Stuffed, page 1
Text copyright © 2019 by Liz Braswell
Character illustrations © 2019 by Michael Slack
How-to illustrations by Luke Newell
Designed by David Hastings and Tyler Nevins
Cover character design by Michael Slack
Cover character fabrication by Janelle Santner
Cover design and photograph by Tyler Nevins
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.
ISBN 978-1-368-04440-0
Visit www.DisneyBooks.com
This book is for
Alex and Ivy
and Dylan and Max and Maddy and Ness and Xavier
and everyone who still sleeps with a Stuffy
because of the Monsters
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
A Package Arrives
Chapter One – Night
FOON
Chapter Two – Still Night
Chapter Three – Day
FOON
Chapter Four – Night
Chapter Five – Day
D.A.’s Amazing Zipper Dangle How-To!
Chapter Six – Night
FOON
Chapter Seven – Day
Chapter Eight – Still Day
Chapter Nine – Day
Chapter Ten – Night
FOON
Chapter Eleven – Days
Chapter Twelve – Day
Chapter Thirteen – Night
FOON
Chapter Fourteen – Day
Catherine-Lucille’s Guide to Simple Stuffy Making
Chapter Fifteen – Day
Chapter Sixteen – Night
Chapter Seventeen – Day
Chapter Eighteen – Night
Chapter Nineteen – Days
Chapter Twenty – Day
Chapter Twenty-One – Night
Chapter Twenty-Two – Night
Chapter Twenty-Three – Foon’s Journey Part I
Chapter Twenty-Four – Foon’s Journey Part II
Chapter Twenty-Five – Night
Chapter Twenty-Six – Foon’s Journey Part III
FOON
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Foon’s Journey Part IV
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Foon’s Journey Part V
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Night
Chapter Thirty – Foon’s Journey Part VI
Chapter Thirty-One – Foon’s Journey Part VII
Chapter Thirty-Two – Foon’s Journey Part VIII
FOON
Chapter Thirty-Three – Day
FOON
Chapter Thirty-Four – Still Day
Chapter Thirty-Five – Day
Chapter Thirty-Six – Day
FOON
Epilogue: Pro Skills! By Clark (and Anna and Grandma Machen)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
From the very first day the sun rose over the world there have been shadows;
For where there is Light, there is always Dark.
Humans and their friends play in the Light of the sun
But there are Monsters who lurk in the Darkness, waiting to grab them.
What follows is one tale in the eternal war against the Dark.
It is the story of a small boy, and his even smaller guardian.
So, by the Grace of the Velveteen, our story begins.
“Bob? Booooobb! There’s a package for you!”
The doorbell hadn’t been rung, and the quick footsteps of the postwoman couldn’t be heard as she trotted away from the house and back to the safety of her truck. If Mrs. Smith hadn’t been opening the door to check on the whimsical spring weather, the brown cardboard box might have sat there all day.
“I think it’s from your parents!”
She pulled the box inside and the whole Smith family gathered around it: Mrs. and Mr. and their children, Clark and Anna. The handwriting on the package was deliberate and neat, the return stamp from California. Unmistakably Grandma and Grandpa Smith. Sometimes they sent postcards from the beach or oranges from their backyard tree. There was something decidedly not fresh and beachy about this strange box, however.
Mr. Smith frowned and then went to work ripping off the old-fashioned paper tape. When he finally managed to open the flaps, a musty, mildewed puff of air exploded out of it.
“Whoa,” Anna said, leaning over to look.
Inside were bits and pieces of Mr. Smith’s childhood, dun-colored and worn. There was a paperweight, a plastic spaceship, some books without covers, a few weird little figurines.
Mrs. Smith reached in and deftly took out a letter, the only recent object in the pile.
“Going through some old stuff—thought you’d like to have them. Oh. That’s…nice.” Mrs. Smith was a very neat person and liked things that smelled of lemons, not mildew.
“Oh cool! Can I look at them?” Clark asked, reaching in to grab the figurines.
But Mr. Smith was regarding the items with a look less like delight and more like dawning horror. His eyes were very far away.
“Let’s leave your dad alone for a few minutes to go through this stuff by himself,” Mrs. Smith suggested gently. “He’ll call you when he’s ready to share.”
Disappointed but unprotesting, Clark and Anna followed her glumly out of the room, leaving their father with the box.
He didn’t move for a long time.
Finally he reached in with reluctant hands and picked up a single object—the paperweight.
The thing that was under it rose up like a coil of smoke.
Less surprised than resigned, Mr. Smith didn’t even cry out when it descended on him.
Tomorrow, summer began.
Tomorrow, summer stretched three green months into the future, wide and open like a storybook landscape.
Or like a Monopoly board with the months in one pleasant block, waiting for hotels.
Fourth grade ended tomorrow. A nearly infinite sunny time approached for Clark, full of:
Reading as many books as he wanted.
