Hamstersaurus Rex vs. Squirrel Kong by Tom O'Donnell

Author:Tom O'Donnell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-05-09T04:00:00+00:00

“Forgive us, Jarmo,” said Mr. Vanderkoff. “Lil’ Kiefie’s room is a bit, um, untidy at the moment. Our son is intelligent, kind, and extremely handsome, but I hate to say it: he can be a little disorganized at times.”

Mr. Vanderkoff opened the door a little. A noxious Beefer-like odor wafted out of the gap.

“Good luck finding that cool shoe, Jarmo,” said Mr. Vanderkoff with a bright smile. He patted me on the back and then turned and disappeared downstairs, whistling.

I stepped into Beefer’s room and shut the door behind me. Then I fumbled for the light switch.

As I turned it on I gasped. Calling the room “a bit untidy” was the understatement of the century. The entire floor was carpeted in a thick layer of dirty clothes, dirty dishes, and shredded Spicy Cheez Wallet bags. Empty cases of horror DVDs and broken karate-practice weapons were piled two feet high on the bed, which looked like it hadn’t been made since before Beefer was born. A big, empty wood-and-wire-mesh cage sat in the corner, surrounded by melted candles and faded plastic flowers. It was a shrine to Michael Perkins, Beefer’s pet boa constrictor. The walls of the room were totally papered with film posters with titles like Blood Chunk, Welcome to Corpseville, The Mutant Beasts of Dr. Murder, and Barf Dracula II.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out Hamstersaurus Rex, and gingerly set him down on the floor. Even Hammie looked grossed out by Beefer’s natural habitat. He kept shifting from foot to foot, wrinkling his nose.

“I know it isn’t pleasant,” I said. “But we need to find something—stray squirrel hairs, quadcopter batteries, some sort of magic amulet that makes rodents grow—to prove Squirrel Kong exists and hopefully figure out Beefer’s next move.”

Hammie gave a determined little growl and then began to dig through the mess, flinging out old Choconob wrappers and greasy paper napkins and the occasional pair of underpants. Soon, the little guy completely disappeared underneath the thick floor coating of Beefer garbage.

Meanwhile, I checked the drawers of Beefer’s nightstand. The bottom one was entirely full of illegal fireworks. The second drawer only contained used bandages. The top drawer was full of moldy hot dog buns. Blech.

It was like the world’s most disgusting archaeological dig site. After fifteen minutes of searching, the most suspicious items I’d found were a beautiful cherry wood lute and an amateur guide to operating a ham radio. In short: ample evidence that Beefer Vanderkoff was a total weirdo, but no proof of any wrongdoing.

Just then I heard a growl from Hammie. The little guy had found something. I tromped through the mess to join him. Hamstersaurus Rex now stood on a big mound of dirty clothes and junk food wrappers in the corner. I took a deep breath and started to dig, too. Buried under the pile of Beefer’s stuff, I had soon uncovered a scuffed wooden trunk. There was a heavy padlock on it.

“All right,” I said to Hamstersaurus Rex. “Time for a dino-chomp.

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