A Babysitter's Guide to Monster Hunting #1 Page 3

  I had to stop myself from having a life-ending giggle fit. Mrs. Zellman was dressed as the Ice Queen.

  She glared down at me.

  “Hi, Mrs. Zellman,” I said with a little wave.

  “Five hundred thousand for ten units, Arjun. Final offer,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  My dad honked the horn. “See you at the party, Mrs. Zellman!” he shouted, and waved. “She’s all yours.” He laughed and then drove away.

  Mrs. Zellman gave an absent wave and then gestured for me to enter. “You can put me on hold, but the numbers aren’t going to change, Arjun,” she said into her Bluetooth earpiece.

  I followed her clacking heels through the flawlessly decorated house. Vast glass doors overlooked the murky Narragansett Bay beyond the rolling backyard.

  “Well, well, Kelly Ferguson,” she said. “The last time I saw you was four years ago at the company picnic, when you fell into the pool during the potato sack race.”

  “Yep,” I said. “I remember that like it was yesterday.”

  “HANK, THE BABYSITTER’S HERE, WE HAVE TO GO!” Her scream bounced off the walls as she glided into an enormous kitchen.

  “Dinner’s in the oven. I took Baby Jacob trick-or-treating at noon.”

  “Noon?” I blurted out. Mrs. Zellman shot me a stern look. I swallowed under her icy stare. “I mean. Great idea. Very safe.”

  She pointed to one of fifty cupboards lining the vast kitchen. “We put all his candy in the top cupboard. He can have three pieces: the raisins, the dried-apple chips, and puffed rice cakes.”

  What kind of neighbors give out rice cakes? This part of town was nice but weird.

  Briskly walking down a hallway lined with jagged, modern art, she snapped a printed-out list in my face.

  “Here is a list of no-no’s,” she said.

  BABY JACOB NO-NO’S

  No ice cream

  No gluten

  No chocolate

  No dairy

  No peanuts

  No more than 30 minutes of “screen time”—this means TV, iPad, video games

  No running

  No shouting

  No discussing global tragedies or current events

  “I realize it’s a bit much, but it’s not without good reason.” Her voice lowered into a hushed, concerned tone. “Jacob has these . . . nightmares. Bad ones. We’ve taken him to doctors, given him medication. . . . We don’t know what’s causing them. But they’re terrifying him.”

  I shuddered, quietly freaking out inside.

  Mrs. Zellman clapped her hands together. “Let’s go meet him, shall we?”

  We entered a bright room filled with every toy a parent could 1-Click on Amazon. The eyes of a million stuffed animals stared back at me. A red camping tent was set up in the far corner. I could see the hunched shadow of a little boy inside it.

  “Where’s Liz?” said the shadow.

  “Liz can’t be here tonight, honey,” Mrs. Zellman replied, slowly unzipping the tent.

  I leaned down to see Jacob, a pear-shaped little boy in a tight-fitting ninja costume. He was drawing in a large sketch pad on his lap. When Mrs. Zellman pulled back the tent flap, he quickly hid his drawing.

  “This is Kelly.”

  He scowled up at me.

  “I want Liz,” he demanded.

  “Liz LeRue’s been his babysitter for years,” Mrs. Zellman whispered to me as she checked her phone. “He’s got a little crush. Yes, I’m still holding!” she shouted. “Where is Arjun? I’m hanging up and he’s going to get nothing in five, four, three—”

  I decided to try to make eye contact with the creature.

  “We’re going to have fun tonight!” I said.

  Jacob looked at me again—confirmed that no, I was indeed not his beloved Liz—and promptly kicked his way out of the tent and across a pile of toys like an angry giant stomping through a tiny village.

  “Not Liz,” he said, marching around the room.

  Mrs. Zellman cradled the little pork bean. “If you’re nice to her, we’ll get you that new toy-thing you want.”

  Jacob grunted and then ran from the room. Mrs. Zellman shrugged and waved her hand. “Well, that’s Baby Jacob.”

  The muscles in my face struggled to smile. “Cute,” I said.

