(giggling madly...
I cadged a ride to the library to post. Car still dead, but mechanic thinks he knows what's going on. Hope so. Back when I can...)
Part Thirty-Seven
A cold wind out of the northwest blew clouds in until Thursday morning looked more like an evening; by noon the sky was so overcast and the wind so biting that Kermit wished he’d worn something even warmer than his old trenchcoat. Glumly he climbed the subway station stairs, one flipper grasping his fedora tightly when a chilly gust threatened to steal it. “Stupid fall weather,” he grumbled. Should’ve gone on that perfume ad shoot with Piggy yesterday; it was gorgeous...we could have had a picnic in the park... Sighing, Kermit looked around once at the top of the steps to get his bearings. The dime store on the corner had been replaced by a dollar store, and the ads on the walls at the intersection were different, but as he peered against the wind he could see the familiar outline of the spruced-up brownstones which indicated the start of the street. His street, once upon a time. Glad that he still recognized it, and feeling vaguely guilty that he hadn’t visited for a very long time, the frog steeled his shoulders and tromped into the wind toward the signpost which had served as a beacon to many.
Kermit wasn’t sure whom he should seek out first; the younger monsters, he was positive, had nothing to do with anything horrible under the city. He was fairly sure the more mature residents wouldn’t sink so low either...but then again, the Newsman had shown him what appeared to be proof of terrible crimes going on, and a few of the Muppet Theatre’s regular monstrous performers had seemed to be involved.
The frog wasn’t sure whom to trust anymore.
Consumed in these thoughts, head down against the wind, he almost bumped into a purple monster on a pogo stick. “Whoooaaa! Hey, watch out, mister!” The orange nose wrinkled a bit, and the eyes went wide in worry as the monster dismounted his bouncing toy to grasp Kermit’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay? Sorry about that! I was trying to practice my boingarooney when this awful wind –“ Kermit looked up, and Telly startled, dropping his pogo stick. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Is that really you, Kermit?”
“Uh, yep, yep...it is,” Kermit nodded. “Hi, Telly. How are you do—“
“Hey everybody! It’s Kermit! Kermit’s back! Hey!” the excited young monster yelled. He banged on a nearby garbage can at the foot of a brownstone’s front steps – a city waste ordnance violation if ever Kermit had seen one, and one which made him quirk a wry smile. Some things don’t change. The cranky voice which shouted a reply even before the lid to the can slammed open didn’t sound as though it had changed, either.
“Heeeyyy! Knock it off! I was about to take my ugly rest!” A scraggly green head arose from the trash can, and dark brows furrowed at a frantic Telly. “Hey, kumquat-nose, what gives?”
“Oscar! Oscar! Look! Look, Kermit’s back!”
The Grouch swung around, startled, then gave his former neighbor a frown. “Well, well, look what the wind blew in with the rest of the trash!” He sneered, but Kermit wasn’t buying it. The very fact that the Grouch bothered to speak to him indicated he, too, had missed the frog.
Kermit smiled. “Nice to see you again too, Oscar.”
“Hmf!”
Telly trembled, hovering at Kermit’s shoulder. “Does...does this mean you’re moving back?”
Kermit sighed. “Sorry, Telly, no. Listen, it’s great to see you both, and I’m really, uh, I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while...”
The Grouch cocked his misshapen head to one side. “But lemme guess: this ain’t a social call.”
“No. I’m sorry.” Nasty-tempered as he could be, the trashcan resident might have a better idea than most whether anything untoward was going on among the monsters around here. “Oscar, I have some serious things I came to ask you guys about, and, well, um...”
“Serious!” Telly exclaimed, shaking. “Oh, no! Is...is Wall Street coming here?”
“What?” Baffled, Kermit stared at him.
“Well, I, uh...I heard my mom watching the news the other night, and they said that Wall Street was full of robbers out to steal our rights to assemble things, and Kermit –“ He grabbed Kermit’s arm anxiously. “I have a model triangle I’ve been putting together! Those robbers won’t come steal it when I’m done assembling it, will they?”
