Beware the Ninja Weenies (16 page)

Barton toppled backward, sliding free of the spike. I wasn't sure what would happen next. I got ready to slam the door and make a run for my cross and garlic.

Barton lay where he'd fallen, clutching his chest. “Man, that hurt.”

“Are you coming after me?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can't. You took back the permission.”

I was glad to hear my idea had worked. “How'd it happen?”

He shrugged. “I broke a couple of the rules. I wanted to hang out with the vampires. They're so awesome. I figured I'd be okay. My mistake.” He got to his feet. “Well, I guess I'd better head out of here. It's not going to be dark all that much longer.”

“Bye…,” I said.

“Bye. Sorry about trying to drain your blood. I'm new at this.” He gave me a little wave. “See you next year.”

Next year?
Oh, great. I had a feeling I needed to start paying more attention to the rules. Or washing my hair every night. I thought about telling Mom she needed to change rule number five. Clean hands wouldn't have saved my life. But I decided it was better not to tell her anything at all.

 

DOG GONE

It is a tedious
process, but one I only need to perform three or four times a year. People might think I'd need to do it far more often, but people are wrong about that. People are wrong about many things. That's good. It helps me stay safe.

Three and a half months have passed since the last time. So the moment has come. First, I have to find the house.

That part takes the longest. The house needs to be just right. It has to be unoccupied, of course. I could select a house with a single occupant, but that would lead to an investigation, since people notice these things when a home owner is involved. And the whole point of this exercise is to avoid notice. I always try to avoid making any sort of waves. I'm very good at that. I've had many years of practice.

So I went house hunting. After three days, I found the perfect place. It was on a quiet street, with no house directly opposite it. The houses on either side were separated from it by rows of dense evergreens. I am quite fond of the blue spruce. It blocks light and absorbs sound.

Next, I needed the dog. That was the easy part. But not as easy as it might seem. I required one that was friendly and approachable. Small, but not too small. The very small dogs tend to cower and hide.

I found a stray running loose in the city. He looked to be part sheltie. I fed him and petted him. He licked my hand. Good. He'd be perfect.

Last, I made tags for his collar. I have a machine for that. It's just a mechanical press with movable letters. It takes a while to set up the words, since each letter has to be placed in a slot by hand, but I'm patient. Very patient.

“What shall we call you?” I asked as I sorted through the small letters in the tray. “Spot? Rover?”

He stared at me, tongue out, nose moist, eyes alert.

“No. Something cuter,” I said. “I have it. You shall be
Scooter.
How adorable.”

I plucked the necessary letters from the tray and set them in the first line of the press. I placed the address of the house in the next two lines. I stamped the tag and then attached it to the collar I'd bought the other day.

That evening, I dropped Scooter off a half dozen blocks away. Then I returned to the house and waited.

Sometimes it takes hours. If it grew too late, I'd go find Scooter and try again the next evening. This time, the doorbell rang less than half an hour after I got back.

A boy stood on the porch, with Scooter cradled in one arm. “Mister, is this your dog?” he asked.

I smiled at him, but made sure not to open my mouth. My fangs were already growing. The thought of a meal was enough to make them spring forth. I was hungry, and eager to feed. My veins and arteries hummed in anticipation.

I stepped back. He stepped forward. I led him inside. He had no idea what was about to happen. There was no hint of fear in his eyes or heart. That was good. I'm not fond of the smell of fear, or the taste it leaves behind.

Once he was fully inside, I seized him and drank his blood. I was quick and merciful. He didn't suffer. Then I hid the body deep in the woods, where it would never be found. I'm very good at that, too.

I went back to the house to pick up Scooter, of course. I had already made sure to find a good home for him, in a loving family with two young children. There was no way I'd abandon the poor dog. It's not like I'm some sort of monster.

 

A WORD OR TWO ABOUT THESE STORIES

As always, I'll wrap things up by revealing how I got the idea for each of these stories. Be warned—there are many spoilers here.

