Free Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes by R. L. Stine Page B

day.”
    Buster cocked his head to the side and sniffed at the damp, sweaty air of the
basement.
    I held my arms out to the dog. “Please, Buster. You’re our last chance. Please—hurry! Come down here.”
    To my dismay, Buster pulled his head out of the window.
    Turned.
    And trotted away.

 
 
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    Mindy and Moose let out long, disappointed sighs. “Buster deserted us,” Mindy
said softly. Her shoulders sagged. Moose dropped to his knees on the floor,
shaking his head.
    “Trampoline! Trampoline!”
    The chant had changed.
    Hap grinned up at us. “Maybe we’ll use you for trampolines! That would be
fun!”
    “It’s almost time for a vote!” Chip added, rubbing his hands together
eagerly.
    “Trampoline! Trampoline!”
    “Tug of War! Tug of War!”
    I held my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound of their shrill
voices.
    Silence. Please let me have silence, I thought.
    Silence.
    The word gave me an idea.
    Silence. Buster’s dog whistle was silent!
    Suddenly, I knew how to bring Buster back!
    “Mindy!” I cried “The dog whistle! Buster always comes when I blow the dog
whistle!”
    Mindy raised her head and brightened. “That’s right!” she cried. “Hurry,
Joe!”
    I grabbed for the shiny metal whistle under my T-shirt. It felt slippery with
sweat. This has to work, I thought to myself. It has to bring Buster back.
    I pulled the whistle out.
    “The whistle!” several gnomes shrieked.
    The room instantly grew silent.
    I raised the whistle to my lips.
    “Quick—blow it!” Mindy screeched.
    To my surprise, Hap and Chip both dove at me.
    They leaped up and slapped at the whistle.
    The whistle spun out of my hands.
    “Noooo!” I cried in despair.
    I grabbed frantically for it.
    But it rolled and tumbled away, sliding across the basement floor.

 
 
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    Mindy, Moose, and I all dove for it.
    But the gnomes were quicker.
    A gnome in a bright blue shirt raised the whistle, clutched tightly in his
little fist. “I’ve got it!”
    “No, you don’t!” Moose cried. He leaped at the gnome. Tackled him around the
knees.
    The gnome let out a yelp as he went toppling to the floor.
    The dog whistle fell from his hand.
    And bounced across the hard floor toward me.
    I scooped it up. Started to raise it to my lips.
    Three gnomes leaped onto my shoulders, giggling and grunting.
    “Noooo!” I uttered a cry as they batted the whistle from my hand. I dropped
to the floor, three gnomes on top of me.
    I finally shook them off and jumped to my feet. My eyes searched for the
whistle.
    I saw a bunch of gnomes diving for the floor, scrambling for it. A few feet
away, Moose struggled against four or five gnomes who had formed a line to block him. Mindy
was battling another group of gnomes, who held her back, their tiny hands around
her legs and waist.
    And then I saw Hap raise the whistle high.
    The gnomes stepped back, clearing a circle around him.
    Hap set the whistle in front of him on the floor. Then he raised his foot
high.
    He was about to crush it!
    “Noooooo!” Another long cry escaped my throat. I scrambled over the floor,
half-crawling, half-flying.
    As Hap’s heavy plaster foot came down, I stretched out my hand.
    Fumbled for the whistle.
    Grabbed it.
    Rolled away as the gnome’s foot tromped down heavily. It thudded inches from
my head.
    I sat up. Raised the whistle to my lips.
    And blew as hard as I could.
    Now what?
    Would the whistle work?
    Would Buster come running to rescue us?

 
 
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    I blew the silent whistle again.
    And turned to the window. Buster, where are you?
    The gnomes must have been asking the same question. Because they froze in
place, too. The excited chattering, giggling, and chanting stopped.
    The only sound I could hear was my own shallow breathing.
    I stared up at the window. A rectangle of blackness. No sign of Buster.
    “Hey—!” Moose’s cry made me turn around.
    “Look at them!” Moose’s voice echoed through the