“Uh, no, Telly.” How the hey could he approach this with such an innocent? “Look, Telly, I heard that...that some of the monsters who work at my theatre might be...uh...might be getting in with a bad crowd, who want them to do bad things.”
Telly cringed. “Are they going to try and steal my model triangle?”
Oscar waved a grungy hand at the youngster. “Scram, kid! Us grown-ups have some serious stuff to talk about! Now beat it before I grab your stupid triangle! Heh heh heh.” He grinned as Telly retrieved his pogo stick and hurried off, casting nervous glances behind him every few steps. Turning back to Kermit, Oscar asked, “So what’s up? Did you need to come film a cautionary tale about just saying No for the naughty monster thespians?”
“Oscar, this is serious,” Kermit said, scowling.
“So you’ve said about twenty times already! What’s the big deal? And why don’t you hop around here any more? Finally got sick of the goody-goody stuff, huh? Well how wonderfully grouchy of you!”
“Oscar, knock it off, or I’ll...I’ll paint your can with pink polka-dots, and it’ll be the happiest, most cheerful trash can in the five boroughs!”
“Okay, okay, geez,” the Grouch grumbled. “Can’t blame a guy for being trying.”
Kermit stepped closer than he really wished to the battered waste-heap, avoiding a soggy, rotten banana peel. How does he still get away with this stuff, anyway? “Look...something is going on with the theatre monsters. Something that looks pretty dangerous...and I need to know if anyone here is involved. I mean, it seems unlikely, but...”
“Oh, well, if it’s dirt ya want!” Oscar said cheerfully. “Lemme see...uh, Telly has been running illegal trapezoids, Cookie is in rehab for junk food abuse, and the two-headed guy is working the phones for one a’ those nine-hundred numbers!”
Kermit blanched, and the Grouch chortled. “Heh heh heh! You should see your froggy little face right now! Whadda chump.” He shook his head, grinning. “Duh! They’re kids, frog! Whaddaya think they’re up to? They play, they sing, they learn about numbers and letters and...yeeeesh. I get sick just thinking about it.”
“So...so nothing out of the ordinary?” Kermit asked, relieved under his irritation.
“Regrettably, no.” Oscar gave him a sour grimace. “It’s all as sickeningly pleasant as usual. Now if you have nothing better to do than waste my time, scram! See if I care if you never write us!” With that, he slammed the lid down, vanishing into the bowels of the trash once more.
Unsure whether he should pursue the matter further here, and feeling very guilty about anyone else spotting him under these circumstances, Kermit looked around. The wind, fiercely chilly and now with a hint of rain blowing past, made him shiver and wonder if going into the store down the street would be a good idea or not; everyone would have questions, they’d want to chat and catch up, and as lovely as that sounded, now was not the time. Maybe...maybe you could invite them over for early trick-or-treating this weekend? He knew Piggy wouldn’t be thrilled at the idea of a house full of children, especially when several of them were large enough to knock over things...like the ‘fridge...or the foyer chandelier. But maybe just ask them to drop by the theatre for a treat, to show them we haven’t forgotten... Things have just been so busy! Sighing, he trudged onward, turning up the lapels of his coat against the wind.
“Pinwheels! Get your pretty fall pinwheels right here! Pinwheels so you can see the wind blowing – hey – watch it – hey come back here!” a familiar scratchy voice yelped; Kermit looked up exactly in time for a large paper pinwheel to smack him across the face. He struggled with it, finally prying it free of his damp nose, when the blue monster in a carnival barker’s vest and straw hat caught up. “Aha! There you are, you naughty pinwheel! Ah, sir! I see you are clearly an enthusiast of this classic and useful item! With this, you can tell whether it is windy outside!”
“Grover, I think the stuff being blown all over the street is a pretty good indicator of just how windy it is.”
