CHAPTER 19

EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Arachibutyrophobia is fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth.

Macaroni loved his food — that much was obvious. The dog regularly sprayed the table with spots of drool while enthusiastically crunching through piles of kibble. So when he lifted his head and ignored his half-full bowl, the lunch crowd took note.

With their eyes dutifully on Macaroni, Mrs. Wellington, Schmidty, and the students wondered what epiphany could possibly have distracted him from his beloved kibble. It was oddly disconcerting to watch Macaroni freeze under the weight of his canine instincts; after all, this was a dog who willingly wore pajamas to bed. Macaroni’s growl was low and fierce, immediately dissolving all lighthearted explanations for his behavior.

“Why is Macaroni growling?” Madeleine, who was seated closest to the dog, asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Wellington responded while staring at Schmidty.

“You don’t think he sees a spider or something?” Madeleine continued.

“No, Madeleine, I assure you he doesn’t growl in response to spiders,” Mrs. Wellington said curtly.

Madeleine instantly began dreaming of a spider and insect seeing-eye dog. She would cherish such a companion, lavishing him or her with filet mignon, rack of lamb, and other delicacies. Madeleine’s daydream was cut short when Macaroni once again increased the decibel of his growl.

“Perhaps Mac has something stuck in his throat,” Schmidty said.

“Should I give him the Heimlich?” Theo offered while jumping to his feet.

“No,” Mrs. Wellington said dismissively. “If he had something in his throat he’d cough. This is a growl.”

“Madame, I’m not sure dogs know how to cough. Perhaps this is as close as he can get.”

“That is absolutely ludicrous. If a dog can sneeze — and I’ve heard him sneeze — then he can cough.”

“If you say so, Madame.”

Just as Schmidty finished speaking, the plates, candelabras, and glasses on the table began to rattle.

“I thought you said there weren’t earthquakes in Massachusetts!” Theo hollered at Mrs. Wellington.

The rattle morphed into a thud, a loud and repetitive pounding noise from beneath the table.

Mrs. Wellington turned paler than usual; why, even her lips were blanching. Schmidty held tight to his comb-over as his face twisted with uncertainty.

“It couldn’t be … ,” Mrs. Wellington muttered in shock.

“It’s the big one,” Theo warbled hysterically, “drop and cover,” he added as he dove beneath the table.

“Madame, you promised me that you would warn me before he came!” Schmidty screamed at Mrs. Wellington.

“I’m sorry, Schmidty, honestly, I am. But I didn’t know. This must be an emergency. There is no other reason he’d use the chute!”

“Yes, Madame, perhaps you’re right. This could be an emergency. Perhaps the wretched beast wagered his children on one of his ‘sure things’ and lost!”

“That only happened once, twice at most. And may I remind you, he didn’t use the chute on either of those occasions! This must be something … terrible!” Mrs. Wellington snapped to Schmidty.

“It’s a sad day when losing one’s children at the track doesn’t constitute terrible!”

“Oh, stop that! This is hardly the time for moral superiority!”

“Tell my family I loved them,” Theo called out from beneath the table.

“Theo,” Madeleine said sweetly as she leaned over his quivering body, “it’s not an earthquake.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, earthquakes aren’t localized to such small areas. If this were an actual quake the entire room would be affected, not just the table.”

As Madeleine finished explaining the situation to Theo, the pounding became more intense. Between thuds, a muffled voice hollered and groaned.

“Schmidty, he’s climbed hundreds of feet up a rope ladder! This is an emergency!”

“Up, children! Up!” Schmidty roared at the foursome in a decidedly un-Schmidty-like tone of voice. “Mr. Garrison, grab the left side of the table.”

Garrison, surprised by Schmidty’s take-charge manner, decided it best not to question the order.

The two pushed the table and all of its contents to the left side of the dining room. Lulu and Madeleine stood near the door to the hall, with Theo cowering awkwardly behind them. He still wasn’t absolutely sure that this wasn’t some strange earthquake mutation and thought it wise to stand in the door frame, on the off chance the rumbling spread.

