The Monster's Ring

  When Miss Snergal reached the part where the moon was fall and the prince was riding into a great forest to find the monster and kill it, Russell felt as if he were going to jump out of his skin.

  But it wasn’t until the prince raised his sword to run the monster through that Russell finally broke. The howls and snarls that had been building up inside of him would wait no longer. Tipping back his head, he poured out a long, mournful wail.

  Kill the monster, indeed!

  SEVEN

  Russell Goes Berserk

  Russell bounded off the desk. His heart was pounding, and the beast in his blood was going wild. Some of the kids screamed. Others began to edge away from him.

  “Russell!” cried Miss Snergal. “Stop that this instant!” She stood up and flung off her cape. The storytelling witch was gone, replaced by an angry teacher.

  Russell snarled at her.

  Somewhere inside him, a tiny voice was crying, This is crazy. Crazy! Stop it. Stop it NOW!

  But the monster part of him wouldn’t listen.

  His snarl deepened to a growl as he realized the one thing he really wanted to do:

  Get Eddie!

  With a roar, Russell charged out the door and across the hall to Mrs. Brown’s room. Her door was closed, but monsters didn’t bother to knock. He flung it open and burst through.

  His entrance earned a squeal of terror from the kids.

  Russell raised his arms and snarled.

  All the kids—Eddie included—ran to the corner farthest from the door.

  Mrs. Brown, who had been teaching for forty years, was not so easily intimidated. “Young man, you leave this room this instant!” she ordered.

  Russell jumped onto a desk and howled.

  “You heard me!” cried Mrs. Brown. “Get off that desk and out of my room!”

  When Russell didn’t move, she grabbed her broom and whacked him.

  He yelped with rage and jumped down. But instead of fleeing the room, he headed for the corner where the children had huddled.

  At that same instant, Miss Snergal staggered through the door.

  “Russell!” she cried. “Stop!”

  He glanced over his shoulder, hesitating for just a second. But it was too late. His prey was in striking range. He couldn’t stop now. Raising his claws, he headed for Eddie.

  “Oh no you don’t!” yelled Mrs. Brown.

  Then she hit him on the head with her broom.

  Russell spun about in a blind fury.

  Mrs. Brown whacked him again.

  Half the children were laughing; the other half were crying.

  Russell was roaring with outrage.

  “Get out of here, whoever you are,” snapped Mrs. Brown. “And don’t come back!”

  The Russell-monster hesitated, torn between getting at his enemy and getting away from the ferocious teacher.

  He turned toward Eddie and snarled again.

  Mrs. Brown swatted him across the backside.

  That was enough, even for a monster. Russell started for the door. Mrs. Brown charged after him. “Out of my room, you ruffian!” she cried. “And stay out!”

  Russell vaulted a desk, then shot past Miss Snergal, who looked as if she were about to faint. Entering the hall, he ran smack-dab into a class heading for its homeroom. He dashed into the middle of the group, growling and snarling.

  The kids screamed and scattered.

  He sped past them, raced down the hall, rounded the corner—and ran straight into another class!

  He turned and headed back the way he had come.

  From behind he heard someone cry, “Let’s get him!”

  He plunged back into the first class, which had just started to regroup. They slowed him down enough for the second class to catch up. Shrieking and giggling, kids began to pull at his fur, trying to remove the “costume.”

  Russell’s monster side went wild. A huge, nearly unbelievable roar broke from his lungs.

  The children shrank back, and he escaped. But almost instantly, both classes were after him again.

  The wild rumpus attracted the children still in their rooms. Doors flew open. Heedless of their teachers’ cries, kids poured into the hall to join the merry chase.

  Merry for everyone but Russell. Yelping in fright, he was skidding around corners and down halls as fast as his powerful legs would carry him. But the floors were freshly waxed, and he slipped and slid and couldn’t get a lead on his pursuers.

  He dodged into the cafeteria.

  The mob followed.

  Russell took to the tabletops. Several great leaps carried him from one side of the lunchroom to the other. The pursuing mass of kids had to split and flow along the narrow spaces between the tables, which gained Russell time.

  Just ahead of him was another door. A little way past that was a door to the outside, and freedom.

  But standing in the first doorway, blocking Russell’s path, was the original Beast of Boardman Road: Mr. Henry Rafschnitz himself!

  For a moment Russell panicked. Then his monster side took over. Standing on the edge of a table, he gave a deep-throated roar, flexed his legs, and leaped straight at the principal.

  Mr. Rafschnitz held his ground for an instant. Then, as he saw that the monster really intended to land on him, he dropped to the floor.

  Russell shot over him and into the hall. He hurtled forward, flung open the big glass doors, and burst through to the golden afternoon.

  Miss Snergal, who had somehow made it to the head of the chase, came running after him. Mr. Rafschnitz grabbed the doors and locked the rest of the howling mob in.

  “Russell!” cried Miss Snergal. “Russell, come back! I want to talk to you!”

  But the sunlight was bringing him to his senses and he was terrified. Sprinting across the playground, he headed into the little wood that separated the school from the housing tract behind it. Scrambling up an old oak, he hid behind the scarlet leaves, where he leaned against the trunk, gasping for breath.

