Read "Dr. Maniac Will See You Now"

  Contents

Championship Page

Welcome. Yous Are Near Wanted.

Chapter 1

Chapter two

Affiliate iii

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter viii

Chapter 9

Affiliate 10

Affiliate eleven

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Affiliate 15

Chapter xvi

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Affiliate 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Affiliate 28

Affiliate 29

Affiliate 30

Chapter 31

Affiliate 32

Chapter 33

Affiliate 34

Affiliate 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Preview: Goosebumps® Most Wanted #six: Creature Instructor: The Concluding Test

About the Author

As well Available

Copyright

Hullo. Come in. Don't stand on the WELCOME mat. It's sleeping, and information technology gets angry when people wake information technology up.

Actually, I don't think it'southward a WELCOME mat at all. I think information technology's a very furry stingray that crawled to shore. Get ahead. Step on it. See what it does.

OUCH. You woke him upward — didn't yous? Ooh, that's a nasty sting. Why don't you scream a lot and meet if that helps get rid of the hurting?

While you're screaming, come on inside. Welcome to the Goosebumps role. I'm R.L. Stine. This is where I write all the books.

Merely shove those drooling Gila monsters out of your way. I really should accept this place cleaned.

No. Don't sit down there. That'south not a chair. It's my grandfather. I'll dust him off and so y'all can see him better. Look. I call back he's smiling. Cute.

I encounter you're admiring the WANTED posters on the wall. Those posters show the creepiest, crawliest, grossest villains of all time. They are the Near WANTED bad guys from the MOST WANTED Goosebumps books.

That crazy-looking dude in the weird costume with the leopard-skin cape and the yellow-feathered boots? Of course he's on a WANTED affiche. DR. Maniac is the Nigh Wanted Maniac on the planet.

What is so evil about him? A boy named Richard Dreezer will tell you lot the whole story. It's pretty scary — especially when Richard found himself at the end of the world!

Go ahead. Start the story — if you dare. Dr. Maniac Will See Y'all At present!

Hold on. I can't start my story still. I accept to sneeze.

CHOOOOOOOOOO.

Yeah, I sneeze a lot. I can't help it. I have a lot of allergies.

My name is Richard Dreezer, simply the kids at my school telephone call me Richard Sneezer. Funny, huh?

Some kids phone call me the Faucet because my olfactory organ runs all the time. That's not funny, either.

Having a lot of allergies is a riot — only to people who don't have a lot of allergies.

I wish that was my only problem. I am also the only child in the sixth form with red hair and a face full of freckles. And I'k short and sparse and await nearly viii even though I'm twelve. What can I do about that? Nothing.

Perhaps this is why I daydream a lot. I mean, a lot. And mayhap this is why comic books are so important to me. I mean, I like to imagine I'g this big, hulking, powerful superhero-guy, with wavy black hair and rippling muscles. And I tin fly and escape to a new world any time I want.

Sometimes I sit in class and daydream about being evil. I call myself the Revenger. And I employ my incredible powers to accept my revenge on the kids who sneeze at me and mess up my reddish pilus and call me names.

I defeat them all and leave them collapsed in a heap on the classroom floor. And and so I accept Bree Birnbaum's hand, and the two of u.s. fly out the window and sail over the town. And we fly to my secret Fortress of Coolness, the source of my amazing powers and my true home.

Yes, I have a crush on Bree Birnbaum. Everyone at Hugh Jackman Eye School knows it. Everyone but Bree, that is.

Today I was daydreaming about my Fortress of Coolness. I continue the Crystals of Many Colors there, and I needed them fast. Each crystal holds a power. I ran through the secret tunnel to the underground vault where they're hidden. When I reached them, I quickly wrapped my manus around the cherry crystal —

Whoa. Did someone just call my name?

"Richard? Earth calling Richard Dreezer? Tin you lot hear me?"

Oh, wow. It was Mrs. Callus, my instructor. I guess she had been calling my proper noun for a while. Everyone in the room was staring at me.

