I told Harold this wasn’t really a “swimming lessons” kind of camp. But he reminded me that there are streams and lakes out here in the Dark Woods, and that we COULD come upon one any second now.

  I almost laughed. I mean, why worry about WATER when there are things like WOLVES in these woods?

  But I figured that would be rude. So instead, I tried to take Harold’s mind off things by talking about the shelter we would build.

  “If my dad were here,” I said, “he’d build us a MANSION.” My dad, Gerald Creeper Sr., can build just about ANYTHING if you send him out to his garage for a couple of hours. He built a super-deluxe stand for me and my friends to sell slime and hot chocolate from this summer. He built Mom a chicken coop, too—and I think those chickens out back had it better than we did for a while.

  For a second, I almost missed the old guy, just talking about him like that. Then I remembered how he and Mom had dumped me at this dumb old camp yesterday, and I missed him a whole lot LESS.

  Anyway, it turned out that building shelters was NOTHING like building chicken coops. The Vindicator counselors showed us how to chop down oak branches and stack them together to make walls. Except the Vindicators were using REALLY big axes, which made the pickaxe in my hand look pretty pathetic, let me tell you.

  The good news is, the Dark Forest is so thick with trees, all I had to do was spin in a circle with my pickaxe, and twigs started raining down. I showed Sam, Duke, and Harold how to do it, too. Pretty soon, we had twig walls stacked as high as Sam’s head. We might not have made the STURDIEST shelter, but we made the fastest one for sure.

  “What about a roof?” Sam asked.

  That’s when I had one of my genius ideas. (What can I say? They just hit me sometimes.) I found one of those ginormous red mushrooms, stood on Sam’s back so I could reach the top, and cut off that round, dome-shaped part of the shroom.

  Then we plunked it on top of our shelter like a roof. PRESTO! We had a cute little cottage, if I do say so myself.

  At least we DID. Until Mr. Ender teleported over and nudged it with one of his mile-long arms. The whole thing toppled over—right on top of me.

  “You’re going to have to build a sturdier shelter than that if you want to WIN,” he said. Then he pointed toward the Vindicators, who were chopping down whole TREES. They were building a FORTRESS, for crying out loud!

  By then, I’d figured out two things:

  We were NOT going to win the shelter-building contest.

  Our counselor was just a TAD competitive.

  Oh, wait—three things.

  If I ever REALLY need to take shelter in these woods, I’m just going to crawl inside one of those giant mushrooms. I’ll eat my way in.

  I whispered that last part to Sam, knowing he’d appreciate it. But Mr. Ender overheard me—and he really DIDN’T appreciate it. He gave me one of his piercing looks and said, “Not funny, Harold. Now get to work.”

  Harold Husk piped up from behind to say my name was Gerald. But for some reason, Mr. Ender didn’t hear THAT. Anyway, I decided to let it slide. (When you’re in trouble, it’s a pretty good time to use a fake name, right?)

  So we started over with our shelter. We tried to weave together our twigs like a thatched mat. And things were looking pretty good!

  Until this Vindicator named Johnny “accidentally” swung his axe through our wall and ruined the whole thing. I guess he was hacking his way through a birch tree and the axe kept right on going.

  Sam forgave him right away. (Sometimes that slime KILLS me.) But I kept wondering, what if I had been INSIDE that shelter when it happened? There’d be a brand-new ghost story for campers to share around the campfire this summer. They’d all be talking about The Legend of the Headless Creeper.

  YEESH. I shiver just thinking about it.

  The worst part was, Johnny’s counselor didn’t scold him or ANYTHING! He just crossed his arms and kind of smirked, as if Johnny was just carrying out his evil plan.

  We rebuilt the shelter AGAIN. And now we’re back in our cabin, and my body is so sore from chopping, I wish I could take a swig of one of Willow’s potions of healing. Except I can’t. Because Mr. Ender STOLE our potions and hid them somewhere.

  All I can do is write in my journal and RAP my misery away.

  Woodland Survival Camp? Yep, you gotta love it. Two days down and counting . . .

