tear off your ears and stuff ’em up your nostrils!” screeched Arabella’s grandma, heading the charge. She hitched up her skirts as she marched toward the castle like the general of a mighty army. The murderous, hate-filled (but otherwise likeable) townsfolk spilled into the empty courtyard. They roared and screamed with enough rage and madness to drown out a dozen of Mad Professor Erasmus’s experiments.

  “So, exactly how is this plan that DOESN’T involve hiding going to WORK, Stitch Head?” whispered the Creature, shaking with terror as it, Stitch Head, and Arabella huddled in a small chamber just off the courtyard, separated from the mob by a single wooden door.

  “First, drink this,” replied Stitch Head, placing the round yellow bottle into the Creature’s third hand. “That should stop things getting . . . out of hand.”

  “Why does everybody always try to stop things getting out of hand?” tutted Arabella.

  “Tastes like GOOSEBERRIES! I THINK. Have I ever HAD gooseberries?” said the Creature, glugging down the liquid. “So, what will it do? Will it make me INVINCIBLE? ’Cause that’d be GREAT.”

  “Uh, not really,” replied Stitch Head, “but it should stop you being man-eating.”

  “MAN-EATING? GROSS! Why would I be MAN-EATING?” said the horrified Creature.

  “Because tonight is a full moon,” replied Stitch Head. “And I need you to go outside.”

  “WHAT?” shrieked the Creature, terrified. “But you said I should stay OUT of the full moon — no matter WHAT. And secondly — have you not been paying ATTENTION? There’s an angry MOB outside!”

  “Exactly,” said Stitch Head. “Please, Creature, this is the only way. Trust me. I’ve seen you under the light of a full moon — my master made a monster out of you.”

  “I like a bit of insanity as much as the next mug,” said Arabella. “But don’t you think I should at least show ’em that I’m all right?”

  “It’s too late for that,” began Stitch Head. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “If we don’t stop this now, it’ll be the end of everything. The people of Grubbers Nubbin have to learn: No visitors. We have to take a stand, once and for all.”

  “Okay, but only ’cause you’re my BESTEST friend,” said the Creature gravely. It stood in front of the small wooden door, took a deep breath — and then walked straight through it.

  “Um, hello . . . !” squeaked the Creature, as it nervously stepped out into the moonlit courtyard. The angry mob stopped in its tracks.

  For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then:

  “Burn the monster!”

  “Burn everything!”

  “Except anyone we know!”

  “Destroy the castle!”

  “DESTROY!”

  The terrified Creature wondered why it had ever listened to its bestest friend, instead of finding a nice dark corner to hide in. But as it stared up at the full moon, everything changed.

  The Creature started to grow.

  It began sprouting hair in all the places it didn’t have hair. Long fangs sprang from its jaws, and claws stretched out from its fingers.

  And then it went MAD.

  The moon-maddened Creature’s roar blew out torches, shattered windows, and sent cracks through the walls and floors of the castle. It leaped toward the mob and started smashing its way through, sending townsfolk flying in all directions. Terrified, the crowd scattered, their pitchforks and torches useless against the monstrous ferocity of such a ferocious monstrosity.

  “Even I’m a bit scared, and I’m not scared of nothing,” whispered Arabella, as she and Stitch Head looked on. “You sure it’s not going to eat my grandma?”

  “It should be okay,” said Stitch Head. “I gave the Creature a dose of Anti-Man-Eating Mixture. The minute it even thinks about eating anyone, it’ll get a nasty bellyache.”

  They looked on as the Creature picked up one of the townsfolk and gave him a sniff.

  “BLEEEH!” it cried in disgust, and threw the terrified human over its shoulder. Its inability to eat its prey only seemed to make the Creature even more savage. Within minutes, it had rampaged its way through the entire mob, which began fleeing in terror back to Grubbers Nubbin. The mad Creature roared and railed and rampaged after them.

  “Ha! Nice one, Stitch Head!” chuckled Arabella. “How’d you know all about these potions and tonics?”

  “I — I had a good teacher.” Stitch Head smiled. Then his eyes filled with fear. “My master! Freakfinder’s gone after him!”

  “Well, what are we waiting for
? Lead the way — I’m in the mood for a fight,” said Arabella. “Good thing I’m wearing my kicking boots.”

  “I think we’re going to need a bit more than boots,” muttered Stitch Head, his mind racing. “We’re going to need another plan.”