I leaned forward on my desk and raised my eyes to her. "Yes?"

Mrs. Callus squinted at me. "Richard? Where were y'all? Were you on Planet Dreezer once more?"

Everyone laughed.

Actually, Mrs. Callus is very overnice. She's young and very cool looking. She doesn't look sometime enough to exist a teacher. She has curt blond hair and a great smiling and a diamond stud in her nose. And she wears jeans and stone band T-shirts to schoolhouse.

"Richard, are you set to give your book report?" she asked.

A stab of fright ran downwardly my body. I hate getting upward in front end of the class. I retrieve I'yard allergic to it. I felt a big sneeze coming on. I held my jiff to fight information technology back.

"Y-yeah," I stammered.

"What book did yous read?" she asked.

"Actually, it was a graphic novel," I said. "It'due south almost the zombie apocalypse, but the zombies are the good guys. It's chosen War of the Zombie Freakazoids."

She motioned toward the forepart of the room. "Come up here and tell us about it."

My chair fabricated a loud scraping sound as I climbed to my feet. I picked up my two-page book report and started to bear it downward the aisle. My hands were suddenly cold and sweaty.

"Mrs. Callus, are we immune to read comic books for our report?"

That was Marcus Maloney. He's a pain. He'south always on my case. He'southward always on anybody's case.

Why is he and then mean? Maybe because he'due south the biggest sixth grader in the world? He's a little flake bigger than a whale I saw concluding summertime at SeaWorld. Know what he likes to practice? He likes to walk upward to you and crash-land yous down the hall with his stomach.

"It — it's not a comic book," I said. "It's a graphic novel."

I was almost to the front of the room when my sneeze exploded.

CHOOOOOOOOOO-EEEY.

I sneezed all over Lateesha Franklin, who sits in the front end row. I couldn't help it. I couldn't turn away in time. I told you, my sneezes are majorly big.

She screamed and waved her arms in the air. Similar she was trying to shield herself.

Too late.

Then she went crazy, wiping off her sweater with both easily. I saw that I totally sprayed her from head to foot.

"Sorry," I muttered.

I don't know if she heard me. The others were laughing and so loud. Marcus Maloney laughed so loud, he brutal off his chair. Nice.

Whoa. I turned my head and sneezed again. A big glob of snot splattered the chalkboard.

Now everyone was in hysterics. I mean, ha-ha. How funny was it?

"People. People …" Mrs. Callus jumped to her anxiety and struggled to serenity everyone. "We've talked nearly this earlier. Information technology's not nice to make fun of someone who is allergic —"

That's when I permit go with my loudest, wettest sneeze yet.

Oh, noooo.

I

totally sprayed Mrs. Callus. It was similar a tsunami of snot.

She groaned and spun away. Her hands stabbed at the sides of her T-shirt. I could see glistening wet stuff in her hair.

"S-deplorable …" I murmured.

When she turned back to me, her expression had changed. Her eyes were wide — with fury. She uttered an aroused groan. "Richard —" Her voice was ugly, menacing.

I took a step dorsum. What is she going to do?

She lurched toward me. And with superhuman strength, she lifted me off the flooring … swung me high in the air … and heaved me through the plate glass window.

No. That didn't happen. That was a daydream. I imagined information technology.

Maybe I do read too many comic books.

Mrs. Callus didn't heave me out the third-floor window. She just told me to forget well-nigh my written report till later. And she sent me back to my seat.

That was worse than sailing out the window. Considering I had to heed to everyone laughing at me and making fun of me. I lowered my head and stared direct ahead and tried to force their ugly voices from my ears.

How totally embarrassing.

I could feel my nose running. I wiped it with the sleeve of my shirt. I tossed my book study onto my desk and dropped into my seat.

Mrs. Callus was all the same wiping off her T-shirt with a handkerchief. I knew I hadn't heard the end of this. I knew that drowning the instructor in snot would haunt me all mean solar day.

And I was correct.