  What had he just done?

  He had to turn back to himself, and fast.

  He looked down at the ring.

  It was glowing!

  Grabbing it with the claws of his left hand, he tried to twist it.

  To his horror, it wouldn’t budge.

  Cold fear gripped his heart as he tried again. But his monster paws were larger than his hands had been, and the ring, which had moved so easily on his human finger, was too tight!

  He tried again, straining mightily.

  The ring seemed to clutch at his flesh. Fortunately, the increase in size that had made the ring so tight had also given him new strength. Locking his claws against the stone, he wrenched at it with all his might—then howled in pain as the ring finally moved on his finger.

  Muttering the chant, he gave it two full turns.

  Seconds later the beast was gone.

  In its place sat Russell.

  Quiet Russell, who had frightened four classes, snarled at two teachers, and terrified one principal.

  Timid Russell, who had started the first riot in the history of Boardman Road Elementary School.

  Quiet, timid Russell, who was in more trouble than he had ever dreamed of in his entire life.

  EIGHT

  The Beast Within

  School was over, and the buses had all left. Russell was still hiding in the tree. Just as he was wondering if he should climb down—and what he could possibly do next if he did—he heard the dreaded sound: “Russseelllll! Russsseeellllll Crannaker!”

  They had called his mother.

  Russell sighed. Now things might get really scary.

  He considered his choices.

  One: He could tell the truth.

  Two: He could run away from home and become a tramp.

  Three: He could get sick and throw up all over.

  None of them seemed like a good idea.

  Well, sooner or later he had to climb out of the tree, walk back to the school, and face his mother (not
to mention Miss Snergal and Beast Rafschnitz).

  It might as well be now.

  Moving slowly, he returned to the ground.

  Emerging from the woods, he spotted his mother standing at the edge of the playground. Her perpetually worried look was accentuated by her current upset over whatever the school had already told her.

  She caught sight of him, waved, and hurried forward. “Russell, are you all right? Miss Snergal called and told me some terrible story about you going crazy and causing a riot. The woman must be losing her mind. ‘My Russell?’ I said. ‘My boy, cause a riot?’ I know you could never have done all the things she said.”

  Russell felt his fear begin to shift into quiet anger. Why couldn’t he have done those things? He was no baby. He was just as capable of misbehaving as any other kid in the school.

  But he didn’t say anything.

  “It was that terrible Eddie, wasn’t it?” continued Mrs. Crannaker. “I’m going to speak to Mr. Rafschnitz about him first thing Monday morning. It’s not right to have him after you like that. You’re a delicate child. It makes you nervous.” She paused for breath, then said, “Well, come with me. Mother will get everything fixed up.”

  Russell maintained a stony silence. But he could feel an uncomfortable urge to lash out at his mother building inside him. His resentment at being babied was growing stronger with every word she uttered.

  The school was empty. They stopped in the boys’ room to pick up his clothing, and then in his classroom so they could collect his books. A pile of candy and a cupcake had been neatly arranged on his desk, an unspoken message of forgiveness from Miss Snergal.

  His mother shivered at the sight. “Throw that garbage away,” she commanded. “Thank goodness you didn’t eat it!”

  Russell hesitated, then gathered the goodies and carried them to the trash can.

  The ride home was ghastly. Russell was on the verge of telling his mother exactly how he felt. But somehow he couldn’t get started. It was as if all his feelings, and the words for those feelings, were in a bottle with a little cork at the top. But the cork wouldn’t come loose.

  He hunched into himself and stared out the window. Inside he felt stronger and braver and more ready to tell people what he thought than he ever had before.

  He just didn’t feel brave enough to try it on his mother.

  It wasn’t until later that night that he realized how weird the situation was: He had been dreading getting in trouble—and now he was annoyed because his mother was refusing to believe he had done anything wrong!

  The next morning Russell scrambled out of bed with unusual energy. It was Halloween, and he was impatient for the night, though the day had hardly begun.

  He sailed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Breakfast was ready. He took his place at the table.

  “I want to talk to you, Russell.”

  He froze, a spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth.

  His mother was looking at him intently.

  “About yesterday.”

  He put down the spoon.

  “I talked to Jack’s mother this morning. She said Jack told her you really did act like a maniac in school yesterday. Why did he say that, Russell?”

  Russell sighed. No sense in hiding it now. “Because it’s true.”

  His mother looked astonished, and hurt. “It can’t be! I know you better than that. You could never misbehave so badly.”

  Russell felt his anger of the day before return. What did she think he was, a plastic angel? He thrust out his chin, about to tell his mother everything. Then he looked at her, and saw how her eyes were pleading with him to say he hadn’t done it.

  More to the point, they were telling him she wouldn’t believe him even if he had.

  He sighed. “You’re right, Mom. It isn’t true. I don’t know why Jack said that. I think he’s mad at me. All the kids are out to get me. They all hate me.”

  He was so convincing that he almost began to feel sorry for himself.

  “There, there, Russell,” said Mrs. Crannaker.

