Free The Slime That Would Not Die by Laura Dower Page B

head. “Who are you kids?”
    â€œYour students,” Lindsey said matter-of-factly.
    â€œAre you feeling all right?” I asked. He looked perfectly normal for someone who’d been swallowed up by goo for the past week.
    â€œWhere am I?” Mr. Bunsen repeated. “What is that smell? Did something die in here?”
    I wanted to tell him the truth about what had happened. But I couldn’t. At least not right away.
    â€œThere was a . . . gas leak . . .” I stammered.
    â€œYeah!” Stella chimed in. “You passed out. We saw you behind the desk and called the police and . . .”
    â€œWhy does my head feel like an elephant stepped on it?” Mr. Bunsen asked. “Is this some kind of prank?”
    â€œI think maybe you should see a doctor,” Lindsey said.
    Mr. Bunsen stared at Stella’s hand. She was holding one of the Slimo vials we’d taken from the refrigerator.
    â€œWhere did you get that?” Mr. Bunsen asked.
    â€œWe found these green vials in the refrigerator. Why were you storing slime?”

    Mr. Bunsen rubbed his head. “I don’t remember,” he said thoughtfully. “No, wait. It was last week. I saw something green and glowing come up from one of the manhole covers on the street. Yes, that’s it. I was curious, so I took a few scientific samples.”
    â€œYou saw the slime, too?” Damon said. “Whoa.”

    â€œSo now we know Slimo does travel in the sewers!” Lindsey said. “If Mr. Bunsen saw it in the street like that . . .”
    â€œAnd that’s why Slimo came into our houses through the sinks and bathrooms,” Stella said.
    â€œHold on. Did you say Slimo ?” Mr. Bunsen asked.
    Aha! He knew who Slimo was! It was time to admit the truth. If Mr. Bunsen had seen the slime in the street, then somehow he must have a connection to Oswald Leery just like us.
    â€œMr. Bunsen, I think we have something very important to tell—” I started to say, but he interrupted.
    â€œExcuse me, can you please tell me where everyone is?” Mr. Bunsen moaned. “Do we have class now?”
    â€œYo, Mr. B, it’s Saturday,” Damon said. “No school today.”
    â€œSaturday?” Mr. Bunsen said. “But that can’t be true. I just finished up my Wednesday morning prep work.” He leaned against the large wooden chair near his desk and scratched his head. “This is most unusual,” Mr. Bunsen said.
    â€œMr. Bunsen, do you know the real Oswald Leery?” I asked, sounding a little like one of those reporters who grill people on TV news shows.
    â€œYou mean Leery the B-Monster movie director who lives up on the mountain?” Mr. Bunsen said. “As a matter of fact . . . Wait! Of course I do! I was going to see Leery just this week.”
    â€œYou were?” Lindsey asked.
    â€œYes, Dr. Leery was at the library for a screening. I went to show him my slime samples, but it was too crowded and the librarian said it was kids only, so . . .”
    â€œI saw you there,” I admitted.
    â€œYou did?” Stella looked at me sideways.
    I just shrugged. “I didn’t think it meant anything at the time. I recognized your sneakers. The ones under that desk over there.”
    â€œAhh,” Mr. Bunsen chuckled. “I was wondering where those went.”
    â€œSo what else do you remember?” Stella asked.
    â€œI remember everything now!” Mr. Bunsen announced to us. “I remember the story my grandmother told me when I was a boy. She was a makeup artist on some of those old Leery movies. She has a collection of all the films in her room at Riddle Retirement Village. Slimo was my favorite one. I’ve seen it dozens of times. In fact, we had just watched it together before I found the slime in the street . . .”
    â€œ Before you saw the slime?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
    â€œSure as I can be . . . with this