Afterwards school, Marcus Maloney and a agglomeration of other kids followed me downward the hall, sneezing their heads off. They idea they were hilarious. All sneezing together as loud as they could and hee-hawing similar donkeys.

They won't be laughing when the Revenger has his manner.

That's what I was thinking when I saw Bree Birnbaum at the back of the group. She was laughing, too.

That was common cold. That really hurt.

They followed me outside, giggling and sneezing on me. Marcus Maloney bumped me from behind and sent me sailing headfirst over the hedge at the bottom of the school yard.

I hit the ground difficult on my stomach. My haversack bounced on pinnacle of me.

When I looked up, I saw my parents' yellowish Camry parked across the street. I pulled myself to my anxiety, stumbled away from the laughing kids, and jerked open the back door of the auto.

Dad sabbatum behind the wheel. Mom turned and smiled at me. "Hullo, Richard. Looks like you were having fun with your friends."

"Yeah. Fun," I muttered.

She's totally clueless. No point in telling her the truth.

Dad had his eyes on his phone. He mumbled something nether his breath. It sounded like, "Mumble grumble." Dad is a swell mumbler.

My parents are, like, out of a horror movie. They are both incredibly sparse and pale as zombies. Dad grumbles and groans like the Frankenstein monster. When Mom smiles, her teeth shoot out like fangs.

Okay. Perchance I exaggerate.

But Mom only smiles for my little blood brother, Ernie. He'south a spoiled monster, but she thinks everything he does is adorable.

Too, my parents spend most of their time arguing. They argue about everything. It's like it's their hobby.

How did I get in this family? Seriously.

I'thou pretty sure I'one thousand a superhero conflicting from another planet. I came to Earth as a baby, and these people, the Dreezers, adopted me.

It's the merely good explanation I can think of.

I settled back in the seat. "Why are y'all picking me upwardly?" I asked.

Dad pulled the auto abroad from the adjourn. "Ask your mother," he mumbled.

"I saw an advertizement for an allergy dr.," Mom said.

"Y'all're taking me to a new doc?"

"He might be able to assist you," Mom replied.

"He doesn't need an allergy dr.," Dad said, turning onto Kirby Street.

"Yes, he does," Mom snapped. "Be quiet, Barry."

"Don't tell me to be repose. He doesn't demand a doctor. He needs to man upward."

"You lot can't arraign Richard if he has bad allergies," Mom said.

"Bad allergies? He has a bad attitude, that's all."

They started to shout at each other. I pressed my hands over my ears. Mom and Dad fight like this all the time. I should be used to it.

If I were going to depict a comic book about my family, I'd call it Battle Quest: Assault of the Screaming Parents.

Sometimes Ernie and I hide at the top of the stairs and heed to them fence. Nosotros make funny faces and jokes, and endeavor not to let them hear u.s.a. crack upwards.

But it's not funny when they fight about me. That's what I really hate.

And now hither they were screaming at each other well-nigh whether I needed an allergy medico or non.

"I can't keep the kid in tissues," Dad grumbled. "He goes through a box a solar day."

"What? Do you want him to reuse them?" Mom shouted. "Mayhap give him a tissue a mean solar day? Would that salvage you lot money, Barry?"

I felt a actually big sneeze coming on.

Luckily, it was a short bulldoze. Dad turned onto Ditko Avenue, went a few blocks, and then pulled the car to the curb.

I gazed out the window and saw a dark brick building. A small sign side by side to a glass door read: DR. ROOT, ALLERGIST AND REALLY GOOD DOCTOR.

"Whoa!" I let out a cry. "Look where nosotros are! Correct beyond the street from the Comic Book Museum."

Yes! How lucky was this?

The Comic Volume Museum is where I spend all my spare time. I know every inch of the place. I wish I could alive at that place. They take the biggest, most amazing collection of comic books in the world. No. Peradventure the universe.

"Dr. Root is expecting y'all," Mom said. "Be sure to tell him about how your peel itches when you eat tortilla chips."

"Aren't you coming in with me?" I asked.

"We can't," Dad said. "Nosotros have to pick up Ernie."

