Ruffleclaw Read online

  “And why didn’t you?” Tommy screamed back. “I didn’t invite you.”

  Ruffleclaw spat precisely right in front of Tommy’s naked feet. “Typical human!” he grumbled. “But all right! I’ll go into that smelly closet…if I get something to eat.”

  “I’ll get you something.” Tommy opened the closet. “Now get in.”

  “Fine!” With a dark face, the monster climbed into his prison. “Disgusting!” he muttered, but Tommy just slammed the door shut.

  The breakfast Tommy threw into the closet before he disappeared was delicious, absolutely delicious. But in return, Ruffleclaw had to promise again to stay put. The monster licked his claws and chuckled quietly. What a pity that earth monsters never kept their promises. Never. Ever. He burped and patted his belly. Then he gave the closet door a good kick. Slam!—it banged open, and bright daylight hit his eyes. Mousepoop! The light had already bothered him when he woke up. But if he wanted to stay with the humans he’d better learn to live with it. They always slept through the night and ran around in the horrible sunlight. Gross.

  His eyes screwed up against the sun, Ruffleclaw leapt out of the closet. Ah, at least the windows had curtains. Once he pulled those shut, his eyes began to feel better. What now? Ruffleclaw scratched his fur and thought. Should he go back to the room where the water came out of the ceiling? No, he’d done that already.

  “I’ll have a quick look around!” Ruffleclaw whispered to himself. “There’s enough to see in here.”

  First he pulled all the boxes from Tommy’s shelves and with his four arms poked around all his toys. The dice and the playing cards looked particularly interesting. The cards didn’t taste too bad, but the dice felt a little heavy in his stomach.

  Smacking his lips, Ruffleclaw climbed up to the fourth shelf. It was full of wheeled thingies. The ones that didn’t smell of anything got kicked off the shelf right away. The others he collected in his arms, and he crash-landed on Tommy’s bed with them.

  He got a few minutes of fun out of chewing on the things and their rubber wheels, but then Ruffleclaw looked around for something new to do. He ate some of the colorful pens on Tommy’s desk and pressed a few of the many buttons on a flat box without anything happening. Then he began to feel bored.

  Somehow these human things weren’t half as exciting as Ruffleclaw had thought. Disappointed, he went to the door and pressed his ear against it. But he couldn’t even hear any of the gruesomely beautiful jingly-music he’d listened to from the outside on so many evenings.

  Fine. That left only one thing to do.

  Ruffleclaw took one big leap back into Tommy’s bed. He pulled the quilt over his head. Ahhh! The earth monster groaned with joy. That was more like it. Yes! Ruffleclaw yawned—and nearly swallowed his tongue with shock.

  There were steps coming up the stairs. Heavy steps. From a big human, at least three times his own size. No! Five times. Ten times!

  Panicked, Ruffleclaw looked around. Should he go back into the closet? No, too late. The steps were coming closer. And closer. Ruffleclaw’s thoughts raced around in his head like a swarm of angry bees.

  The door opened. Ruffleclaw disappeared under the covers. He listened. But his ears couldn’t hear much under the thick blankets.

  “Oh no!” he heard someone sigh. “What’s this mess? I can’t believe it. Tommy! Come up here, now!”

  Tommy? Was he back already?

  Someone pulled open the curtains, knocked into the bed, and lifted the quilt. Ruffleclaw quickly squeezed his eyes shut. Play dead, he thought. Playing dead was always good.

  “Yuck!” Tommy’s mother cried. “Where did you get that horrid stuffed animal? Did your dad give that to you?”

  “What—what stuffed animal?” Ruffleclaw heard Tommy stutter.

  “That one there! The red thing with the four arms.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, Dad brought that back from Madagascar or somewhere.”

  “Goodness! Why can’t your father bring back something pretty for a change? No, it’s always one tasteless and crude thing or another.”

  Tommy’s mother angrily plucked away at Ruffleclaw’s fur. “Ugh, feels horrible. Tommy, you will throw that thing away, understood?”

  Now it was Ruffleclaw’s turn to get angry. He got so angry that he nearly jumped up to call Tommy’s mother a slimy slug to her face.

  “But…I actually like it,” said Tommy.

  His mother sighed. “Fine! I have to practice now. Food’s on the stove. Oh, and clean up this infernal mess.”

