CHAPTER 9

In which a tablecloth is put to good use, the festivalgoers think it’s all part of the fun, and Grinner reveals a taste for leather

Grinner, leader of all the mouth-ghorks of creaturedom, was dressed in chef’s whites and a matching toque. Over his head he brandished an enormous wooden spoon, big as a baseball bat. Leslie’s mother and Elliot’s parents raced past the aquarium, rainbows of fish streaming behind the glass like speed lines in a comic strip.

“Chef, stop! You’re scaring the customers!” The impeccably dressed waiter burst out of the kitchen. He tried grabbing Grinner’s arm, but the big ghork was too fast.

Grinner plucked the waiter up by the scruff of his tux. “Quiet, twerp,” he said. “Back to work!” With a casual swing of his arm, he tossed the poor man back into the kitchen. He tumbled through the doors to a resounding clatter of pots and pans. All of this happened so quickly Elliot and Leslie could only watch in shock.

Grinner leapt over a table and cornered the adults in front of the aquarium. “Now then,” he sneered. “Who wants to go into tomorrow’s special?”

“Yo, bigmouth!” Leslie shouted at Grinner from the table. “Remember us?”

Grinner paused, the wooden spoon raised above his head.

Elliot pointed an accusing finger at him. “I’ve had better food in the hospital!”

“Prepare to be poached, you little creeps!” Grinner took a step toward the children, but while his back was turned, their parents had slung a white tablecloth in front of his leg. When Grinner went to move, they tightened it.

“What the—?”

Grinner tripped head over heels and smashed one of the tables to splinters.

“Now’s your chance, you two!” shouted Leslie’s mother. “Run!”

Elliot and Leslie sprinted out of the restaurant. Behind them, they heard their parents wrestling with Grinner. Unfortunately, two food critics and a short-order cook were no match for an angry ghork. He kicked off the tablecloth and threw it over the adults. In seconds, he had them swaddled and knotted up in the same white fabric they had used to trip him up.

Elliot and Leslie rushed out into the market square, already milling with people. They cast curious glances at the two panicking children, racing out of the old hotel.

“Look out, everybody!” Elliot shouted at them. “There’s a ghork coming—and he’s right behind us!”

“A what?” asked a gray-haired old woman.

“One of those!” Elliot told her, pointing to Grinner, who came bounding out of the lobby, swinging his wooden spoon like a club.

“Dearie me,” said the old woman, hardly raising an eyebrow. “They’ve certainly spared no expense on costumes this year.”

Leslie waved her arms at the woman. “It’s not a costume! That’s a real ghork!”

“Ghork?” The old lady chuckled. “What a silly word! These cabarets get more ridiculous every year!”

“Ugh!” Leslie gave up trying to convince the woman. She and Elliot dashed for the far side of the square. Over there, the old brick buildings were packed closely together, making narrow alleyways where they hoped they could escape.

Sadly, just like the old woman, everyone else thought the green-skinned, saliva-spewing ogre was nothing more than a prelude to the big Dinner-Theatre-Style Costume Cabaret that would cap off the festival. They were even helpful enough (at least for Grinner) to clear a path for him. Some of them even clapped.

Elliot couldn’t believe it. “They’re leading him straight to us!”

They reached the far side of the square and ran into an alley, turning left and right at random in hopes of giving Grinner the slip. At first, it seemed to be working. The sound of the ghork’s pounding footsteps faded behind them. Around another corner they found a row of recycling bins. They were arranged side-by-side and set apart from the wall, leaving just enough space for Elliot and Leslie to hide.

“I think he gave up,” Elliot whispered.

“Maybe.”

“Why was he cooking in that restaurant?”

Leslie wrinkled her nose. “Can you call that cooking?”

“No, but I thought the ghorks had taken over the Heppleworth Food factory, not some—”

Elliot stopped mid-sentence. He heard something. It wasn’t the shouting, the growling, the pounding feet they had heard pursuing them across the square. This was something else. It was a sound in three parts: 1) shuffling footsteps; 2) an odd slurping sound; and 3) the sound of coughing and spitting. Then the noises repeated.

Shuffle . . .

Slurp . . .

Splutter . . .

“Is that him?” Elliot asked.

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s coming closer.”

They crawled out of their hiding place to keep going, but around the next corner, there was only a dead end. There was nowhere to run. They could only sneak back behind the recycling bins and hope they went unnoticed.

Peering out through a gap between the bins, they kept their eyes on the glow at the end of the alley. The sound was very close now.

Shuffle . . .

Slurp . . .

Splutter . . .

“It’s almost here,” Leslie whispered.