  DAY 3: TUESDAY

  So GET THIS: Mr. Ender brought a bag of mail to our cabin tonight, and Mom did NOT write me a letter. Guess what I got instead?

  A lousy postcard! From the BEACH!

  Well, it wasn’t an actual postcard. It was a photo Mom had taken of her and Dad sipping these fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas in them.

  And on the back, Mom had scribbled a message:

  Decided to visit Cate at the beach!

  See you soon!

  XXOO Mom & Dad

  Well, I had so many questions about that, I nearly blew up. First of all, how long had Mom and Dad been planning that beach vacation? And why was I JUST hearing about it now?

  Second, where was my baby sister, Cammy? Did they dump her at the minecart station or something?

  Third, WHO was taking care of Sticky the Squid? And Pete the Parrot? I mean, I’d write a letter home and ASK these questions, but there’d be no one there to get it!

  I pretty much had a panic attack right there on my bunk bed. I started packing my bag to catch the next minecart home, but Sam stopped me. He was blubbering from the top bunk, and when I popped my head up to see what was wrong, he showed me a letter from Willow.

  I skipped over all the mushy parts—the parts that were turning Sam into a weepy, gooey hunk of slime—and read the last line:

  P. S. Tell Gerald that I’m helping to take care of Pete and Sticky. They’re doing just fine.

  Well, PHEW. She could have STARTED with that, for crying out loud. I was relieved for about a minute. But now I’m starting to worry all over again. I sure hope Sticky doesn’t end up in one of Willow’s cauldrons or something . . .

  Did I mention that Sam not only got a letter from Mr. and Mrs. Slime, but he got a PACKAGE, too? Yep, it was filled with Cocoa Bean Cookies—made with love by a mother who actually CARES about him. Must be nice.

  Sam offered to share those cookies, which I didn’t turn down. But now he’s writing a love letter back to Willow, and I’m stewing again. How could my parents DO this to me? I mean, I like the beach as much as any creep. And I’d MUCH rather be there than sitting in this musty old cabin.

  “Think about something else.”

  GREAT. It really stinks when you’re mad at your mom, and then you hear HER voice in your head telling you to get over it.

  I tried thinking about something else, like about what we’re doing tonight after dinner. Mushroom gathering has to be better than shelter building, right?

  Except those mushrooms are HUGE. How are we even going to get ONE of them back to camp?

  That’s when I had another genius idea. (Must have been a sugar rush from those cookies.) See, I’m thinking I could pretty much RIDE one of those mushrooms like a sled—I mean, if I could get Sam, Duke, and Harold to pull me.

  If I work out all the details now, we’ll be WAY ahead of the game by tonight.

  Like I said, I’m a creeper with a plan. A plan to WIN.

  DAY 4: WEDNESDAY

  Well, that plan backfired like a firework rocket in a well.

  I blame it on Sam. He had slime in his ears or something, because when we were making our mushroom-gathering plan on the way into the Dark Forest, he couldn’t hear what I was saying. So I spoke LOUDER.

  “We’ll bribe Duke and Harold with cookies,” I said. “We’ll get them to pull us on a mushroom like a sled, all the way back to our cabin!” Now I knew that Sam was too big and heavy to ride that “sled,” but sometimes you have to sweeten the deal just to get your buddy on board with your plan.

  That was right about the time a group of Evokers passed us on the trail. And when they started whispering, I could tell they’d heard the whole thing. So I figured THEY were going to try pulling a mushroom like a sled, too. (What can I say? My genius ideas spread like wildfire sometimes.)

  Anyway, I forgot all about the eavesdropping Evokers while we were chopping down our mushroom. It was a big brown one with a flat top. Did I mention that those mushrooms are ginormous? And that our pickaxes are teeny-tiny? It took FOREVER, but we finally got that shroom to fall over.

  When we told Duke and Harold about the cookies, they were happy to try to pull us on that mushroom—for a payment of three cookies each. So Sam and I climbed onboard.