“Oh! Froggiebaby!” With a happy cry, Grover threw both arms around Kermit, squeezing him hard, the pinwheel hurtling away forgotten. “Oh I am so happy you are back! Oh, let me hug you and hug you and –“
“Groffmf,” came a muffled voice.
“Oh it is so good to see you! We have all missed you very much around here!”
“Groffrr!”
“Oh I cannot wait to tell everybody you are here! This is so exciting!”
“Grover!”
“You do not have to shout in my ear, froggie baby,” the blue monster said, yanking his head away from the half-smothered froggy mouth. “I know you are as happy as I am, but I have sensitive eardrums, you know.”
“Grover, it’s nice to see you too, but I don’t have time right now for a big homecoming. I actually came to ask about...about...” He wasn’t sure how to approach this. “Um, look, is there somewhere we can go to talk without half the street interrupting us?”
“Oh, of course!” Grover, clapping his flimsy hat to his head with one furry hand, led Kermit to the scant shelter of a closed-up vendor’s cart; the leeward side of it offered a little protection from the wind, but not much. “There we go! Oh, I wish you had told us you were coming by; I could have asked my mommy to bake a cake or something.”
Kermit frowned, pulling his trenchcoat tighter around his chilled body. “Grover, someplace out of the wind?”
“You said someplace where people would not bother us,” Grover pointed out. “You did not say somewhere out of the wind. And really, isn’t it a beautiful day for pinwheels? Just look how they – auughh – oh nooo! Come back!” Before the distraught monster could chase after the toys now spiraling down the street, Kermit caught his arm.
“All right, all right, look. I just...I can’t stay long; I just needed some questions answered,” Kermit tried to explain. “Questions about...monsters on Sesame Street.”
Grover paused, then leaned closer to murmur, “Kermit, you were here how many years and you did not think to ask about monsters then? I would have thought you would have been more observant of your surroundings.”
“I know there are monsters! I know all of you here!” Kermit snapped, then wrested his impatience under control. Somehow, he knew, the adorably furry blue monster had a way of bringing that reaction out in people... “What I need to know is: are any of the monsters on Sesame Street going underground to some sort of...secret monster base?”
Grover blinked, stared, and then patted his old friend on the back. “I never knew you were under such a strain, froggie baby! Why don’t we go into Hooper’s for a nice cup of hot chocolate?” He looked around. “It seems to be a little breezy and wet today.”
“Grover...look, my mental state has nothing to do with this conversation! Last night I saw proof that some of the monsters from my theatre are doing something under the city, something involving secret tunnels, and game shows, and cages...” He shook his head. “It looks worrisome, whatever it is, and I just wanted to see if you guys had heard anything about it, all right?”
“Secret underground base...cages...tunnels...hmmm. Nope, not me,” Grover said brightly after a moment’s consideration. “I have been busy with a new job with Charlie’s Catering Service, however, so it may have slipped by me. Uh...I could ask SuperGrover for you!” He smiled. “We are very close, you know.”
Kermit shook his head. “That’s...that’s okay, thanks.” He sighed. Well, it wasn’t very likely any of the monsters here would be involved in kidnapping or imprisoning anyone! Still, he was relieved that they didn’t seem to know what he was talking about.
“I did cater to a game show last week,” Grover went on. “Oh, it was very exciting! The singing, and the dancing, and the acrobatics! Froggie baby, you should have seen the aquarium balancing act! It nearly made me forget I was supposed to be waiting the judges’ table!”
“Glad to hear it,” Kermit mumbled. Should he press on, and talk to more of the monsters? It seemed highly unlikely that any diabolical plots would be in play here. “Well, listen, Grover, if you should hear of anything suspicious, please let me know, okay? Oh, and...ah...why don’t you tell everyone to drop by the theatre this weekend for some early trick-or-treating? And...” Oh, what the hey. He felt guilty enough about this visit having to be so brief; he knew if he stayed long enough to say hello to everyone, he’d get corralled and mobbed and likely never make it back downtown before showtime...and he really did want to check on Scooter’s progress in securing the theatre...and he had half a mind to run down the absent monsters and see whether they really were AWOL or just busy or sick. But here were old friends, dear friends, even if some of them could be repeatedly annoying. “Why don’t you guys come see the show this weekend? Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. I’ll tell Pops to let anyone in free who lives here on the Street.”