  Russell didn’t know whether it was funny or sad that it was easier for his mother to believe that the whole class was picking on him than it was for her to believe he had misbehaved.

  She put her arm around his shoulder and patted him. “I’ll talk to Miss Snergal first thing Monday. Don’t worry. Mother will make it better.”

  He pushed away from her smothering embrace. “I don’t want you to make it better!” he cried. “Why won’t you ever let me make something better myself?”

  It was hard to tell which of them was more shocked. His mother looked at him with hurt eyes. Her lip began to tremble. Russell pushed away from the table and ran from the house.

  He plopped down in a little park about two blocks from home. Sitting beneath a large oak tree, he clenched his fists and began to pound the piles of dead leaves that surrounded him.

  He picked up an acorn and threw it.

  Why did his mother treat him like such a baby?

  He threw another acorn.

  How could he grow up if he never got the chance?

  He threw a third acorn.

  “Ouch!”

  Russell looked up.

  Not ten feet away, standing astride his bicycle, was Eddie. He had a strange look on his face—a combination of anger, amusement, and (could it be?) fear. He paused, then hopped off his bike and sauntered over to where Russell sat.

  “That was some outfit you had on in school yesterday, Crannaker. Made you feel pretty brave, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, go play in the road, toad,” said Russell.

  Eddie’s face tightened, and Russell saw him begin to ball his hands into fists. “What did you say, Crannaker?”

  “You heard me, peabrain. Go lick your finger and stick it in a socket.”

  Russell nearly laughed out loud at the look on Eddie’s face. It occurred to him that he was doing something very dangerous. It also occurred to him that he didn’t care.

  Eddie stepped closer.

  Russell stood up. For the first time he could remember, he made a fist with the intention of using it on someone. He had a feeling he was going to get pounded again. But this time he was going to pound back.

  Suddenly he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Fighting was stupid.

  He tightened his fists, anyway, and brought them up against his sides. He could feel a snarl creeping up his throat. This was exciting! Suddenly he wanted to howl, had an urge to leap on Eddie with claws and fangs going all at once.

  That scared him.

  He looked at his hands, half expecting them to be sprouting fur.

  He took a deep breath, lowered his fists, and said, “Look, Eddie, I don’t want to fight . . .”

  “Of course you don’t,” sneered Eddie. “You’re a chicken! Bawk ba bawk ba bawk.”

  He pushed Russell’s shoulder.

  It wasn’t a hard push. But it made something inside Russell snap.

  “You idiot!” he roared.

  Then he jumped.

  Eddie’s eyes went wide. He cried out in fear.

  Russell had become a whirlwind of thrashing arms and flailing legs. Eddie toppled beneath his onslaught. Holding his enemy down, Russell opened his mouth to take a bite out of Eddie’s shoulder.

  That’s when the warning bell went off in his head.

  “What am I doing?” he cried in horror.

  Terrified now, not of Eddie but of himself, he leaped to his feet and raced off. He ran for blocks, afraid that if he stopped, something awful would happen.

  At last his body forced him to halt. Panting, gasping, he leaned against a building and let the question rage through his brain: What was this ring doing to him?

  He could think of only one place to go for an answer.

  Mr. Elives’ magic shop.

  Three hours later, baffled and exhausted, Russell had to admit that there was one problem with this idea: He couldn’t find the darn place!

  After the first hour of se
arching, he had returned to the alley where he had played at being Frankenstein’s monster the afternoon he had first found the shop. From there he tried to retrace his flight from Eddie. But somehow he kept getting turned around.

  He had just ended up back at the alley for the fourth time, and was trying to decide whether to be frightened or angry, when a small voice said, “Hey, kid!”

  Russell looked around.

  “Down here!” said the voice. “On the trash can.” He looked down.

  Standing on the lid of a battered metal garbage can were two rats. One of them reared up on its hind legs and said, “Are you Russell Crannaker?”

  Russell stared at the creature in astonishment. “What’s the matter?” asked the rat. “Cat got your tongue?” It slapped its sides in amusement. “Oh, that’s a good one. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ I kill me.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Jerome,” said the other rat—a female, judging by her voice. “Don’t you think that joke is getting a little worn-out?”

  “Aw, come on, Roxanne,” said the first rat sullenly. “I was just having a little fun.”

  She glared at him.

  Jerome sighed. Turning back to Russell, he said, “Okay, kid, just answer the question. Is your name Russell Crannaker, or not?”

  “What if it is?” said Russell warily.

  Now the female rat stood up. “If it is, then we have a message for you.”

  NINE

  The Third Twist of the Ring

  Russell stared at the rats. He was tempted to twist the ring; only, turning into a monster to deal with a pair of talking rats seemed like overkill.

  “What’s the message?” he asked, his voice almost as squeaky as that of the rats.

  It was the second rat, the female, who answered. “Mr. Elives said to stop bothering him.”

  “I’m not bothering him,” said Russell in astonishment. “I can’t even find him!”

  “You think he doesn’t know you’re looking?” asked the first rat. “It really bugs him when people do that. And trust me, kid, Elives is not a guy you want to bug if you don’t have to.”