Wanted by R. L. Stine

faces painted on the pumpkins. Ugly monster faces. Some had evil red eyes. Green gobs of drool dripping from jagged-toothed mouths. Some had painted cracks down the middle of their faces. Fangs. One eye gouged out. Demon horns poking up from the top. One pumpkin appeared to have orange vomit pouring from its nostrils and open mouth.
    My sisters didn’t paint these ugly faces!
    I jumped to my feet. I fumbled through the pumpkins, picking up each one, studying every face. All of them hideous. All of them disgusting. Totally gross.
    I swore I would ignore anything weird that happened. But this was too weird. And this time I had proof .
    I gathered them up. I stuffed as many of the ugly pumpkins as I could in my arms.
    Holding them against my chest, I went running to the garage.
    â€œDad! Dad!” I screamed breathlessly. “Dad! Look at these! I told you something weird was happening on this farm! Dad — I’ve got proof !”

“Dad! I’ve got proof! Come look at this. Something is very wrong here! Dad!”
    He was bent over a workbench, examining a pair of hedge clippers. I didn’t see Haywood. I guessed he had gone home.
    Dad turned as I came screaming into the garage. “Devin? What’s up this time?”
    â€œI’ve got proof!” I cried. “I told you something is weird here. Look at these pumpkins, Dad. Look at them.”
    I tried to hand them over to him. But they fell out of my arms and tumbled to the garage floor.
    â€œOh. Sorry.”
    Shaking his head, Dad dropped down on his knees and began gathering them up.
    â€œSee?” I cried. “Look at them.”
    â€œWhat about them?” he demanded.
    â€œDale and Dolly didn’t paint those,” I said.
    He raised pumpkin after pumpkin and studied the painted faces. “Why not?” he asked.
    â€œHuh?” I squatted down beside him.
    He turned two pumpkins toward me. Cute smiley faces.
    He set those down and picked up two more. Cross-eyed faces with goofy red tongues hanging out of grinning mouths.
    â€œBut — but —” I sputtered.
    â€œThese are cute,” Dad said. “Your sisters did a good job.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “What were you yelling about?”
    â€œWell …”
    Dad shook his head and frowned. “Devin, you promised me. You promised me you would try harder. And now you come running in here screaming about these cute little pumpkins?”
    â€œBut, Dad — they weren’t cute. They —”
    Dad tossed a smiley-face pumpkin into my hands. “I’m warning you, boy,” he said.
    He only calls me boy when he is angry.
    â€œOne more crazy stunt, and you’ll be grounded for a month after we get home. And no cell-phone privileges for a month. I mean it.”
    â€œNo phone? Dad, that’s like cutting off my oxygen !”
    I thought that would make him laugh, but it didn’t. He climbed to his feet, picked up the hedge clippers, and stomped out of the garage.
    I didn’t move. I was still squatting down next to the cute little pumpkins. My brain was doing flip-flops.
    If I could only figure out why all this weird stuff was happening to me.
    I knew I had to be careful. Dad would be watching my every move now. Waiting for me to mess up.
    He’s not a very strict parent. And he’s not mean at all. But once you get on his bad side, look out !
    I suddenly had the feeling I wasn’t alone. The back of my neck tingled. I felt someone was watching me.
    Haywood?
    No.
    I turned and saw the big black cat hunched in the garage doorway. Staring at me. Not moving a whisker. The cat just stared with those cold green eyes.
    â€œZeus, what’s your problem?” I called.
    The cat didn’t move.
    I felt something bump against my knee.
    Then several soft thuds.
    I glanced down — and let out a shocked cry.
    The little pumpkins — they were bouncing up and down. Bouncing like tennis balls on the