The Loch Ness Lock-In
Strange Scout Tales #1:
How to Merit in Monsters
The Dead Gentleman
The Pharaoh of Hong Kong
(with Brian Clevinger)
Powerless
Super
Villainous
The Secrets of the Pied Piper #1:
The Peddler’s Road
The Secrets of the Pied Piper #2:
The Magician’s Key
The Secrets of the Pied Piper #3:
The Piper’s Apprentice
Will in Scarlet
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Matthew Cody
Cover art and interior illustrations copyright © 2018 by Steve Lambe
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Rodale Kids, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Rodale and the colophon are registered trademarks and Rodale Kids is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Visit us on the Web! rhcbooks.com
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
Ebook ISBN 9781635650457
Trade ISBN 9781635650600
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v5.3.2
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Cover
Also by Matthew Cody
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE: In Deep Water
CHAPTER TWO: Wet Behind the Ears
CHAPTER THREE: A Wet Bird Never Flies at Night
CHAPTER FOUR: Still Waters Run Deep
CHAPTER FIVE: Water You Gonna Do About It?
CHAPTER SIX: Lighthouse Over Troubled Waters
CHAPTER SEVEN: Lake Fishes Out of Water
CHAPTER EIGHT: A Big Fish in a Small Pond
CHAPTER NINE: Paddle Your Own Canoe
CHAPTER TEN: A Drop in the Ocean
CHAPTER ELEVEN: When It Rains, It Pours
CHAPTER TWELVE: Slippery When Wet
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Hook, Line, and Sinker
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A Whale of a Time
About the Author
About the Illustrator
This is not as bad as it looks.
Okay, it’s almost as bad, but there is one tiny silver lining that you may not pick up on right away—I’m wearing my very best socks. On any other day that a red cap decided to steal my boots, I’d be chasing after him in dirty socks with holes in the toes.
But on this day, I had my clean socks on.
What are red caps, you ask? Well, as an example I’ll point out that little beastie wearing my boots. Just know this—red caps are a pain.
And who am I? Ben Beederman’s the name. Sorry, I figured you might’ve already read volume one of my magnum opus Strange Scout Tales: How to Merit in Monsters. But if you haven’t read it yet, don’t worry—I’ll try to fill you in as we go.
Anyway, back to red caps. To understand those little beasties, you’ll need to understand what it means to be a Strange Scout. No, I don’t mean like weirdo strange, I mean like unique, mysterious, and, yes, sometimes monstrous. But only in the very best sense of the word!
Because to be a Strange Scout is to believe this one important truth—monsters are cool! (Okay, red caps may be the exception.)
When my parents sent me off to Camp Spirit, they thought I’d be learning about nature and honor and all that traditional scout stuff—which I did. But they didn’t know I’d also be recruited into a top-secret branch of the scouts called the Strange Scouts. See, the Strange Scouts have been around since the days of President Teddy Roosevelt, and for all that time they’ve been protecting one of the earth’s most valuable natural wonders: monsters. This old guy, Walter, is my Scout Master, and those other yahoos in the picture with me—Ginger, Asma, and Manuel—are my troop mates and my best friends.
We are Troop D…D for danger!
What? D for dweeb? Wait a minute, you did read the first book, didn’t you?!
Whatever.
The point is that we went to this lame-sounding camp and saved a Bigfoot named Eugene from drinking from a poisoned water supply, and so we became awesome Strange Scouts and we can call ourselves Troop Danger now if we want to. So there.
Whew. Really, none of that has anything to do with the story I need to tell you, of which those red caps are only one part. It’s really a story about a haunted lighthouse on the shore of Scotland’s Loch Ness, super gross Scottish food, and yes…the Loch Ness Monster! It was the adventure of a lifetime in a faraway land where our powers of teamwork and resourcefulness were put to the test!
Of course, we’re Troop D, which means it went about as well as you’d expect. So, let’s back up a bit before we get to the red caps, Scotland, and Loch Ness.
Because this story begins with a field trip.
Earning our Teamwork Badges was supposed to be a—what do you call it?—a formality. See, Walter had planned this big overseas trip to Scotland for us to see the famous Loch Ness. Did you know that a “loch” is just what they call a lake in Scotland? Cool, right? I’m actually hoping it’ll catch on everywhere.
It may not be exactly common for scouts to travel overseas, but the Strange Scouts are anything but common. And Walter insisted that seeing Loch Ness was an important step in understanding what it was to be a Strange Scout. In many ways, Loch Ness represented what the scouts were all about. Here was a mysterious place, shrouded in legend, protecting what might very well be the oldest living monster in the world—the Loch Ness Monster!
It was a trip meant to educate us and instill a sense of wonder about the hidden world of nature.
Yeah, whatever. I was all about the haggis.
Have you heard of haggis? Google it. I’ll wait.
See? How many opportunities do you get in life to actually dare your friends to eat a sheep’s stomach stuffed with…stuff? It’s seriously all I thought about for weeks before the trip. I literally dreamed about it.
So the plan was:
1. Go to Scotland and find a haggis.
2. Dare one of my friends to eat the haggis.
3. Be crowned the coolest kid who ever lived.
Foolproof, right?