“That would be very amusing and entertaining, Kermit! I will be sure and tell everybody! Heeeyy everybodeeee!” he yelled suddenly, startling Kermit. Just as suddenly, a loud ringing came from Grover’s vest pocket. “Oh! Oh, wait, that might be the temp agency; I have to answer that. Excuse me, froggie baby,” he apologized, and tried leaning against the cart to block the wind noise. “Hello? Yes, it is I, your cute, furry, loveable employee Grover!”
Kermit scrunched down below the top of the cart, hoping no one had noticed Grover’s primal scream. No such luck; another furry blue head poked around the corner of the cart, large googly eyes rolling wildly. “Cookie?” the monster asked hopefully.
“Uh, hi, Cookie. No, no, sorry, we have no cookies today,” Kermit replied while Grover listened attentively to his phone. He winced when the rotund, shaggy heap of a monster brightened and threw his arms open for a hug.
“Froggie! You back! Oh, this almost as good as a cookie!” Cookie Monster exclaimed, hugging Kermit. “Oh! Oh, this so wonderful! We should have celebration! We should have...cookies!” He gave a speculative look to a wheel of the cart; Kermit patted his hand, distracting him.
“Uh...not right now, Cookie, okay? Listen, have you heard anything about monsters under –“
“I am off to work!” Grover said, shoving his phone in a pocket. “Do not worry, Kermit! I will tell everybody of your very generous invitation to your place this weekend! I am sure everyone will come and you will have a wonderful party!”
“No; no, Grover, it isn’t a party; I just said you guys could –“
“A person in desperate need of a lockmonster awaits!” Grover cried. “I must fly to their assistance immediately!”
“A lockmonster?” Kermit asked.
Grover shrugged. “Well, I told them my name is not Smith. No time to chit-chat, froggie baby; I am sorry, but you will have to wait until this weekend to hear all of my wonderful stories about the catering business at your house party! I must fly! Up, up, and away!” He gave a small jump in the air, but remained grounded. “Hm, that’s strange...up, up and away!”
“Grover –“ Kermit tried to correct the house-party misapprehension, but the monster was intent on his nonflying problem.
“Oh, silly me, I am wearing the wrong uniform! Excuse me!” He trotted over to what had to be the last phone booth remaining anywhere in Manhattan, and swiftly re-emerged dressed in a pair of gray coveralls, holding a tool box, and sporting a red cape. “And now – SuperLockmonster to the rescue! Up, up and awaaaayyy!” Leaping high, he flew straight up – and crashed into the top of a street sign. Hanging from the sign, he dazedly tried again: “Up...up...and awayyy...”
Kermit shook his head, watching the blue-and-gray streak sputter and dart crazily from sidewalk level to the top of a building as Grover randomly traversed the street and left the neighborhood. Cookie offered sagely, “Me always wonder how he get insurance.”
“Mm,” Kermit agreed. With a sigh, he turned back to the baked-goods-obsessed creature. “So listen, Cookie, do you know anything about monsters living under the city who seem to be...ah...seem to be doing bad things?”
The monster scratched his head. “Uh...they doing bad things with cookies?”
“No, I very much doubt it.”
“Then it hold no interest for me. Good to see you again, frog.” The monster, heading away, paused. “Uhh...you want to see if Bert and Ernie have hot cocoa? And...and maybe doughnut?”
Kermit gave him a curious look. “Doughnut? Not cookie?”
Cookie shrugged. “Variety...spice of life.”