A moment later, a shadowy figure blotted out the light at the end of the alley. It was a beast the size of an enormous hound, maybe even a small horse. It loped on all fours, head bowed low to the pavement. When it stalked into the alleyway, however, they saw it wasn’t an animal at all. It was Grinner. The mouth-ghork was crawling on his hands and knees. Then Leslie and Elliot saw the reason his head was so close to the ground.

“He’s licking it!” Leslie whispered in disgust.

They now saw the shuffling noise was Grinner’s awkward crawling; the slurps were the slither of his pale, snake-like tongue; and the splutter came when he shook his head from side to side, spraying his filthy saliva across the walls. Pebbles and dirt and scraps of trash hit the bricks and stuck, glued there with his slimy spit.

“Gross,” Elliot whispered.

“I know you’re down there,” Grinner growled. “I can taste it! The girl’s wearing saddle shoes. Quality leather soles! And the boy. You’re in . . .” He slobbered his tongue across the pavement. “A pair of casual loafers? What kind of kid wears casual loafers?” He smacked his lips and laughed. “Heh! You’ve got the sole of an old geezer! Get it? Bwah-hah-hah-hah!”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “His sense of humor’s even worse than his cooking,” she whispered.

But for Elliot, Grinner’s joke was more than just an awful pun. The soul of an old geezer? Could it be true? A dorky twelve-year-old on the outside, a dorky hundred-and-twelve-year-old on the inside? No, he thought, that wasn’t true. He knew he was different on the inside, but he wasn’t some old fogey!

“A lot of people think it’s them nose-ghorks who’re the best trackers,” Grinner said, his voice echoing up the alley. “But that’s ’cuz they all underestimate taste. If only they were brave enough to bend over and taste the trail! Then they’d know the truth!”

There was something terrifying about Grinner’s description of tracking by taste. It was frightening out of sheer repulsiveness, but far worse was how hopeless it made Elliot and Leslie feel. How could you escape a pursuer so intent on finding you, he was willing to crawl along the street, licking your trail?

“The taste down this alley is particularly . . . fresh.” Grinner stroked his tongue languorously over the pavement one last time, then he leapt to his feet and bounded up the alley.

From their hiding place, Leslie and Elliot saw nothing but a great slavering mouth, roaring toward them through the darkness. It was horrifically pocked with endless teeth, each one dripping with muddy spit.

Elliot and Leslie huddled together in the shadows, hoping Grinner might run past them, but he didn’t. He whacked away the recycling bins and revealed their hiding place.

“Well, well! Look what I found!”

Grinner hoisted them up by the backs of their shirts, just as he had done with the waiter at the Simmersville Inn. “The only question now is, Which one of you should I eat first?”

Leslie kicked out at him. “I hope you choke on my shinbone!”

Elliot wasn’t sure antagonizing a hungry mouth-ghork was a good idea. Perhaps it would be better to stall. It might give them enough time to escape. Perhaps if he could get Grinner talking . . . “What is it with you ghorks?” he asked. “How come you keep trying to take over companies with secret Creature Departments? First DENKi-3000, now Heppleworth’s Health Food.”

“I’ll bet they’re jealous,” Leslie said, catching on, “because all the other kinds of creatures can make cool stuff. All he can do is lick the ground.”

“You just wait,” Grinner told them. “We’re cooking up something real special, so by the end of this dumb foodie festival, everyone in Simmersville is going to join us!”

“Why would anyone ever join up with the ghorks?”

Grinner smiled so hideously, Leslie shivered. “Because they won’t have a choice,” he said. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. You won’t be around to see it.” He opened his mouth to reveal the soft wet flesh of his throat. “I’ve decided to eat you both at once!” He lifted them over his gaping maw and—

“AAAIIIEEEEEEGH!”

It wasn’t the children who screamed. It was Grinner. He screamed because, with his head thrown back, he was forced to gaze straight up into the night sky—which had come to life!

The stars shimmered and undulated like the flanks of some colossal fish. Suddenly, a monstrous black claw reached out of the night. It grabbed Grinner, just as he had grabbed Leslie and Elliot, by the scruff of his white uniform. He dropped the children, trying to fight free of the huge black pincers. It was no use. The terrified ghork was hefted off his feet and hauled into the sky.

“AAAIIIEEEEEEGH!”

Leslie took a deep breath. “What was that?”

“Let’s not stick around to find out.”

Elliot grabbed her hand and they raced back toward the market square. Or so they hoped. They had made so many twists and turns to escape Grinner, they were now completely lost.

Then they saw it again. The claw was back! It poked out of the darkness, plucked them up like two specks of unwanted dust, and spirited them up, up, and away.