  Bam! The door fell shut, and Tommy was alone with his monster.

  “How mean!” Ruffleclaw was biting into Tommy’s pillow. “That horrible slug. Oh, she’ll pay for that. She will!”

  “No, she won’t!” Tommy angrily kicked at the crumpled boxes on his floor. “What were you thinking, huh? At least half of these are ruined!”

  “Puh!” the monster growled. He picked a flea from his ear and squashed it with a pop.

  “You promised to stay in the closet!”

  “Promised—puh. So what?” Ruffleclaw spat on Tommy’s lamp, then pricked his ears. “Hey. Quiet!”

  There it was! The monster rolled his eyes with delight. “Ahhh!” he grunted. “Oh! Jingly-music! Creepy-crawly wondermusic. Ooooh!”

  He quickly hopped off the bed and ran to the door to listen.

  “Is that music coming from the wall?” he asked impatiently. “Or from one of those buttony machines? Tell me, tell me!”

  “That? That’s just my mom.” Tommy angrily tossed the chewed-up crayons into his wastebasket.

  “Your mom?” Ruffleclaw opened the door. “That horrible slime-slug can make such bugalicious music? Nah!”

  “She’s practicing the piano, you thickhead. And stop calling her a slug!” Tommy was checking over his favorite toy car. All four wheels had been bitten off.

  “Look at that!” Tommy shouted. He shook the car accusingly in Ruffleclaw’s direction, but all he saw was a tail disappearing through the door.

  “Hey! Stop!” Tommy tried to dive for the tail, but he just crash-landed, empty-handed, on the floor. The monster was already rushing down the stairs and toward the music as if in a trance.

  “Oh no!” Tommy groaned. He took a few hair-raising leaps down the stairs. The monster was standing in the living room doorway, humming like a bumblebee, waving his four arms, and shaking his hairy backside. Luckily, Tommy’s mother was facing the other way.

  Tommy didn’t stop to think. He grabbed one of his mom’s huge shopping bags, snuck up behind Ruffleclaw, and quickly pulled the bag over the monster. The hairy head, belly, arms, and legs disappeared, and only the feet still poked out from under the bag. Ruffleclaw hissed like an angry cat, but he couldn’t free himself.

  Tommy quickly turned the bag, stuffed the furry feet inside, and squeezed the bag shut. His mother kept playing—she never heard anything when she was practicing.

  Tommy dragged the heavy bag to the stairs and lugged it up the steps. By the fifth step, Ruffleclaw had already bitten through the bag. By the time Tommy reached his room, two hairy arms were trying to grab hold of his face, the sharp claws only narrowly missing his nose. “Let me out!” Tommy heard the monster’s muffled hiss.

  Completely out of breath, Tommy threw the bag on top of all his broken toys and slammed the door shut.

  Ruffleclaw clawed his way out of what was left of the shopping bag. He jumped on Tommy and started pummeling him with his four red paws.

  “Ouch!” Tommy screamed. “Stop it! Are you crazy?”

  “I want to hear that music, you sneaky slimeface!” the monster ranted. “I want, I want, I want!” Then he angrily stomped his crooked legs.

  “You should be glad my mother didn’t see you! I saved your life, that’s what I did. We slime-slugs, we love to put things like you in cages, or, even better, stuff them and put them in a museum. How often do I have to tell you that?”

  Ruffleclaw dropped his fists and spat halfheartedly
into the corner. Then he clambered onto Tommy’s bed and disappeared under the quilt.

  “Get out of there!” Tommy said. “You’re helping me clean up. Now!”

  “Can’t. Headache,” Ruffleclaw groaned. “I can’t handle all this stupid daylight.”

  “If that’s your problem”—Tommy rummaged through his desk drawers—“here!” He pulled the covers off the monster and dropped a pair of sunglasses onto his belly. “Put these on.”

  Ruffleclaw eyed the strange contraption. Then he gave them a sniff and put them on his head.

  “Not like that!” Tommy snickered. He put the glasses on Ruffleclaw’s monster nose. “There. They fit perfectly. Only your ears are in the wrong place.”

  “What? My ears are in the perfect place!” Ruffleclaw walked off to study his reflection in the mirror on Tommy’s door. “Slimalicious!” was his verdict.