Schmidty hurriedly threw the green shag carpet to the side, igniting a dust storm years in the making. When the layer of filth cleared, Mrs. Wellington, Schmidty, the students, and Macaroni stared intently at a trapdoor. Scrawled in messy red lettering was a note, “For Dire Disasters Only.” It was only the sound of yet more banging and muffled screaming that pushed Schmidty to actually unlock and open the trap door.

A large swatch of tangled and unnaturally dyed brown hair came into view first. Even from a few feet away one could tell that the hair was thick and coarse, much like the bristles of an old broom. Beneath the wildly unkempt brown mess were a full two inches of white roots. As odd looking as it was to see a man desperately in need of a touch-up, it was nothing compared to what came next.

The face was gruesome, very much in line with a dermatological science experiment gone awry. The man’s pale skin was knotted into knobs of flesh that dotted his face like bushels on a field. Long white hairs sprung from the protrusions, some hanging long and straight while others curled tightly. In great contrast to his pale skin and wild white facial hair was the yellow of his eyes and teeth. So small and yellow were his teeth that on the rare occasion he tried to smile, they recalled corn on the cob. Of course, he didn’t actually smile; he only frowned less.

Theo screeched at the sight of the man before turning away.

“How ghastly,” Madeleine inadvertently muttered aloud before quickly covering her mouth in shame.

Before them was a sweaty, out-of-breath monster of a man, hanging perilously from a rope ladder in a dark chute.

“Munchauser,” Schmidty announced with disdain as he stared mercilessly at the repugnant man.

“Who’d you think it was?” Munchauser said in a gravelly voice that sounded like the last stages of laryngitis. “Wait, don’t tell me. I’ll bet you one hundred dollars I can guess who you thought it was.”

“You vile …” Schmidty started to react venomously, only to be interrupted by a frantic Mrs. Wellington.

“Oh stop it,” Mrs. Wellington snapped, “Schmidty, help him!”

“I’m sorry, Madame, but this man …” Schmidty trailed off as he begrudgingly pulled Munchauser from the chute.

It was only when the abnormally tall man stood fully erect before the foursome that they were able to garner the full grotesqueness of Munchauser’s appearance. At six feet he was tall, but his thin and lanky limbs created the illusion that he was much closer to seven feet. Dressed in a hand-tailored garish purple suit, with racing forms protruding from his breast pocket, Munchauser was striking, but not in a good way.

With ragged and dirty fingernails, Munchauser brusquely pushed Schmidty out of the way, determined to be as close to Mrs. Wellington as possible.

“Welly, I’ve missed you,” Munchauser said to Mrs. Wellington before turning to the students nearby. “I see you have germs here as usual.”

“Munchauser! What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wellington interrupted harshly.

“Welly, we have a problem,” Munchauser announced in his crackly voice.

“Well of course we do! You just used the Dire Disaster Door. However, I still don’t know what the problem is!”

“You want to guess? I’ll give you twenty dollars if you get it right, but if you don’t you owe me your sapphire ring.”

“Munchauser! Would you stop with the bets! What is happening?”

“Welly, it’s a serious situation. I’ve got a lot to tell you,” Munchauser said while approaching Lulu. “Five bucks says I can guess your name.”

“I don’t have five dollars,” Lulu responded calmly.

“What? Your parents didn’t give you any spending cash?” Munchauser asked with frustration. “Fine, what do you have on you? Fifty cents? Seventy-five? Come on, I’ll work with you.”

“Munchauser!” Mrs. Wellington screamed.

“What? It’s just a little friendly wager.”

“Why did you just climb two hundred feet up a dark hole? Is there or is there not an emergency?”

“And bankruptcy doesn’t count,” Schmidty said snidely.

“Why don’t you pull your pants a little higher, old man?”

“Munchauser, for Heaven’s sake, what is happening?”

“Welly, before I tell you, do you even want to try to guess? It could be easy money on your part. Of course, should you win, I’ll have to write you an IOU ’cause I left my checkbook in the bunker. But you know I’m good for it.”

“Tell me this instant or I will cut you out of my will!”

“Abernathy is back,” Munchauser spit out instantaneously.