  Mrs. Zellman looked at me as if she was really seeing me for the first time. “You do have a lot of experience with children, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course!” I blurted out. “I’ve worked with kids a lot. They’re—they’re the best.”

  Not exactly the truth, but I wasn’t going to get fired before I even started the job.

  “Not Liz!” came the echoes down the hall.

  “Bedtime is at seven thirty. It usually takes a little while to get him to sleep.” She paused, staring at his bed. “I don’t know what it is; something new these past few months. . . . If he puts up a fight or starts to scream, just read him a book to calm him down.” Her lips curled into a proud smile. “He has a terrific imagination.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, trying not to sound creeped out.

  “Finally!” she said. “Thank you. Yes.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” I said. “I was supposed to go to a party tonight, but—”

  Mrs. Zellman walked out of the room, speaking into her Bluetooth headset. “I’ll have legal send over the paperwork.”

  As Mrs. Zellman’s heels clacked down the hall, I peeked inside the red tent and saw the sketch pad Jacob had been drawing in. An entire layer of thick, black crayon covered the page. In the middle, two large cruel-looking yellow eyes stared at me through the Crayola darkness. I shuddered and quickly walked out to find Mrs. Zellman.

  At the marble staircase, Mr. Zellman waddled down dressed in a penguin costume. If I squinted, he looked like a grown-up version of Baby Jacob, except in a tuxedo.

  “You’re not Liz,” he said to me. I forced a smile. “Don’t burn the house down.” He was laughing when he said it, but I knew he meant it.

  Jacob tugged at his mother’s snowflake dress. “Don’t go,” he whispered.

  She held him tight and, for a brief moment, the Ice Queen melted. “I love you so much, Jakey,” she said, and gave him a big mushy kiss. “We will be back by one. Have fun.”

  “Be a big boy, champ,” Mr. Zellman said, pulling at his cuff links.

  Jacob ran off to the living room. Mrs. Zellman sighed a little and then snapped back into boss mode. “Keep the doors locked. Open them for no one,” she told me.

  On her way out, Mrs. Zellman taped a sign to the front door:

  No Candy.

  Don’t Ask.

  “We’ll be back by one a.m. sharp.”

  With that, she slammed the door. The metal sound of her jingling key turned and twisted in the door with a final click-clack-click, locking me inside.

  5

  Jacob sat on a large, high-backed chair in the living room, looking like a little king dressed in ninja robes. His big green eyes tracked me as I flopped onto the couch.

  “So. You’re a ninja?” I tried.

  Jacob stared at me in total silence.

  “Wanna watch Netflix? There’s this great Korean soap opera—”

  “I want my candy,” said Jacob.

  “Candy. Sure,” I said. “Let’s get some candy.”

  In the kitchen, I climbed onto the counter, reached up to the highest cabinet, and took down a plastic pumpkin candy holder. I sifted past chocolate-covered caramel bars and fluorescent lollipops and plucked out the minibox of raisins, the dried-apple chips, and the rice cakes. I handed them down to Jacob.

  “Mmm. Enjoy that,” I said.

  I snatched a caramel chocolate nut bar from the plastic pumpkin, and closed the cabinet door.

  “Babysitter tax,” I told him with a wink.

  Jacob stared down at the healthy snacks, which would never be mistaken for candy.

  “Sorry, dude. I’m under very specific instructions not to give you the good stuf
f.”

  “I wan’ all of it,” he said.

  “And I’d like world peace and a free trip to Camp Miskatonic,” I said.

  Leaving Jacob to his smorgasbord of gluten-free, sugar-free, and joy-free treats, I plopped down onto the couch again and checked my Instagram. Deanna had posted pictures of her and the Princess Pack getting ready for Jesper’s party. Her description read “Party of the Year 2Nite with My Squad. #PrincessPackForLife,” followed by fifteen celebratory emojis.

  I received a text from Tammy:

  Tammy:

  Cannot believe UR bailing!

  Me:

  So sorry. Wish I was with you.

  Tammy:

  Gonna brave it on my own.

  Me:

  U R?!

  Tammy:

  Wish me luck!

  Just as I was writing “luck,” Jacob swiped my phone from my hand and ran to the bathroom.