--------------------
Gusts of rain spattered the windows; the Newsman gazed unhappily out at the change in weather. Gina will make me take garlic, he thought, grimacing. Still, swallowing a pill, or perhaps drinking the fresh herb minced into a cup of hot broth, was far better than the castor-oil preventative his mother had used for just about everything. It was also assuredly better than trying to breathe through stopped-up sinuses. He chastised himself for complaining, and turned his eyes toward the street nine floors down. Where on earth is the locksmith? It’s been almost an hour! I guess the word ‘emergency’ isn’t in this company’s vocabulary. Every muffled tread in the hallway last night, every dimly-heard car honking in the street had caused him to jerk awake, terrified of monsters bursting through the door. Gina had agreed to his plea for better security, although she’d pointed out that the lobby had a coded entry lock, and black-and-white patrol cars cruised the street below regularly. ****’s Kitchen hadn’t been a bad neighborhood for over a decade, since many of the old buildings had been renovated and sold to more upscale tenants. Had Gina’s grandmother not left her this place, it would have been out of price range for a theatre technician...certainly more than the Newsman would have been able to afford. Especially since you currently have no salary, he thought, scowling.
He paced the living room, trying not to think about his suspension. A few minutes ago, he’d turned on the TV to see the protesters on Wall Street and in Zuccotti Park arguing with the cops who were forcibly removing their generators, citing safety concerns, as the cold rain came sheeting down. He itched to be down there, braving the elements to deliver up-to-the-minute coverage of the situation. However, surely the monsters were alerted to his investigation now; what if they were watching him? He shivered. The authorities had to take aggressive action! Had the Mayor seen his report? He glanced at the phone, fingers clenching unconsciously, then sighed. Four thousand viewings this morning...and no way of knowing if anyone in a position to DO something about it has seen it. He’d already left two messages with the Mayor’s secretary’s assistant, but no one had called back yet. What if they don’t do anything at all? What if the monstrous plot to take over the city continues unabated? How can I stop them?
Anxious, Newsie paced, wrapping his arms around himself. He checked the apartment’s thermostat. He wore a thick fall cardigan over his usual undershirt and dress shirt, and the thermostat claimed the apartment was a comfortable seventy-two degrees, yet he felt chilled. Maybe it’s the rain. Gusts of water had been randomly splatting against the windows a good hour now, clouds turning the sky dark which had been so clear and lovely only yesterday. Remembering his aunt’s admonition about a storm, Newsie pressed his cheek to the glass and peered out and up, but it didn’t seem to be actually storming per se, just intermittently raining.
As he squinted through the windows, he spied a darker object against the clouds. It narrowly missed the older apartments and converted factory buildings as it quickly approached. Newsie didn’t realize it was heading right for him until it was too late to do more than duck and cover. “Aaaaaaaagghhh!” screamed a high voice, one broad pane of glass shattering, as the blue flailing thing came hurtling into the living room.
“Waaaahhh!” Newsie yelled, throwing himself to the side; he bounced up frantic for a weapon. Grabbing the first thing he saw, he whirled to confront the intruder.
“Tah daaaahh! It is I, your friendly SuperLockmons—“
“Aaaagh! Out! Out, you fiend!” Newsie cried, swinging the stubby weapon. It clanged off some sort of knight’s helmet the creature wore, making them both stagger back.
“Oww! Sir! Sir, wait! Stop! Just a – whooaa!” The blue monster in the red cape ducked Newsie’s second swing. “I think perhaps he has had too much coffee,” the monster muttered, then grabbed the TV remote when Newsie tried to attack him with it again. “Sir! Sir! Please! Is this any way to greet a helpful lockmonster who has come to solve your dire security problems?”
“Get out of my—“ The Newsman halted, panting, words sinking in. The monster wasn’t attacking, wasn’t baring fangs or claws or anything except a toolbox. “What? Who are you exactly?” Newsie demanded, trying to catch his breath.
