Cuphead in A Mountain of Trouble by Ron Bates

Author:Ron Bates [Bates, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2020-12-08T00:00:00+00:00

That night, Cuphead couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t because the bunk above his bed—Screeeeeek! Screeeeeek!—was rocking back and forth like a ship in a storm. And it wasn’t because the weeping willow outside his window—Boooo hoo hoo hoo! Booooooooo hoo hoo hoo hoo!—was a good bit weepier than usual. It wasn’t even because the playing cards had gotten out of the box again, and the one-eyed jack and joker were arguing over which of them was wilder.

No, it was because Quint’s words were echoing over and over inside his head.

They always come back.… They always come back.… They always come back.…

It was a disturbing thought. Not that he believed it, of course—not for a minute. This was Quint, after all, and he was hardly a reliable source. Still, Cuphead couldn’t help wondering if every crackle and creak might be the pirate girl or the potato back for another nefarious mission. He felt silly lying there in the dark imagining all kinds of ridiculous things, and he was determined to—

WOOOO-OOOO-OOOSH!

What was that?! Cuphead heard a mysterious whooshing noise coming from outside the cabin. It sounded just like the wind—but was it the wind? Or was it some Puncha-fiendish plot to create a hurricane using a giant electric fan? He couldn’t rule it out, not with those Punchafinks! Ooh, it would be just like them to try and blow Camp Hootenholler completely off the map, and after Wrongway had been willing to let bygones be bygones, too! Why, he had a good mind to—

No! No! No! What was he doing? These were perfectly ordinary nighttime noises and nothing more. It was foolish to lose sleep over it. And even if the Punchafinks were at that very moment concocting sinister schemes inside their factory of evil—and they almost certainly were—it was none of his business. He’d told Wrongway he would let it go, and let it go he would.

Cuphead fluffed his pillow, then pinched the cords on his eyelids and rolled down a pair of tiny shades.

“Pssssssst,” said a voice in the darkness.

“Oh no,” said Cuphead, trying to ignore it.

“PSSSSSSSSST!” the voice said again.

“Ouch!” yelped Cuphead, because that’s what happens when a very tiny figure pokes you with an even tinier pitchfork.

He opened his eyes. There, hovering just above his throbbing left shoulder, was a very, very small cup that, if it weren’t for the horns and the pointy tail, could’ve been his twin.

“What do you want?” said Cuphead, frowning at the purveyor of all his worst instincts.

“I want ya to get outta this bed and go give them Punchafinks the ol’ what for,” his bad side said. “C’mon, ya know ya want to!”

The truth is, Cuphead did want to get even. It’s why he’d crossed his fingers when Wrongway asked him to forget all about it. He knew he couldn’t forget—not after seeing the Punchafinks up close. They were like insects that bored into your brain and haunted your every thought.

“No, Cuphead, don’t do it!” said a figure above his right shoulder.

Cuphead rolled over. This one also looked like him, but he had wings and a little halo above his straw.

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