  “Jacob, give that back!” I yelled, chasing after him.

  Jacob held my phone over the toilet. “I want my candy or I’m going to . . . ,” he threatened.

  “Fine!” I said, holding my hands out, careful not to spook him into dropping it.

  “Anna ice cream,” he added, glaring. His sticky fingers gripped my most prized possession.

  “Your mom said no ice cr—”

  Jacob flushed the toilet and lowered my phone toward the swirling water.

  I screamed, swallowed my pride, and led him directly to the kitchen.

  Three bowls of mint chocolate chip ice cream and five handfuls of real-deal Halloween candy later, Jacob slid my phone back to me. He continued feasting on his sugary booty.

  “Don’t tell your mom, okay?” I warned him. “And slow down. You just ate a Starburst and M&M’s in one bite. Yuck.”

  He sat back in his chair, doughy legs kicking happily over the edge of his seat. With a chocolate smudge-beard around his chubby cheeks and a look of utter satisfaction, Jacob patted his tummy and smiled at me.

  “Thank you,” he burbled.

  A goober of chocolate plopped off the end of his chin. I handed him a napkin, but he thrust out his mucky cheek for me to wipe. Disgusted, I smushed the napkin over his face. He made a happy sound. I have to admit, it was pretty cute.

  Maybe me and the loaf are going to get along fine.

  “TAG!” he screamed. He jumped off the chair and slapped me on the back really hard.

  Panting, he ran in circles around the kitchen and then chased me into the living room, taunting me to tag him back. He death rolled over the couch and then scrambled into the dining room, but not before knocking over a lamp that looked like it cost more than my house. I dove and caught it an inch before it hit the ground. When I ran into the dining room, I saw that Jacob had jumped onto the table and was wagging his butt in the air.

  I was no longer dealing with a child. I was dealing with a runaway rocket.

  “Jacob, get down.”

  “Piggyback!”

  “Uh, no.”

  His head bobbed dangerously close to the chandelier hanging above the oak dining-room table. He shook his rump and sang, “Twerk it!”

  I’ve never liked that expression, and I really didn’t like it when Baby Jacob used it.

  I lunged for the little loaf, but he jumped out of the way. I slipped and hit my ribs on the table, knocking the wind out of myself.

  “Ow!” I said, gasping for air.

  “Ha-ha!” he said.

  Just get through the night, I thought as he went into full tornado mode. Collect your fifty bucks, and you never have to see Baby Jacob again.

  “Piggyback!” he cried out, jumping onto my back.

  “No!” I said. “I . . . have a bad back.”

  Total lie.

  “Piggyback, pleeeeeeeease?” He pouted.

  “Look, I’m just not a piggyback kinda person, okay?”

  He paused, made his supersad face, and then decided to throw his toys at me.

  After thirty minutes of deflecting Legos and G.I. Joes, I finally wore Jacob out. He collapsed onto the couch in a fit of satisfied giggles and nuzzled into the big cushions. I encouraged him to go to sleep by gently patting his head. Works for cats.

  I kept a safe distance to avoid getting sweated on, and turned on the television.

  Careful not to stir the creature, I reached into my pocket and checked my phone. There was a ton of missed texts from Tammy:

  Tammy:

  Party is lame. Ur not missing anything. Just the time of ur life ;)

  Miss you! Wish you were here. Please come. Address is 1603 Whitmore.

  OMG. Victor sighting!!! Your prince has arrived.

  Dressed as a pirate!!! ARR!

  Tammy sent me a selfie of her making a funny face, with Victor talking to his friends in the background. He looked dreamy, even at an odd angle. Everyone in the picture was having the time of their lives on the coolest night of the year, and here I was, sitting on a couch with a doughy little troll.

  It’s finally happened, I thought. My inevitable spiral into social obscurity. I’ve officially entered the black hole of babysitting.

  Jacob gently leaned his head onto my lap and closed his eyes. His head was warm and cozy, like a hot-water bottle.

  “You are kinda cute, little loaf,” I said.