The blue furry creature drew himself up straight and struck a pose, arms akimbo. “Sir! Do not tell me you do not recognize the extremely helpful SuperLockmonster whom you yourself summoned! Is this not apartment nine-oh-six?”
“Er...yes...”
“And did you, sir, not call for a lockmonster?”
“I called for a locksmith,” Newsie corrected, warily looking the strange monster up and down. The cape clashed with the plain gray coveralls, and the helmet had more dings and dents in it than the old metal toolbox the monster plunked onto the coffee table. The monster, however, was shorter than the Newsman, with a round pink nose, a bit of a potbelly shape below skinny shoulders, and absolutely no teeth in his wide round mouth.
“Well, we cannot all be named Smith, you know! Now! I am here; how may I be of service? Did you wish a new lock on your breadbox?” The blue furry thing eagerly looked around. “Oh, what attractive art you have hanging on the walls! Is that an original Mucha or a reproduction? Oh, well, I suppose it does not matter; of course you would want to protect such nice posters! Can I interest you today in our Super-Deluxe Home Art Guard Alarm System, sir?”
“Why did you crash through the window?” Newsie asked, his initial panic giving way to a growing anger; chill wet wind blew through the shattered pane. “How is that making my home more secure?”
“Oh! You have a hole in your window! Not to worry, sir; this SuperLockmonster always aims to please! I will have that window secured for you in a jiffy! Here, could you hold this? Thank you – now, where is my tape measure...”
Newsie stared astonished while the monster rummaged through the tool box now cradled in Newsie’s arms, tossing aside a chalkline, a pipe wrench, and a twenty-four-piece set of miniature screwdrivers. Quickly the coffee table, then the sofa, then the adjacent floor was covered in more tools than even Gina owned. “Er...uh...you’re really a locksmith?” Newsie asked dubiously, watching the cheerfully furry monster darting to and fro next to the window with a flurry of hammering noises.
“I keep telling you, sir, not all of us are named Smith. There! How do you like your new, secure window?” The monster proudly gestured at the formerly light-giving panes which took up most of the outer wall; he’d boarded them over haphazardly with one-by-fours, crown molding in an egg-and-dart pattern, and a couple of bands of aluminum screwed in place. The actual windows were completely hidden.
Oh my frog Gina is going to be ticked, was the first thing that came to mind. Newsie paled. “But – you can’t even see outside!”
“And no one will be able to see in and be tempted to steal these fabulous art posters!” the lockmonster argued happily. “Is that not more secure? Does this not make you feel better, knowing no one can come climbing up the building to break in your windows?”
“Erk,” Newsie gulped.
“Well, there you are, sir! No need to thank me; it is all in a day’s work for a SuperLock—“
“I called because I wanted more locks put on the front door!” Newsie choked out. He shoved the toolbox at the bewildered monster. “I thought maybe some bars on the outside of the windows, or something – not boarding them over! And I mainly wanted another deadbolt for the door!”
The monster shrugged. “Well, sir, I do not think it very likely that anyone can see through your door and want to come steal your posters, but I am here to please!” He trotted to the kitchen. “Ah! I see your problem! Why, how can your door be secure when you do not even have a door here? Do not worry! I am prepared for all security discrepancies!”
Newsie grabbed the monster’s skinny arm before more invasive construction work could commence. “That’s the kitchen! It’s supposed to be open! That is the front door!” He pointed the monster at the apartment’s only door to the floor’s main hall. “I just want a deadbolt! Do not board up anything else!”
The blue monster gave Newsie a long stare. “All right, sir, my hearing is perfectly good; there is no need to shout.” He examined the front door, peering closely at it from jamb to kickplate, hmming and aha-ing a couple of minutes. Newsie waited, fidgeting. Finally the monster nodded. “I see your problem, sir. While this door already has a knob and a lock, you will need something more thorough to ensure your apartment is protected from any art poster thieves! Do not worry, I handle this sort of thing all the time, sir. Stand back; I would not wish you to be injured by flying hinge pins.”