Playing Solo

After playing a marathon session of the original
Gears of War,
I imagined a kid who was so wrapped up in a game that he didn't notice what was happening in the real world. (I'll admit I often get totally absorbed in playing games or reading books. Sometimes I even get swallowed up by writing stories.) There's added irony when the events in the world—in this case, an alien invasion—are similar to those of the game.

Gorgonzola

When I visit schools, I'm often asked, “What's your favorite cheese?” (I'm also asked about my favorite pie.) I guess people expect an answer like “American” or “cheddar.” But my taste in cheeses runs similar to my taste in roller coasters and short stories. I like extreme ones—the sort that strike terror in the majority of folks. I like runny, stinky, horrifying cheeses. So it's not unusual to have some Stilton or Gorgonzola in the fridge. I was looking at a label one day, and it hit me that
Gorgonzola
contained
Gorgon.
(I like wordplay even more than cheese.) It was easy to go from there to thinking how Gorgons could make Gorgonzola. (As for pie—sour cherry.)

Blowout

As faithful Weenies fans know, one of my main sources of inspiration is my “what-if” file. I start each workday by writing a question. Then, when I'm looking for an idea, I scan through the file, hoping one of the entries will intrigue me or spawn further thoughts. (The “what-if” itself is just a scaffold or a seed. I need to build on it or let it grow to have a full story.) In this case, the question was,
What if a kid could blow out stars?
I loved the image of stars blinking out. I loved the image even more when I realized the closest star wouldn't be immune to the magic.

Christmas Carol

The title inspired the story. I'm not sure why, but my mind likes to take common phrases and find new meanings in them. Sometimes, as in this case, the phrase is left intact. Other times, as in the story “The La Brea Toy Pits” (from an earlier collection) or “Little Bread Riding Hood,” the words get twisted into a pun. From there, it became a “be careful what you wish for” sort of story. Except it twisted in the opposite direction from the typical wish tale, which I think makes it kind of charming and fun.

Thresholds of Pain

Writers of speculative fiction tend to love carnivals, sideshows, and other collections of the amazing and the bizarre. I was thinking about sideshows when it hit me that an alien might fit into one quite nicely. The story gets a bit more graphic than most, and I was a bit worried that I might have gone too far. But I think it's okay. Interestingly enough, right before I did my last revision pass on this book, I saw a sideshow performer drive a nail up his nose.

Smart Food

Since I made fun of vegans in a story a while ago, I figured I should give the vegetables equal time to state their case. After all, everything we eat was once alive. (At least, everything we're supposed to eat. Crayons don't count.) I guess this is as good a time as any to point out that just because I make fun of something doesn't mean I'm against it. I make fun of nerds in lots of my stories, and I'm definitely one myself.

The Art of Alchemy

I came up with the ending first. The hard part was, once I knew what I wanted to have happen, I had to figure out a way to get the characters to a place that had lead, water, and fire. This sort of problem can get tricky. If a writer doesn't do the job well, people will say that the story feels contrived. That's a great word to know, as long as you promise never to use it to describe my stories.

Magnifying the Tragedy

I'm ashamed to admit, given how icky it is, that this is another case where I started with the idea of the ending. Let's leave it at that.

Sweet Dreams

“What if a kid were given some irresistible candy?” That's how it started. Actually, and sadly, there are times when I find all candy to be irresistible. (I try to make sure I'm never left alone with large quantities of peanut butter cups or malted milk balls.) But this was only part of an idea. So what if candy is irresistible? There has to be more at stake. As always, the plot could go in a thousand directions. I'm sure you can think of all sorts of ways, both funny and scary, to write about a character who has a bag of candy she can't keep from eating.

Chipmunks off the Old Block

Chipmunks definitely are goofy. At least, they appear to be goofy. Since I like to turn things around, I figured it would be fun to write a story where the chipmunks turned out to be so brilliant that they appeared to be distracted. I know when I'm deep in thought, I can act goofy or distracted.