  I brushed a strand of hair from his face and smiled down at him. Then I noticed the line of drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth, pooling onto my favorite jeans. So gross! I didn’t want to wake him, but I had to get him off me—ASAP—so I slid my arms from under him and lifted him off the couch. I was surprised by how light he was.

  Halfway to his bedroom, Jacob woke up in my arms.

  “No!” Jacob begged. “No bed.”

  He wiggled to the floor and planted his feet on the ground in the hallway.

  “Jacob. It’s past your bedtime, and if you stay up any longer, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

  Jacob looked down the long corridor leading to his room.

  “I can’t go to bed. Not without Liz here. Please . . .”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I knew it was Tammy with more updates about the party, but I didn’t dare check in case Jacob’s sticky fingers swiped my phone again. He mumbled about the dark and swore he heard scratching under his bed. Monsters. I put on my best adult-sounding voice and explained to him that there are no such things as monsters.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Jake,” I said.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  6

  Jacob stepped out of the bathroom. “Peed but I didn’t poop.”

  “Thanks for sharing,” I said.

  Tammy:

  WHERE R U!?? CALL ME! I HAVE TO SPILL!

  I really wanted to know what Tammy had to tell me that was so urgent, but I had to put the little loaf to bed first.

  That’s the beauty of this job, I reminded myself. Just put him to sleep, and you will be free and clear for the rest of the night.

  As we walked down the corridor toward his room, he reached up and grabbed my hand. It was a sweet gesture, like we were about to cross a busy street together, except gross.

  “You go first,” he whispered.

  In the darkness, his once overbearingly bright and poppy-colored room was gray and dim. The whites of his toys’ big wide eyes stared back at me.

  I groped for the light, but I couldn’t find it. My blood rushed. Strange shadows crawled along the walls. My fingers finally found the switch, and I slapped it on.

  The colorful toys were back to normal. I stood there a moment, surprised by how anxious I had gotten in the darkness. Jacob was rubbing off on me.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” I said.

  Jacob’s little head peered around the doorframe.

  “Did you check under the bed?”

  I sighed. I knelt down to shine the bright bluish glow of my flashlight app across the empty, dusty space under his bed. There was a broken action figure covered in dust, its arms outstretc
hed, as if it were a baby that wanted to be picked up. Creepy, but no monsters.

  “Aaaaah!” I screamed.

  Jacob cowered behind the doorframe.

  “I see someone’s dirty undies!” I laughed.

  “Not funny,” Jacob insisted. “Did you check the windows?”

  Outside, a heavy fog was settling over the white elms and well-groomed bushes. The window latches were locked. I pulled the curtains closed. “Nothing out there,” I said.

  “And the closet?” he said quietly, pointing.

  Gimme a break. I walked to the closet and swung the door open.

  “Empty.”

  Jacob nodded and slumped into uneasy relaxation. I patted the bed, and he jumped onto it.

  “Bedtime story!”

  “A quick one,” I said, grabbing a book about an old lady and a sea turtle from a pile of picture books.

  “Not that one!” Jacob shouted.

  Horrific drawings spilled out of the book, fluttering onto the floor. They were jagged, scratchy crayon scribbles of disgusting creatures.

  Jacob avoided my eyes and whispered, “I have scary dreams.”

  He pointed to a picture he had drawn of a human-sized rat. “Sometimes he comes out of my closet,” he said.

  Next, he pointed to a giant spider lurking over a stick figure family. “He lives in the trees . . . and they . . .”

  I saw a drawing of four roly-poly things with long claws and wicked smiles on their beaks hiding under a bed.

  “They live under my bed.”

  Lastly, he pointed to a drawing of a tall, slender man with a bald head and hooves for feet.

  “And he comes to my window when I’m asleep.”

  The tall man in the drawing was wearing a black suit with long coattails, and his eyes were yellow. I’d seen this man before. Maybe it was on TV or online. I lingered on the drawing, and a chill rose up my spine.

  “I used to have nightmares about a monster like this,” I said, not meaning to say it aloud.

  “You did?” Jacob’s desperate eyes sent goose bumps across my forearms.

  I nodded slowly. The memory of me waking and telling my mom about a tall man with goat legs played like a murky movie in my mind. I was crying. And I was Jacob’s age.