  “Fine!” Tommy impatiently dragged him away from the mirror. “But now it’s cleanup time, or there won’t be any more food.”

  That finally did it.

  Ruffleclaw slept through the rest of the day. After all, daytime was his usual sleep time. And on top of that, life with the humans was quite exhausting. Much more exhausting than he’d imagined.

  And so he slept, gulped down an earthworm or two, slept a little more, ate a mountain of salami sandwiches, including the plate, and slept. Tommy couldn’t believe the laziness. A few times he tried to shake the monster awake, because the snoring was disrupting his homework.

  “Wow, I always thought monsters were wild and obnoxious,” he muttered. “But you just lie around and stuff yourself. Are you sure you’re a monster and not some kind of sloth?”

  “What mousepoopy nonsense!” Ruffleclaw growled groggily. “All monsters are like this. Lazy, hungry, and greedy—that’s us.” He plopped another earthworm into his mouth, spat against the ceiling, and went back to sleep.

  Maybe a dog would be better, Tommy thought. He cast a bored glance at the shrunken head his father had brought back from his last trip. Where had he gone this time? Ah yes, the Sahara. So he was probably going to bring back a camel candleholder or a pyramid-shaped saltshaker. Tommy chuckled as he rolled the shrunken head over his desk.

  “Tommy!” his mother called from downstairs. “Come down, please. You have to go shopping with me.”

  “Why?” Tommy quickly kicked the shredded shopping bag under the desk.

  “Because your father’s coming back tomorrow. Or have you forgotten that?”

  Tomorrow? Already? Tommy groaned. There was his next problem: Dad’s allergies were definitely going to give Ruffleclaw away. It was going to be a nonstop sneeze fest.

  “Hurry, please!” Mom called. “And have you seen my big shopping bag anywhere?”

  “No!” Tommy shot an angry look at his bed, where Ruffleclaw was lying all lazy and peaceful. His fur was full of crumbs. I should stop worrying about the monster, Tommy thought. That sloth can take care of himself. I’d rather have a dog anyway. So Tommy went downstairs to go shopping with his mom—without her favorite shopping bag, which had mysteriously disappeared.

  The silence woke Ruffleclaw up. No complaining human, no jingly-music, no steps. Nothing. He looked around the empty room. Then he went to the top of the stairs and listened. Still nothing.

  Gone, he thought. Just gone. Without saying a word. How rude! Ruffleclaw peered over the banister. On the other hand, this was not so bad. At least he’d get to look around in peace. He hopped down the stairs and ran straight into the kitchen. Ah yes, the icebox. The little human was too stingy with his food portions. Ruffleclaw gave his belly a worried look. Too thin. Time to do something about that. He greedily opened the icebox.

  Oh, what creepy-crawlicious delicacies! Ruffleclaw helped himself. The sausages in one hand, the eggs in another. The third hand grabbed the cake and the fourth the honey jar. That should do it for now. He kicked the icebox shut. Then he dragged his loot to the magical chest that made the jingly-music.

  He put the food on the shiny black lid and climbed onto the stool Tommy’s mom had sat on. With two paws, he stroked the white and black keys—leaving him with exactly ten claws to stuff some cake into his mouth. Ruffleclaw carefully pushed down one of the keys. Pling! His eyes rolled with joy, and he let out a happy burp.

  His next attempt was bolder. Pling! Pling! Pling! The jingly-music bubbled from under his furry fingers.

  Ruffleclaw was ecstatic. So ecstatic that he threw the sausages and the cake on the carpet behind him and started hitting the keys with all four paws. Oh, this was true slimalicious bliss, totally creepy-crawladocious! His clawed fingers raced up and down and across the keyboard. Ruffleclaw nearly fell off the stool with delight. He quickly opened the honey jar, dipped one paw after another into it, and licked them. One claw went back into the jar, while the others stickily continued plinking away at the keyboard. Suddenly he heard voices through the front door. Ruffleclaw dropped the honey jar.

  “Where’s that key?” he heard the slug ask.

  They were back. Huge wormadocious bummer. Why did they have to interrupt him now? Ruffleclaw angrily hopped off the stool. He quickly gathered the remains of his picnic and crawled under the overstuffed red couch.

  Heavy human feet came stomping into the house. The noise they made! Incredible. Ruffleclaw bit another chunk off the sausage and listened.