  Well, let me just say this: Duke isn’t very strong. He’s really just a bag of bones. And Harold is strong enough, but he’s SUPER slow. It took about ten minutes to move about three inches. TWO groups of Vindicators blew by us carrying their mushrooms over their heads like canoes. But luckily, we hadn’t seen any Evokers yet—which meant we still had a chance at beating them.

  I told Sam he was going to have to get off the shroom (just like I’d known all along). But the mushroom was STILL too heavy, so I had to get off, too. We finally got the mushroom back to our cabin this morning in one piece—or almost one piece. (I mean, it was skinnier than when we started, and we lost the cap going around a curve in the trail.) But I knew there was no way we’d won mushroom gathering. Chalk up another loss for our crummy cabin.

  Right away, Duke and Harold started asking for cookies, even though they hadn’t really EARNED them by pulling us. But Sam was nice enough to share anyway. Or at least he would have shared. But when he went to find his cookies, they were GONE!

  At first, I wondered if Mr. Ender had “confiscated” them just like he did with our slime, potions, and fireworks. But then I saw the broken window.

  And on the ground outside the window? COOKIE CRUMBS. And a torn piece of black robe.

  Our next competition is wolf tracking. But FORGET that. We have Cocoa Bean Cookies to track down first, and I think I know JUST where to find them.

  DAY 5: THURSDAY

  Remember when I said I was curious about what kind of spells Evokers cast? Well, let’s just say, I’m OVER it.

  Yesterday, just before dusk, Sam, Harold, and I snuck out of our cabin for Operation Find Those Cookies. We crept over to the Evokers’ cabin while the sun was still up, hoping they’d be sleeping and we could steal the cookies back easy-schmeasy—with no mob getting hurt. That was our plan anyway. But I’m about 0 for 3 on my plans lately, so maybe I should have known better.

  We had to leave Duke at our cabin, on account of the fact that he burns up in sunlight. We told him to cover for us if Mr. Ender woke up—you know, to say that we’d all run to the bathrooms or something (because of those suspicious potatoes they’d served at the dining hall yesterday morning). Duke seemed kind of rattly about being stuck with Mr. Ender, but SOMEONE had to take one for the team.

  Anyway, we got to the Evokers’ cabin and peeked in the window. Sure enough, every Evoker in there looked like he was snoozing. Except for ONE.

  And one was all it took. That dude sat up, waved his arms over his head, and muttered something. Little purple bubbles floated around his fingertips—it was so cool, I couldn’t look away.

  Until some ferocious thing with FANGS started snapping at my feet.

  It was like the cabin had grown teeth or something! A whole row of them sprang up between us and the cabin wall. Those fangs snapped and snarled, shrinking back into the ground and then lunging back up. YIKES.

  Well, I’ve never run so fast in my whole creeper life. I’m no speed demon, but I’m faster than Harold the Husk—that’s for sure. I heard him groan, and I looked back just as he got nipped in the foot by a ginormous fang.

  I probably should have gone back to help him, but it was every mob for himself out there.

  I’d nearly made it back to the cabin safely when I suddenly ran SMACK into Mr. Ender. (It’s hard to avoid a guy who can teleport.) And when he asked what in the Overworld was going on, I spilled it – every single detail. I told him about the cookies, and the plan to ride a shroom like a sled, and about the Evokers with REALLY big ears who heard about the cookies and then BROKE INTO our cabin to steal them.

  I had to really talk up that part of the story—you know, so Mr. E would know that those Illagers were the bad guys and not us.

  Anyway, he got the gist. And when I told him about the cabin growing FANGS, well . . . his eyes got that scary purple glow. Then he muttered something about a counselors’ meeting and teleported away, faster than I could say “See ya.”

  I made a beeline for our cabin and slammed the door shut—right in Sam’s face. OOPS. Harold was right behind him, so I guess Sam must have taken pity on the poor husk and gone back to save him from the butt-biting fangs. Anyway, by the time we all got back into our cabin, Duke was rattling so hard, he was bouncing off the walls. I guess Mr. Ender was NOT happy when he woke up and found us all gone.