  Stitch Head and Arabella left the moon- mad Creature to chase after the not-so-angry mob, and raced to find the professor. Little did they know, Freakfinder had already tracked down the professor’s laboratory. There was Erasmus, still struggling to awaken his newest creation, oblivious to the recent hullabaloo.

  “Live, curse you!” he screamed, pulling yet more levers and pouring another pint of fizzing liquid into the monster’s feeding tube. “By my father’s lab coat, why won’t you live?”

  “Erasmus! Can I call you Erasmus? Would you prefer Professor? Prof? Profster?” cried Freakfinder, as he burst into the lab. “Lugs and mumbles, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you.”

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” the professor hissed. “Get out of here this instant! No visitors!”

  “I have to admit, I expected to see a few more monsters on my way here,” said Freakfinder, peering at the impressive, albeit lifeless, creation lying on the operating table. “But by the sound of all that roarin’, they’re too busy fighting off my angry mob . . .”

  “What are you blathering about?” screeched the professor. “I am at a most crucial point in my experiment! No visitors!”

  “Visitors? Heaven forbid!” laughed Freakfinder, as he trotted down the stone stairs into the lab. “I’m not a visitor . . . I’m your new employer. You’re going to make me monsters, creatures, crazy things . . . you’re going to make me rich.”

  “Silence!” cried the professor. “I will not be interrupted! I am about to bring almost-life into the world! If I can just work out what I’ve forgotten . . . Bah!”

  “Don’t worry, your crustiness, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to make monsters, on my terms, of course,” grinned Freakfinder — and threw the sack over the professor.

  “Stop! I must continue my experiment!” cried Erasmus, as Freakfinder pulled the sack tight and threw him to the ground. “Unhand me!”

  “Put a sock in it, you old lizard!” snapped Freakfinder, and began dragging the professor across the stone floor.

  “Freakfinder!” came a cry. “Let him go!”

  Freakfinder looked up — and up, and up. There, in the rafters, was Stitch Head, clutching a tiny red bottle in his hand.

  “I was wonderin’ when you’d show your sewn-up face again!” shouted Freakfinder. “Well, you’re too late — the professor’s comin’ with me, and there’s nothin’ you can do about it!”

  Stitch Head took off his bag of potions and laid it on one of the wooden beams.

  “You sure about this?” asked Arabella, as she tied a piece of rope around his ankle. “I’ve never even heard of a Dingle Dangle!”

  Stitch Head nodded grimly. “It’s the only plan I’ve got. Let’s just hope this Shake ’n’ Wake works as well as it did on you,” replied Stitch Head, shuffling onto the X that the Creature had drawn days earlier. He took a deep breath and cried, “Freakfinder! This — this is your last chance! Let the professor go!”

  “Go pop a stitch, you little snot!” guffawed Freakfinder. “It’s over! You’ve lost! Forget it!”

  “I’ll never forget,” whispered Stitch Head. He gripped the red bottle tightly, and jumped.

  “YAAAAAAaaaAHHH!” screamed Stitch Head as he fell. He saw the ground coming up fast and closed his eyes. He suddenly wondered if he’d been wrong to trust the human girl, when the rope pulled tight. He opened his ice-blue eye to find himself dangling above the professor’s new creation for the second time that day.

  He stared at the bottle in his hand.

  “Time to wake up,” he said, and poured the Shake ’n’ Wake potion into the monster’s feeding tube. For a long moment, there was silence. Then . . .

  The mighty beast sat bolt upright! It was vast — twice as big as the Creature — and covered from head to toe in crocodile-like scales. It gnashed its three massive fangs and waved its six massive arms as it dragged itself to its feet and began smashing everything in sight.

  “Lugs and mumbles, it’s alive!” screamed Freakfinder, and made a dash for the stairs. The beast immediately fixed its mad glare upon the short, fat human, and roared again.

  “WAaAH! Keep away from me, you — you freak!” screamed Freakfinder. He dropped the sack and bolted up the stairs and out of the lab, with the mighty monster lumbering after him.

  “Master! Professor!” cried Stitch Head. He reached up and managed to untie the rope around his ankle, which sent him falling to the floor. He scrambled to his feet and raced over to the struggling, sack-bound professor and set him free.

  “Oh, my head! What in the name of my father’s stripy socks is happening? I said no visitors . . .” he grumbled, rubbing his head and struggling to his feet.

