Box of Shocks Read Online Free PDF

shout, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU, DAD!” but that wouldn’t look so good. Instead, I sprawl on the couch, trying to look sick, but not too sick.
    Mom takes a deep breath and says, “I suppose. But don’t hesitate to phone if you feel any worse, or you have any problems, or…”
    â€œI’ll be fine, Mom,” I say. “I just need to rest.”
    As soon as they’re out the door, I jump up and run to the phone. I look up Ronny Hooverman’s number and punch it in. I’m in luck! Ronny answers the phone.
    â€œHi, Ronny. Ollie here. How much does it cost to visit Mr. Creepy?” He tells me it’s five bucks, so I run to my room, find my camera and grab the money from my piggy bank. I check my watch and run over to Ronny’s place.
    Last year our teacher, Mrs. Walmsley, told Ronny he wasn’t allowed to bring Mr. Creepy to school, even for pet day. That’s because Mr. Creepy’s a tarantula. Now is my perfect chance to pay him a visit.
    In some ways, this stunt’s different from my visit to the Milburn house and Spike McChomp’s yard. In this one, Mr. Creepy does all the work. I don’t have to face a zombie or a crazy dog. But there is one thing that’s very much the same. I’m a little bit terrified as Ronny takes Mr. Creepy out of his terrarium and gently places him on my bare arm. Having a tarantula crawling along my arm is more than a bit freaky. It might not be quite as bad as when Spike McChomp tore my pants off or when the quasi-zombie gave me a candy. Still, I’m not exactly in a happy place as Mr. Creepy crosses my elbow and heads up my arm. Of course, I’m not quite as freaked out as Mom would be. If she could see this deadly, bloodthirsty giant spider crawling across my bare skin, she’d be screaming loud enough to break all the windows in the house.
    I get Ronny to take a picture of Mr. Creepy on my bare arm. As soon as he’s clicked a picture, I say, “Okay! Good! Take him off! Now!”
    Ronny takes him off my arm. “Thanks!” I say. “And don’t tell anyone I did this. Okay?”
    I can trust Ronny. He’s not the most popular kid at school. In fact, most people think he’s weird, so they don’t pay attention to anything he says. I’m sure my time with Mr. Creepy is a pretty safe secret.
    When I get home, I use Dad’s computer to print the picture of Mr. Creepy crawling on my arm. I pull my Box of Shocks from its hiding place, open the lid and place the picture right next to the spike. With the box back in its spot, I’m pushing the wood panel back in place as my parents’ van pulls into the driveway.

    Mom and Dad continue to make it nearly impossible for me to add anything to my Box of Shocks. Not only do they have me in piano lessons, now they’re making me take swimming classes, plus karate and an extra study-skills class on Saturdays. Every single minute of my life is filled with something they’ve organized.
    And if I’m not busy with lessons or school or homework, Mom and Dad always want to have what they call “Quality Family Time.” They like to talk, and they’re always asking me about school and my lessons and my friends and just about everything you can imagine.
    Once in a while, I’ll manage to sneak my Box of Shocks out of its hiding place and look at the candy from the Milburn house, the spike from Spike McChomp’s yard and the picture of Mr. Creepy. Every time I look at them, it takes me right back to the thrill and the danger of each crazy stunt. And it makes me want to add even more things to my Box of Shocks.
    Finally, almost three months after adding the picture of Mr. Creepy, I get my next chance. Right before leaving school on Friday, my teacher tells me that the next day’s study-skills class is cancelled. They tell me, but they don’t tell my parents. I don’t tell them either.
    On Saturday morning, I