Read Online Young Scrooge by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online

tunnel. Ran faster than I’d ever run in my life.

 
    16
    As I stormed into the building, I was hit by a blast of hot air. The ground was soft. My shoes slid in soft mud. I struggled to keep my balance as I roared forward.
    It was darker than the night in here. I couldn’t see a thing. A sharp aroma greeted me, heavy and sour. I heard soft cries, animal bleats.
    My shoes pounded the soft goo. I heard a splash—and lurched forward. My hands shot up as I lost my balance. My sneakers slapped the mud but couldn’t catch hold. I fell hard, fell face forward.
    My body hit the soft, wet ground. My head burrowed into the mud. And I slid … slid … suddenly aware of the putrid odor … the foul odor of the air, of the mud, a powerful smell that made me choke and gag.
    Stunned, I raised my head from the muck. Animal grunts and squeals surrounded me. I struggled to my feet. My clothes were covered in thick mud. The mud caked my face and my hair.
    I had landed on my hands. They throbbed and ached as I rubbed the mud off them on the front of my overcoat.
    A flickering light behind me made me spin around. I was gasping for air. But I inhaled the sick smell with each breath. My whole body shook. Where was I?
    The orange-yellow light grew brighter as a man approached. He was big and broad and stern faced, carrying a flaming torch. He wore a gray flannel shirt under a huge pair of overalls. His bulging belly bounced with each step.
    He didn’t take his gaze off me as he stepped carefully through the mud and around the deep puddles. Finally, he stopped and held the torch high, studying me in its circle of light.
    â€œWhat are you doing in my pigpen?” he demanded in a booming voice.
    I gasped. “Pigpen?”
    He looked me up and down. “You’re covered in slops. You’re going to smell for a year!”
    Suddenly, in the light from the torch, I could see the enormous hogs lined up on both sides of me. About two dozen fat pigs all staring at me, honking and bleating.
    The smell …
    Yes. The smell. The thick muck stuck to my clothes, my face, my hair. I pulled a soft, rotted corncob from under my collar.
    My stomach lurched. I was about to puke. I forced it down.
    â€œThe other kids…,” I choked out. “They told me to run in here and—”
    He spun around. “Other kids? I didn’t see any other kids out there.”
    â€œThe three kids from school,” I said. “They brought me here. They said—”
    I didn’t finish my sentence. I dodged the big farmer and ran to the pigpen door, my sneakers slapping up mud. I burst outside, shouting, “Hey! Where are you? Hey!”
    No one there.
    The frozen air hit me and made me gasp. The moon had disappeared behind clouds. I squinted into the total darkness.
    No one.
    I knew what they had done. It didn’t take long to figure it out.
    The joke was on me. I was so desperate to escape, I had fallen for it.
    Or rather, I had fallen right into it.
    A pigpen. Not a time tunnel. A filthy smelly pigpen.
    Had they taught me a lesson with their mean joke? I was too cold and mud-caked and putrid smelling to think about it.
    Torchlight washed over me. I turned to find the farmer standing behind me. “You’d better go home, son,” he said. “Where do you live?”
    I shook my head sadly. “Nowhere,” I said. “I don’t live anywhere. Can I … Can I come in your house and take a bath?”
    He squinted at me. “Afraid not. I can’t let you in my house. You smell too bad. But you can sleep here in the pigpen tonight, if you like.”
    Suddenly, the pigs all started honking and bleating. As if they didn’t want me, either.

 
    17
    Luckily, the farmer took pity on me and changed his mind. He let me sleep on a wood cot in his back room. I scrubbed myself at his pump in the kitchen. His wife was kind enough to lend me a nightshirt as she washed