Bunnicula 03 - The Celery Stalks at Midnight by James Howe Deborah Howe

Author:James Howe, Deborah Howe [Howe, James Howe, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-04-02T07:01:12+00:00

Chapter 5

The Dog in

the Green Toupée

“C’MON, HOWIE,” Chester said, “quit clowning around. We’ve got serious business to take care of.”

“Who’s clowning?” asked Howie, licking his lips. He ducked back down into the garbage pail, his voice calling out from its depths. “There’s some great stuff in here. Corncobs. Melon rinds. Apple strudel. Whipped cream. Oh, and here’s a nice, big, juicy—”

And then all I could hear was a loud crunch.

Chester sighed heavily. “Harold,” he muttered, “could you do something about Howie, please? I believe I’m about to have heart palpitations.”

I looked at my friend Chester and shook my head. “No one ever said it was easy being a father,” I commented.

“Very funny,” he replied. “Now, would you please ask the kid to knock it off?”

I must admit my mouth was watering for a little of that apple strudel, but I decided it would have to wait. After all, my digestive tract would know no peace with Chester champing at the bit the way he was. I knocked on the side of the pail and entreated Howie to remove himself.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Can you help me get out of here?” he asked. “I think my foot’s stuck in a ketchup bottle or something.”

“Here,” I said, jumping up against the side of the pail. “I’ll pull you out. Just grab my neck.”

Chester backed away. “Be careful you don’t pull the whole thing …” he was saying when my foot slipped on a banana skin Howie must have thrown out earlier.

“Whoops!” I cried. I fell back as Howie and the garbage pail came tumbling down. Howie flew past my head. The pail’s contents spilled all over the floor.

And Chester.

And me.

Nervously, I shot a glance to the front of the truck to see if the driver had heard the crash, but he must have been playing his radio really loudly, because he didn’t even turn around.

When I turned back, Chester was staring at me. A watermelon rind sat on the top of his head like an oversized beret. His face was plastered with seeds.

“Gee, it looks like you’ve grown some freckles since I saw you last,” I joked.

Chester wasn’t in a laughing mood. He shook off the remains of the watermelon and suggested I do the same with the tea bags and coffee grounds that adorned my head.

Howie, meanwhile, was contentedly chewing on a steak bone that had landed at his side.

“Any more where that came from?” I asked eagerly.

Howie didn’t reply; he was too busy slurping over his find.

“Later, Harold, later,” Chester muttered. “Right now, we’ve got to see if we can find those vegetables.” He gazed into the overturned pail. “Wait a minute,” he cried suddenly. “There, next to those cans, doesn’t that look like a … I’m going in to take a look around. Harold, start checking the other pails.” And he disappeared from sight.

With Chester out of the way, I was all set to root through the garbage that was strewn about to see if I could find something good to eat, when the truck suddenly swerved to the right and my stomach lurched to the left.

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