“W-what?” Newsie stammered, but the monster shoved him back a step and went to work, sawing and squeaking and asking for a tube of WD-40 from the toolbox and suddenly standing back, panting, covered in sawdust. Newsie blinked; had the creature really moved that fast?
“There you are!” Newsie stared, eyes wide, at the small hinged panel with an enormous padlock now centered in the door at Muppet eye-level. “Isn’t that better? Now you will be able to lock your door’s security window so that prying eyes will not be able to see your art posters! They will have no idea which wall the Mucha ad for absinthe even hangs upon! Hah ha! Does that not make you feel much more secure, sir?” A friendly blue hand patted Newsie’s shoulder.
“You...you cut a hole in the door!”
“Technically, it is called a porthole, sir.”
“You cut a hole in the door!” Newsie yelled. “That is not more secure!”
Puzzled, the monster pointed out the padlock. “But you can lock your security porthole so no one can see inside, sir. If you wish to see who is trying to steal your posters, you can always look out the porthole, of course...”
Newsie felt like tearing at his hair. “I don’t care about poster thieves!” he yelled. “I care about the monsters who are trying to take over the city! I care about horrible giant bugs trying to eat my friends! I care about freakish rag-things trying to murder my aunt!”
The monster blinked. “I think you have more issues than can be solved even by a SuperLockmonster, sir.” Newsie turned away, trying to contain his fury. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder again, and glared back into sympathetic eyes. “Dealing with deep-seated nightmares can be difficult... Have you tried Hare Krishna?”
-------------------------
“Is this the right place?” a wolfish monster growled softly, squinting up at the backstage entrance to the theatre. The trio had already been to two other theatres today only to discover someone back at base had given them the wrong GPS coordinates.
The fat, sniffling goblin, almost completely muffled in a thick burlap scarf, grumbled back, “Why do you even look at signs? You can’t read!”
“I’m up to Q in the alphabet,” argued the wolfish thing, showing its two-inch claws to the smartmouthed goblin.
Piranha-mouthed, slinking Slurg silenced them both with a hiss: “Shut up! This is the right one.” He studied the door, beady eyes narrowed under feathery black brows. After their first mission had failed, Slurg in particular had been angling for another chance to prove to the underlord how useful he could be; these two losers would be content to lay somewhere stuffing their bellies when the great aboveground takeover happened, but not him. Slurg very much wanted a commanding part in the New Monster Order. He curled his toothy mouth up in his best attempt at a smile. “Nowww...we must find a way in, and overpower the target, and drag it back to base!”
The wolfish monster exchanged a look with the doubtful goblin. “Uhh...about that, boss...”
“Captain Slurg!”
The goblin rolled its eyes; fortunately the strike team captain couldn’t see them beneath the layers of gardening insulation fabric. “Captain Slurg,” the wolf-thing corrected himself tiredly. “Look, I mean, we ain’t afraid a’ nothin’...but...”
“She beat up Scribbler,” the goblin ventured. “I saw it in the Goblin Gossiper.”
“So?”
“She can banish ghosts just by lookin’ at ‘em,” the wolf-thing added.
Slurg sighed impatiently. “So? We’re not ghosts!”
“She has magic cards!”
“You know what they say about red fur!”
“She summoned a demon to fight a dinosaur!”
The wolf-thing corrected the goblin with a waggle of a claw. “No, no, you got that one mixed up: she summoned a magician to fight a chicken.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!” Slurg snapped. “Who cares about chickens? Who cares about dinosaurs or gossip hacks or magicians? Since when are cards weapons of any kind? And not everything they say about red fur is true! I should know; my fifth ex was a redfurred kinkajou! Now let’s get on with this!” He spat in the dirt of the alleyway. “I’m ashamed of you both! You call yourselves monsters!” Slurg grabbed the doorhandle, though he had to stand on tiptail to do so. “Now let’s get in there and—“
The door abruptly flew open, and a tall man with white-blond hair and numerous tattoos glared at them. All three monsters froze.