  “Put it all on the kitchen table!” the slug called. Then Ruffleclaw heard her open the icebox. Oops.

  “Tommy?” she asked. “Did you eat the sausages?”

  Nope, he did not! Ruffleclaw thought. He suppressed a giggle as he stuffed the last bit of sausage into his mouth.

  “And the cake!” The slug sounded amazed. “The cake’s gone, too!”

  And the cheese, thought Ruffleclaw. His belly felt wonderful. Perfectly full and round. He let out a tiny burp.

  “I—erm—I was really hungry,” he heard Tommy stammer.

  “You ate all that? Boy, you’ll probably be ill!” the slug cried out. “And that trail of dirt there. That was you as well?”

  “Probably,” said Tommy, though he didn’t sound very convincing.

  “It goes all the way to the living room!” Now the slug began to sound worried.

  High, pointy shoes came clicking into the room, followed by Tommy’s squelching sneakers. Ruffleclaw couldn’t make out more than that through the tassels of the couch.

  Suddenly Tommy’s mother uttered a piercing scream, making the monster hit his head against the bottom of the couch.

  “Oh! My piano!” she moaned. “Crumbs, splatter, and…spittle?” She touched the keys. “My fingers! They are sticking to the keyboard! And this was your work, too, Tommy?”

  “Me? I—I don’t quite remember,” Tommy stuttered.

  Ruffleclaw was beginning to feel a little uneasy in his hiding place.

  “What’s going on here?” the nasty slug asked. Her pointy shoe kicked the empty honey jar, which lay on the carpet less than a foot from where Ruffleclaw was hiding. Blast! He’d forgotten about that one. He pricked his ears as he gulped down the rest of the cake. For a long while, there was nothing but torturous silence. Then the nasty slug spoke with a low, threatening voice. “There are hairs on the piano stool. Sticky, smelly red hairs. Tommy? What is going on here? Spit it out!”

  But Tommy said nothing. Ruffleclaw snarled quietly, but he also shuffled a bit farther under the sofa.

  More silence.

  “And what is that?” Tommy’s mother asked suddenly.

  What is what? Ruffleclaw thought. His eyes were fixed on the pointy shoes, which were coming closer and closer.

  “That!” the slug shouted out in triumph as she grabbed Ruffleclaw’s tail.

  He tried to hold on to the legs of the couch, but Tommy’s mother yanked his tail so hard that he howled in pain and let go. His wonderful, slimalicious sunglasses slipped off his nose, and the sun pierced his eyes.

  That was too much.

  Growling, Ruf
fleclaw spun around, jerked his tail free, and jumped to his feet. Hissing through his bared teeth, he lunged at the big pale slug.

  “Help!” Tommy’s mother screeched. She quickly scrambled on top of the piano. Ruffleclaw went after her, and the hunt continued over the stuffed chairs, the little tables, and finally onto a chest of drawers, which toppled under their combined weight. Mother and monster rolled across the carpet.

  “You vile vermin!” Tommy’s mother howled as she smashed a big vase on his head.

  “Slimy slug!” Ruffleclaw howled back, spitting on her blouse.

  “Just you wait!” Tommy’s mother panted as she struggled to her feet and ran to the wall that was covered from floor to ceiling with souvenirs from her husband’s travels.

  “Mom, no!” Tommy shouted, but his mother already gripped the long spear his dad had brought back from some African trip.

  Ruffleclaw was so startled, he started to hiccup. An earth monster wasn’t defeated very easily, but that thing the slug was waving around in front of his nose looked dangerous. Ruffleclaw decided to run for his life, past Tommy, who sat frozen in a puddle of honey.

  “Traitor!” Ruffleclaw hissed as he ran past him, and he spat on his nose for good measure. Then he ran out into the corridor and toward the front door. Tommy’s mother came after him, jabbing the horrid spear in his direction, her hair poking out in every which way, her eyes wide and crazy.

  With less than a second to spare, the lock sprang open, and Ruffleclaw dashed outside, cursing madly as he flew down the front steps. “You horrible, treacherous slugs! You slithery, bug-eyed…” And with that, he disappeared into the shrubs.

  Tommy’s mother, spear in hand, appeared in the doorway. She looked around. She continued looking for a few endless moments while Ruffleclaw made faces at her from under the shrubs. Finally she went back into the house, and the door slammed shut.