Playing in the backyard until he was called in.
Afternoons at the pool and, if he was lucky, sometimes the lake.
Time would be marked by meals, not bells. And meals would sometimes be picnics or surprise outings to the Tastee-Freez.
Most importantly, summer meant the longest days and the shortest nights.
But all that began tomorrow.
Right now it was still tonight.
And night was creeping in.
Mrs. Smith speared a ravioli on her fork, a bright grin on her face. “SO! Tomorrow. Last day of school. What next, team? What are your big plans for June, July, and August?”
Clark’s sister, Anna, rolled her heavily made-up eyes and nudged him in the stomach with her elbow. She was sixteen but mostly treated him like an equal. Clark rolled his eyes back at her. It was a nice distraction from watching the light fade beyond the windows.
Mrs. Smith looked at Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith did not return her look; he just spooned ravioli into his mouth, trying not to get any sauce on his mustache.
“Come on, guys!” Mrs. Smith tried again. “You have all of summer ahead of you! Big plans! Big projects! The world is your oyster!”
“I thought I’d take up taxidermy,” Anna said.
“Miss Smith,” her mother growled. “Don’t even joke.”
Clark knew that Anna would probably do the same thing she did every summer. She would wear her seasonally inappropriate dark and heavy clothes and hang around with her friends who were always inappropriate, no matter what season it was. She wouldn’t really do anything, unless she could get one of the coveted jobs at Hot Topic.
“What about you, Clark?” his mother asked.
“First I’m going to finish that Dragons of the Realm series. After that I’ll try Cursed Child again. If you let me, I’m going to the library every day on my bike.”
He was so excited by the imaginary stack of books waiting for him that at first he didn’t notice his audience’s reaction.
His mother was staring at him silently. So was his dad, but his gaze was slightly off-center.
Whoops. He should have said something like learn to swim the breast stroke properly or teach myself chess. But the opportunity was past.
Mrs. Smith took a deep breath.
“You guys. Come on. You’re young! This is summer! You’re kids! Don’t waste it!”
“We’re not wasting it,” Anna drawled. “We’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to do. As kids. Hang out and have
fun.”
Mrs. Smith narrowed her eyes and bit her lip but didn’t say anything. Mr. Smith kept eating his ravioli.
After TV it was time for bed. (“It’s still a school night! No partying yet!”) Darkness finally—and completely—overcame the yard outside. Clark brushed his teeth as fast as he could and peed, remembering to lower the seat carefully so it didn’t crash. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair to keep it from becoming too tangled or weird by morning, forcing Mom to bring out the Brush.
In his parents’ bathroom, Mrs. Smith was cleaning her own teeth for exactly two minutes with the help of a timer. She smiled at him with a foamy
“G’night, Mom!”
He was sort of glad she couldn’t kiss him on the head and sort of wished she would. His father lay in bed already, looking at the ceiling, not doing anything. In his work clothes. The TV was on but nearly silent. It flooded the room with a fluttering of sickly blue light.
And then…for a moment…it looked like there was a dim cloud above the bed. As if his dad were smoking. But there was no smell and of course Mr. and Mrs. Smith didn’t smoke. The haze swirled slowly and oozily above him.
But when Clark squinted, trying to look directly at it, the smoke wasn’t there at all.
The room seemed darker and gloomier now, and all the colors looked dimmer. The silence was overwhelming.
“Good night, Dad!” Clark called out, more loudly than he really needed to.
“g’night love you” his dad said back, still staring at the ceiling.
Clark made himself continue down the dark hall. Through her open door, he could see that Anna also was lying on her bed in her day clothes—but she was on her phone, fingers flying over the screen. Actually doing something. Sort of.
“G’night,” he said.
“G’night, squirt,” she said without bothering to look up.
But there was still enough love in that to get Clark the last few feet down the hall to his own room. He turned on the light, changed into his video-game pajamas, and closed the door—leaving it open the barest crack, of course.
And then, before turning off the light again, he arranged his stuffed animals.
In the center of his bed he put his two biggest: Winkum on the right and Draco on the left. Winkum was his most beloved old horse and always held this position of honor. Draco, powerful with his fiery red felt breath and spiky tail, guarded the left side of Clark.
Next and farther out from them were Bo Bear and Pog (always together. Pog was a small bunny, lanky and old and easily transportable but not that strong) and on the other side was the relatively new Dark Horse, whose fur was still smooth and whose flanks rippled with muscle. Beyond them were FlapFish and Dynamo the Diprotodon and Gribble, and Kevin and Ducky and Raccoon and Baz.
On the outside edges were the smallest stuffed animals. Random, cheap weird creatures given to Clark by his uncle or won in a claw machine. The ones he would miss less if anything Happened.
(This was a shameful thing to admit, but it was also the truth.)