Stuck Up

I remember, back when I was in elementary school, kids would talk about what happened if you swallowed your gum. When I was really little, I pictured some sort of gears getting clogged. This story almost ended darkly. When Gilbert was about to cross the street, my first thought was he'd get stuck in traffic. But sometimes, the first thought is a bit too obvious. I like to explore my options—especially when it comes to endings. I'm glad I took the time. Even though it's funny, this ending is also much more horrifying than my first thought. Some of you might wonder whether Gilbert will get rescued by his parents. I guess they'll eventually realize he hasn't come home. But I didn't want to slow down the story by explaining why they weren't around.

The Snow Globe

I came up with the idea of a snow globe that made real snow fall. That, by itself, might not be enough for a story—unless the snow never stopped falling. Happily, a second idea appeared. This happens a lot when I'm thinking about a story and don't feel the idea is strong enough by itself.

The Iron Wizard Goes A-Courtin'

This came straight from the “what-if” file. I pictured a wizard turning to iron so he could walk through fire, and then turning back a bit too soon. As with “The Art of Alchemy,” the hard part was setting up the ending. In this case, I had to figure out why he would turn back to flesh so quickly.

Fortunate Accidents

Another serving from the bottomless well of “what if?” The tricky part here was to keep the ending from being obvious. I was pretty sure that some of my readers would expect the rich man to want the kid's heart. I needed to cast doubt in their minds.

Big Bang

I started by wanting to write about someone figuring out the secret of the universe. That, all by itself, doesn't make a very dramatic story. I needed to add another dimension. The universe-ending experiment fit my needs nicely.

Laps

Many years ago, I stayed at the InterContinental Hotel in Chicago for a conference. (My publisher takes me to lots of great places.) The hotel had an old swimming pool. Johnny Weissmuller, who won a bunch of Olympic medals and played Tarzan in the movies, used to train there. Hotel pools always have signs that warn against swimming alone. The memory of the old pool, combined with the signs I've seen so often, gave me the idea for a kid sneaking into a pool. When I started writing, I thought it might become a ghost story. But it went in a different direction.

Bedbugs

Since I speak at schools all over the country, I travel a lot. When the reappearance of bedbugs made the news, it was hard not to think about them. And when I was thinking about bedbugs, I remembered something about another bug. In the summer, my part of Pennsylvania often gets invaded by Japanese beetles. People put out traps that attract the beetles. I realized that if I didn't put any traps out, the beetles would swarm to my neighbors' yards. That thought, turned upside down so the bugs are being repelled rather than attracted, combined nicely with the idea of bedbugs.

The Valley of Lost Treasures

I began with the idea, “What if there's a place where lost toys go?” That changed slightly as I started writing. Instead of toys being lost by all sorts of means, they get lost by going to this place.

Catfishing in America

Several years ago, I was doing an author visit at Schuyler Colfax Middle School in Wayne, New Jersey. During a “what-if” session, one of the students, Bianca Reilly, asked, “What if you had a vampire goldfish?” The instant I heard that, I said, “You'd kill it with a sunfish.” That's the nice thing about exciting ideas. They tend to spawn more ideas. I told Bianca that if I ever wrote about sunfish and vampires, I'd give her credit for inspiring me.

Poser

I will sometimes get ideas by coming up with a way of combining different meanings of a word or phrase. It's hard not to notice that a model is both a person who poses and a miniature version of a ship or plane (or anything else). The latter type of model is often made of plastic. In this case, the boy didn't become an actual miniature model. Somehow, I don't think the distinction would make all that much difference to him.

Beware the Ninja Weenies

I'll tell the truth. When I proposed the title, I had no idea what the story would be about, but I knew ninjas would make a great cover. I'm fortunate enough to have met, and even hung out with, several true martial arts masters, so I'm always amused when I see dojos pop up that don't seem to come from an authentic tradition. This was on my mind when I started thinking about the story. Then I did some research, reading about ninjas. I find, if I accumulate enough facts, this will often help me think up a plot. Reading about the things ninjas actually did, such as wearing disguises and creating distractions, definitely guided me toward this story.