17 - Why I'm Afraid of Bees

17 - Why I'm Afraid of Bees by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) Page A

Book: 17 - Why I'm Afraid of Bees by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) Read Free Book Online
Authors: R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)
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living expert on bees!
    Today, Mr. Andretti was wearing his usual bee outfit. It’s a white suit, and
a hat with a wire-screen veil hanging down to protect his face. His clothes are
tied with string at the wrists and ankles. He looks just like some kind of alien
creature out of a horror movie.
    As my neighbor carefully opened and closed the drawerlike sections of his
hanging hives, I noticed he wasn’t wearing any gloves.
    Once, when I was with my dad, Mr. Andretti had explained this to us. “It’s
like this, Lutz,” he said. Lutz is my father, Ken Lutz. Naturally, during this entire conversation, Mr. Andretti had acted as if I wasn’t even
there.
    “Your average beekeepers usually wear gloves,” he explained. “A lot of the
brave ones use gloves with no fingers and thumbs so they can work with the bees
more easily.”
    Mr. Andretti thumped himself on the chest and went on. “But your truly
outstanding beekeeper—such as myself—likes to work with his bare hands. My
bees trust me. You know, Lutz, bees are really a lot smarter than most people
realize.”
    Oh, sure, I said to myself at the time. If they’re really so smart, why do
they keep coming back to your hive and letting you steal all their honey from
them?
    Bzzzzzz.
    The humming from Mr. Andretti’s hives suddenly grew louder and more
threatening. I stood up and walked over to the fence between our two back yards.
I gazed into the screened-in area to see what was going on.
    Then I gasped out loud.
    Mr. Andretti’s white suit didn’t appear white anymore. It had become black!
    Why? Because he was totally covered with bees!
    As I stared, more and more of the insects oozed out of their hives. They
crawled all over Mr. Andretti’s arms and chest, and even on his head.
    I was so grossed out, I thought I might puke!
    Mr. Andretti’s hat and veil shimmered and bulged as if they were alive!
    Wasn’t he scared of all those stingers?
    As I leaned over the fence, Andretti suddenly yelled at me: “Gary—look out!”
    I froze. “Huh?”
    “The bees!” Mr. Andretti screamed. “They’re out of control! Run!”

 
 
2
     
     
    I never ran so fast in my life! I charged across the yard and stumbled up the
back steps of my house.
    I flung open the screen door and almost fell into the house. Then I stopped
and leaned against the kitchen table, gasping for air.
    When I finally caught my breath, I listened hard. I could still hear the
angry buzzing of the bees from the next yard. Then I heard something else.
    “Haw haw haw!”
    Somebody was laughing out there. And it sounded suspiciously like Mr.
Andretti.
    Slowly, I turned around and peered out through the screen door. My neighbor
was standing at the bottom of the back steps. He’d taken off his bee veil, and I
could see that he had a huge grin on his face.
    “Haw haw! You should have seen the expression on your face, Gary. You never would believe how funny you looked! And
the way you ran!”
    I stared at him. “You mean your bees weren’t escaping?”
    Mr. Andretti slapped his knee. “Of course they weren’t! I have complete
control of those bees at all times. They come and go, bringing nectar and pollen
back from the flowers.”
    He paused to wipe some sweat off his forehead. “Of course, sometimes I have
to go out and recapture a few lost bees with my net. But most of them know my
hives are really the best home they can possibly have!”
    “So this was all a joke, Mr. Andretti?” I tried to sound angry. But that’s
hard to do when your voice is shaking even harder than your knees! “It was
supposed to be funny?”
    “I guess that’ll teach you to get a life and stop staring at me all day!” he
replied. Then he turned and walked away.
    I was so angry! What a mean trick!
    It was bad enough having kids my age pick on me all the time. But now the
grown-ups were starting in!
    I pounded my fist on the kitchen table just as my mother walked into the
room. “Hi, Gary,” she said,

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