  When he teleported back from that counselors’ meeting, he was even LESS happy. So I guess the meeting didn’t go so well. He muttered something like “If the Illagers are going to play dirty, WE will, too.” Then he closed himself up in his bedroom and we heard lots of banging around, like he was moving blocks or something.

  I gotta say, the dude is pretty scary when he talks like that. I mean, when grown-ups start fighting like little kids, who KNOWS what could happen?

  We’re supposed to go wolf-tracking tonight after a good day’s sleep. Normally, just thinking about those wolves would freak me right out. But I’ve already got enough worries piled onto my brain. I mean, how’s a creep supposed to sleep when he keeps picturing ginormous fangs snapping at his feet?

  Meanwhile, Mom and Dad are sunning it on a beach somewhere. I gotta say, sometimes Life is REALLY unfair.

  DAY 6: FRIDAY

  Well, we didn’t track down a wolf last night. But I kind of wish we had. A wild wolf sounds downright CUDDLY compared to what we DID run into.

  Things got off to a rocky start when Mr. Ender told us WHY we were tracking wolves. It wasn’t to actually find a wolf—which I gotta say was a big relief. Instead, I guess we were tracking wolf prints because they might lead us to WATER. And on Survival Night, when we had to live off the land, it might be helpful to know where to find the wet stuff.

  Well, as soon as Mr. Ender said the W word, Harold Husk started shaking like a dandelion in a stiff breeze. That’s when I remembered how terrified he was of water.

  So while we were tiptoeing through the woods, Harold and I were competing to see who could be LAST in line. I finally let him win because, you know, if a wolf came up behind us, he could eat Harold first as a dried-out little appetizer.

  I could see Sam bouncing along all happy-like up front. Did I mention that the slime just LOVES animals? You should see how smoochy he gets with his pet cat, Moo, at home. He’d probably be THRILLED if we found a wolf! Duke was in his own little Overworld, too, humming some tune. Some mobs just wouldn’t know danger if it slapped them across the face.

  When Mr. Ender held up his long arm to stop us, Harold and I both started freaking out. Then Mr. Ender said something like, “Harold, get up here! Come see if you can identify these tracks!” I was pretty sure he was talking to me. But I shoved Harold Husk up there instead. I mean, that IS the dude’s name, right? I’d hate to steal his one chance at fame and glory.

  Well, Harold pretty much fell to pieces. He clung to the branch of an oak tree and started whimpering. Mr. Ender didn’t even know what to do with him, so he had Sam take a look at the tracks instead. “Yup, that’s a wolf!” said Sam, as if he’d just peeked inside a birthday gift and found EXACTLY what he wanted.

  Then we were off, zigzagging through the woods, following those tracks. When I finally took a turn looking at them, I could see how FRESH they were—wet and muddy. And VERY large. How big does a wolf have to be to leave a print like that?!

  I tried to drag my feet to slow the whole operation down. I couldn’t depend on Harold to do it anymore—we’d lost that husk a while back. He was probably still hanging from that oak tree, frozen like an ice spike in the Taiga.

  Mr. Ender was moving so fast down the trail, he was practically teleporting. And my gut screamed at me with every step that danger was right around the corner. I could FEEL it! Or maybe that was just the mushroom stew from dinner bubbling up inside. Any second now, I was probably going to hurl. But even THAT wouldn’t slow down this tracking party.

  Then. It. Happened.

  We came around this bend in the trail, and the mushrooms were growing so big and thick, I had to push Sam between them. He popped out on the other side, and I raced to catch up with him. And that’s when I heard the rustle in the bushes.

  And whirled around.

  And saw something LEAPING at me from the top of a giant mushroom.

  When I hit the ground under the weight of that giant beast, I’m not gonna lie—I blew up. Just a little. And that explosion blew the wolf right off me.

  Except it WASN’T a wolf. It was a Vindicator. That kid Johnny!

  I don’t know who looked more freaked out—me or Johnny. But his team of Vindicators came running from out of nowhere. And when I saw his counselor sprinting toward me with a giant axe, I nearly blew up AGAIN.

 

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