"Where's Ernie?" I asked.

"At his pottery class," Mom answered. She gets a special grinning on her face when she talks about her precious Ernie.

"He doesn't make pottery," I said. "He just throws clay at the other kids."

Truth.

"Don't say bad things about Ernie," Mom snapped.

"At least Ernie doesn't sneeze his brains out every five minutes and drip snot all over the carpet," Dad added.

Nice.

See, Ernie can't practice anything wrong. Seriously. They think everything my kid brother does is adorable.

I climbed out of the car. The absurd afternoon breeze felt good on my face. The sun was kickoff to drop behind the downtown buildings. Long purple shadows stretched across the sidewalk.

I glanced across the street at the large, white stone museum with its domed roof. I'll stop past there afterwards my medico engagement, I decided.

"See y'all later," I called to my parents. I slammed the motorcar door close. They were already arguing about something else.

I turned and stepped up to the drinking glass door. I glanced at the doctor's sign again. Then I pulled the door open and stepped into the building.

How was I to know that the whole world was nearly to become crazy?

A sign in the vestibule told me Dr. Root was in Room 301. I took an elevator to the third floor and found the role at the cease of a long, dimly lit hallway.

I stepped into a stake green waiting room. No one there. No ane seated at the reception desk at the front. I saw two pale green couches against the wall. A low table was stacked with a pile of erstwhile People magazines.

"Anyone here?" I chosen.

No answer.

"Dr. Root?" My vocalism rang loudly through the empty function.

I was nearly to exit when I heard footsteps from a back room. Heavy, thudding footsteps. The dorsum function door opened, and a huge human in a white short-sleeved lab glaze lumbered out.

He had short black hair over a round cerise face up that looked like an inflated balloon. His enormous belly pushed against the forepart of the lab glaze. I could see that

ii or three buttons had popped off. Fatty folds of his tummy poked out. His arms were bare and pink, like two big hams.

He had tiny, blackness bird optics tucked into his head. And when he smiled at me, folds of fat formed three or four chins nether his mouth.

"I … I call up I'thou in the incorrect office," I stammered.

His grinning spread. "No. I've been expecting yous, Richard." His voice was soft and seemed to come from deep inside him.

His torso bounced every bit he stepped toward me. He reached out a pink hand to shake. His fingers looked like fat sausages. Continuing then close, I could see big drops of sweat on his forehead.

He held on to my hand. His hand was warm and spongy. His tiny eyes locked on me. "I hear y'all take allergy problems," he said. "You sneeze a lot, yes?"

"Yep," I said. My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.

He finally let go of my manus. He nodded, studying me. Out the window, I could see the Comic Volume Museum across the street. I actually wanted to be there instead of in this empty part with this weirdo blob of a doctor jutting out of his lab glaze.

I mean, he was similar Marcus Maloney gone WILD.

"Don't be nervous, Richard," he said softly. "I think I can assist you. I have my own handling. Information technology's taken me years to develop. Just I call up I tin can change your life."

"Uh … change my life?"

"Follow me." He turned and waddled to the dorsum role.

I tried to concord it in, but I couldn't. I sneezed. And then sneezed over again.

"I believe you are allergic to dust in the air," Dr. Root said. "You are very sensitive. You are allergic to tiny particles."

I wiped my olfactory organ with my shirt sleeve. I stepped into the back room. Information technology was also green. Green wallpaper. Green countertops. Even the light seemed to be green.

He was bent over a cabinet drawer. The flab on his arms rippled as he searched through the drawer. "Would you like to stop all the sneezing, Richard?"

"Well, yep. I sure would," I said. "Only I've had these allergies since I was born. I —"

"I'm going to give you i shot," he said. He stood up. I couldn't encounter what he held in his hand. It was hidden behind the bulging lab coat.

A stab of fear shot downwards my back. "One shot?"

He nodded. "Yes. I think that's all it volition take. One shot, and your allergies volition disappear." He motioned for me to turn effectually. "I'm going to give you the shot in your back."

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