  Stitch Head looked up to Arabella. She raised her thumb and shouted, “Nice one!” as loudly as any girl has ever shouted.

  Stitch Head watched the professor steady himself and rub his eyes.

  He had done it. He had saved his master and rescued the castle. That was all that mattered.

  “Ah-hA-HA! I knew it! I knew I could bring my creation to life!” cried the professor, surveying his wrecked laboratory. “I’ve still got it, Father! I’ve still got the knack! Ha HA!”

  Stitch Head smiled and began to retreat back into the darkness, but as he did so, he knocked the small red potion bottle, which lay, empty, upon the ground. It skittered and clinked along the floor.

  Stitch Head froze. The professor looked down — and right at him! Stitch Head held his breath, but after a few seconds, the professor reached down to the bottle, and picked it up.

  “Shake ’n’ Wake,” he said, reading the bottle. “Hmm . . . I don’t remember adding any of that. Genius! I must be even better than I thought! Either that or I’m going insane.”

  Stitch Head sighed. Everything had changed, but some things, it seemed, never would. He turned away and headed toward the door.

  “Stitch Head?” whispered a voice.

  Stitch Head froze again. The professor’s voice! Was he hearing things?

  He slowly turned around. Professor Erasmus peered carefully at his very first creation as if he was searching for some old, very old, long-lost memory.

  “Stitch Head,” he said. “I called you Stitch Head.”

  He remembered.

  He remembered!

  Stitch Head brimmed with almost-life. It was as if all the sadness he had ever felt had been suddenly banished into the dark corners of Grotteskew, and a great weight had lifted from his tiny shoulders. He felt as light as air, as if he might float up into the rafters.

  “Yes, master,” he whispered. “You called me Stitch Head.”

  Then, a scant moment later, the professor cried, “Right! On to the next experiment!” and immediately began rummaging through a half-open drawer. “Yes, yes! THIS will be my greatest creation ever!”

  Still, Stitch Head smiled. It was enough, for the moment, that the professor remembered him at all.

  Stitch Head and Arabella talked for the rest of the night, about monsters, creatures, crazy things! Although he still thought she was distractingly scary, he couldn’t help but like her. She even helped him give a calming tonic to the professor’s newest monster . . . but only after it had chased Fulbert Freakfinder out of the castle. The bewildered beast quickly made friends with the other creations in the castle, and, by chance, decided to call itself “Fulbert.”

  What’s more, Arabella refused to return to Grubbers Nubbin until the Creature had returned home, which it did, with the first light of sunrise.

  “That was FUN!” cried the Creature, sitting down beside them. “One minute I was all, ‘
Oh NO! TOWNSFOLK!’ And then I was like, ‘GRAAAOWOoOO! I’m a MONSTER!’ What a night! Plus, I DEFINITELY didn’t EAT anyone!”

  “Glad to hear it!” chuckled Arabella.

  As the sun crept through the cracks of Castle Grotteskew, Stitch Head, Arabella, and the Creature climbed up to the rafters above the professor’s laboratory and watched as Erasmus began work on yet another creation.

  “Suppose I’d better get back to Grubbers Nubbin,” said Arabella. “Gran will probably be wondering where I am — I ain’t been missing for this long since I tried to join the army.”

  “Come and visit ANY time!” said the Creature. “We make quite a TEAM, right? BESTEST friends FOREVER!”

  “Friends . . .” repeated Stitch Head. He looked down at the professor, and remembered the years he had spent watching from a distance. Perhaps, he thought, he had spent long enough as a ghost. Perhaps it was time to try living. Or at least, almost-living.

  “That — that sounds nice,” he said.

  “What a bunch of babies! We should be out there trying to find Fatfinder to smash his face off, not sitting here getting all cuddly!” Arabella said. “Still, at least you two are completely bonkers. I like crazy things. The more insane, the better.”

  “GREAT!” cried the Creature. “So, what shall we do NOW? Wait, I know, let’s play cowboys! No, wait — let’s play hide-and-seek! No, wait — let’s find me a NAME! What do you think? Bob? Brian? Benjamin? Benedict? Balthazar? Bill? Boris? Bertie? Badger?”

  Stitch Head and Arabella began to giggle as the Creature knocked on its own head, hoping to loosen more names from its brain.

  This is the almost-life, thought Stitch Head. He no longer knew what the future held for him, but one thing was for sure . . .