All of the animals were faced out. Away from where Clark would lie in the middle, safely between Winkum and Draco. So they could watch. The closet door, the windows, the scary, cold floor he couldn’t see from his pillow. Shadowed corners.
They were always on the lookout for monsters.
Once everyone was in his or her proper position, Clark turned off the light and hopped carefully into his place in the center. He would have preferred to hug Winkum facing him; it was more comfortable. But the horse needed to keep an eye out. So his tail tickled Clark’s neck; that’s just the way it was.
Then Clark said his good nights to everyone he hadn’t been able to tell personally. He couldn’t say this for certain, but felt that this little ritual also kept monsters away.
“Good night, Grandma and Grandpa Smith”—who were in California.
“Good night, Grandma Machen”—who was just over in Hixville.
“Good night, Grandpa Ken”—who was wherever people were when they died.
“Good night, Aaron and Nathan”—who were the cousins he never got to see.
“Good night, Shantel. Yankees rule, Sox drool!”—who was his best friend from kindergarten and had just moved to Boston.
And then, even though he knew they weren’t real and he knew it was childish, he said good night to the others.
“Good night, Superman and Batman,” he whispered.
Neither of them had parents to say good night to them. Maybe they missed it. Even after becoming grown-up heroes.
“Good night, Wonder Woman.” (Even though she did have a mom.)
And then, finally, Clark was able to snuggle down between his two walls of stuffed animals, sheets and covers pulled suffocatingly overhead. He drifted off, dreaming of summer.
The clock said 4:37 a.m. in bright, bright red.
Clark never got up to pee and was not sure what had woken him. He quickly counted his stuffed animals, looking left and right as his eyes adjusted.
Baz. The tiny monkey.
He had been on the farthest outside, to the left.
And now he was gone.
Clark’s heart began to race.
He really, really didn’t want to stick his head back out of the blankets and pillows. But the little stuffed animal needed him.
He closed his eyes and tried to summon a teaspoon of courage. He thought of every cool and brave comic book character he had ever loved.
Then he peeped over the side of the bed and looked.
There on the floor lay Baz, simply fallen out of bed.
But…was it that simple?
He had been on the other side of Clark at the beginning of the night. On the part facing the wall, not the windows.
How did he wind up on the wrong side?
It wasn’t possible.
At least the little guy looked all right.
But…was the closet door opened a crack?
That wasn’t good. Clark had made sure it was closed before going to sleep, like he always did. Just like he always made sure his bedroom door was always left open a crack.
Didn’t matter. Wasn’t going to think about it. There was a rescue to be done.
Clark squirmed around, keeping as much of his body under the blankets as he could. Eventually he managed to angle himself so that only his torso stuck out over the side of the bed. His carefully ordered lineup of stuffed animals was shattered and a couple of guys were temporarily squished—but thankfully, no one else fell over the sides.
He braced his toes over the mattress edge to keep from falling to the floor himself.
With a quick swipe Clark grabbed Baz by the tail. He managed to do this without even touching the ground—or anything else. Then he threw himself back into the middle of the bed with a ninja-like roll. The bedsheets tangled around his legs like ropes. Stuffed animals flew. But none fell. Everyone, including the little monkey and Clark himself, was safe.
He held up Baz and viewed him critically.
Was one eye pulled slightly, tearing the cloth around it? Had it been that way before? Was his painted nose scratched?
Why was there dust all over him? Hairy, big dust? Like…like he had fallen off the bed and then been dragged underneath it to the other side…
Clark carefully wiped off the tiny monkey and tucked him back in, a little closer to the center this time.
But still facing out. Watching.
There was more night before morning.
Morning was glorious. Last day of school! Clark’s room was blasted with sunlight, yellow and warm.
He was in such a good mood he almost forgot to check his stuffed animals….
But not quite. There had been some settling and confusion, a few guys switched places. Otherwise everyone was more or less still where they were originally deployed.
In the sunlight, Baz definitely looked a little worse for the wear. The rips and dust implied incredibly creepy things. Something had gone after the monkey…something that pulled it under the bed and chewed. Something Clark definitely didn’t want to think about, even in daylight hours. He would switch Baz out with someone else that night to give the little monkey a rest.
Breakfast was special: Mrs. Smith marked every occasion with a Meal. Today it was maple sausages and toast with little butter suns on them, their rays melting into the bread.
“Last day of school!” Mrs. Smith cried. She already wore the large earpiece that stuck out of her head all day. Her job was calling people and trying to get them to pay their credit card bills. She also was starting up her own LifestylePositivityEnhancement counseling service, which seemed to mostly involve telling people the same sort of encouraging things she told Clark and Anna every day, but for money.
Mr. Smith already had his bag, leaving for his job at the bank while Anna and Clark ate and Mrs. Smith hopped around, cleaning, organizing, packing, drinking green tea.
“havegoodday,” he mumbled, and then walked into the wall.
Everyone stared at him.
He stared at the wall.