“Hey! Audition in progress! Can’t you guys read?” The tall man jerked a thumb at a notice taped to the door. “Either pipe down or move out before I come out here and explain the idea of courtesy in a little more detail!” With a final glare at the trio of startled monsters, the man returned inside and the door slammed.
The goblin shrugged. “Ah well. We tried. Let’s go home.”
Slurg grabbed the traitor by his neck – well, attempted to. It was difficult to even find a neck on a goblin normally, much less one wrapped up like a roasting turkey against the cold rain. “You idiot! We can’t go back empty-clawed now! Do you know what the dark lord will do to us if we fail him again?”
The goblin and the wolf-thing glanced at one another again, and shrugged. “Uh...no?”
“He’ll...he’ll...” At a creative loss, Slurg threw his hands in the air. “Well, it’ll be...never mind what it’ll be, because it’ll be horrible! It’ll be painful for all of us, you moron! Now...now start looking for another way insi—“
“Hey! Keep it down out here! Don’t make me call the cops on you!” shouted a younger man with a clipboard as he flung the door open; again, they froze in astonishment. Stuffily, the man adjusted a pair of lightweight glasses. “We are trying to hold an audition in here! Honestly, hasn’t anyone heard of common courtesy anymore?” At a shout from inside the building, the young man yelled back, “Right away, Mr Malkovich, sir!” The door banged shut behind him.
An idea popped into Slurg’s fevered brain. “Heeeyyy! I got it!” When the others stared at him dumbly, he pointed to the audition notice. “Monsterman!”
Understanding dawned. The goblin perked up. “Yeah...Monsterman!”
The wolf-thing snickered, nodding.
A few minutes later, a somewhat baffled Slurg perched atop the goblin’s shoulders, gesturing broadly onstage in a ragged long coat while the wolf-thing struggled to keep his balance on two legs underneath. “To be...or not to—“
“Thank you, we’ll call you if we need you,” an authoritative voice spoke from somewhere in the center of the audience seats. “Next!”
“But wait, I wasn’t even to the good part yet,” Slurg protested, but the next hopeful actor was already hustling onto the stage.
“Next!” the unseen director yelled, and the strike team shortly found themselves tumbling back into the alley in a mess of burlap scarf, moldy old coat, and mussed fur. The door slammed behind them.
Slurg snarled. “You’ll be pounding on our door before long, you two-bit Olivier wannabe!”
The wolf-thing groaned, staggering to four paws. The goblin tried to rewind his scarf around his head, shivering in the cold muck of the alley. “Now can we give up?”
Disgusted, Slurg began pacing, wracking his belabored brain. There had to be some way to get to the Gypsy woman their lord and master wanted captured. He growled to himself. Darn it, it’s always so much harder when we have to grab them alive! Ignoring the wind, ignoring his whining subordinates, the toothy monster grimaced and paced, paced and scowled, but could imagine no scheme likely to get them close to their unsuspecting prey this time. He wouldn’t give up, however...not when his place in the new pecking order demanded success! He hadn’t realized he was grumbling aloud until the wolf-thing asked, “Uh...is the boss gonna peck us for failing? I didn’t know he had a beak.”
After five minutes, the goblin gave up trying to intervene and just let Slurg strangle the wolf-thing with the remnants of the coat.
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Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
Sesame Street Season 55
Jim Henson Idea Man
Back to the Rock Season 2
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
and 
's bedroom scaring the latter?
. Better not let 
hear, he'll bring that and an armload of other spices too.
Big deal, I left my teeth in Minneapolis!
tattled. *Louder squeeee when Grover comes into the picture. And then you go and add Cookie to the proceedings. But the best part is the anticipation of Grover arriving at Apt. 906 and the inanity of how the lockmonster—we can't all be called Smith—goes about doing the job he was hired for. He's hired! He's hired! *Happy dance.
Aagh! Never say "fixed" to a dog!