I was so ready for this trip. On to Scotland!
Our parents all knew we were going to Scotland to see Loch Ness, but when we told them about the trip we conveniently left out the whole “monster” thing. Part of the mission of the Strange Scouts is to protect these monsters, and keeping them secret is important. When I met everyone at the airport, I was happy to see that the other members of Troop D hadn’t changed much since the last time we were together.
Asma had packed an entire suitcase full of travel-size bottles of hand sanitizer, Manuel had packed a suitcase full of video games, and Ginger…well, Ginger had trouble packing her suitcase at all because she’d lost her temper and stomped on it until it was all bent out of shape.
Everyone’s parents came to the airport to see us off, and that meant some teary goodbyes. Me, I was totally focused on the mission.
After we’d said our goodbyes, Walter called us over to have a Troop
D huddle. “All righty then, scouts. Time for your mission briefing,” he said. “So, Ben and Manuel, turn off those darned newfangled higgamabobs and pay attention!”
Walter, by the way, was one of the first Strange Scouts ever—he actually received a badge from Teddy Roosevelt himself—so that makes him roughly a hundred billion years old. To Walter, anything invented after the 1940s is a higgamabob or a whatsajabbit or a kewkathangle.
“Now, this trip isn’t going to be all safe and cozy like Camp Spirit,” Walter said. “This is gonna be real scouts business!”
I could have reminded Walter that at camp we had been menaced by a Bigfoot with indigestion—hardly a safe and cozy experience. But I caught Asma giving me that “Keep your trap shut for once” look and stayed quiet.
Walter continued, “Now, you four are a handful for an old fella like me to look after all by myself, so I invited a chaperone along for the trip.”
No. He wouldn’t. Why would he?
“Scouts, you all remember Scout Master Spitzer?”
Apparently, he would.
Spitzer was the Scout Master who made our lives miserable back at Camp Spirit, and we still ended up saving him from getting accidentally squashed by Eugene the Bigfoot. The guy was a total bully, and he hated the Strange Scouts even though he had been one when he was a kid.
I couldn’t think of any reason Walter would invite him along except that there wasn’t anyone else who even knew the Strange Scouts existed. I guess Spitzer was all Walter had.
Spitzer grinned at us. It wasn’t friendly. “The only reason I agreed to come along on this trip is because Scotland has the best golfing in the world, and I’m working on my game. So, three ground rules before we get going: One, I’m in charge. Two, I’m in charge. And three, you’re not in charge. Anyone who forgets these rules will be cleaning the latrines!”
Asma raised her hand. “Uh, sir? We’re going to Scotland, not camp. There won’t be latrines.”
Spitzer’s grin grew even wider. “Oh, I’m sure we can find a toilet or two that needs scrubbing over there. Call it a scout public service.”
Asma, who’s a germophobe and a hypochondriac, looked ready to faint.
“Now, now,” said Walter. “No need for all that. I’m sure we’re all going to get along just fine. So let’s get a move on. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
But the thing was, Walter started off in the opposite direction, away from the terminal.
“Walter, aren’t we going the wrong way?” I asked as we hurried to catch up. “All the departing flights are back there.”
“Strange Scouts don’t fly first class,” grumbled Walter. “And I’m not sitting for five hours next to a screaming baby with nothing but a bag of peanuts to distract me. We’re taking the Green Goose!”
Spitzer stopped in his tracks. “Really, Walter? You think that’s a good idea?”
But either Walter didn’t hear him or he ignored him, because the old guy disappeared behind a door marked TERMINAL D: PRIVATE AIRCRAFT ONLY.
“Wow,” said Manuel. “Does that mean the Strange Scouts have their own private jet?”
Spitzer lost all the color in his face. “The Green Goose isn’t a jet. Heck, it’s barely a plane. I hope you kids brought your barf bags.”
He took a deep breath and followed Walter through the door, and we were left wondering what we’d gotten ourselves into.
Again.
Here’s a funny thing: I learned that night that I do not get airsick.
Too bad the same can’t be said for the rest of my friends.
I wouldn’t exactly call Walter an ace pilot, but he got us to Scotland in one piece. After Spitzer took a few minutes to kiss solid ground, we rented an old bus and drove to Loch Ness. Along the way, Walter pointed out crumbling old castles next to endless fields of what looked like tall propellers stuck into the ground.
“What’re those?” I asked.
“Those are wind farms!” answered Asma. “I read about them. All those wind turbines are generating electricity using wind power.”
“Yep,” said Walter. “Scotland’s a fascinating mix of the ancient and the newfangled. Of course, their greatest national treasure is Nessie, the monster of Loch Ness.”
“You all can keep your moldy old castles and wind farms,” said Spitzer. “As soon as we find a golf course, I’m hitting the first tee.”
“Visiting Nessie is a tradition that’s as old as the Strange Scouts themselves,” said Walter. “It’s a great honor to meet her, and not every scout gets the chance. See, she’s not only the oldest known monster in the world, she’s also the shyest. For such an enormous creature, it’s amazing that she can pass by without leaving a trace….”
But Walter’s words trailed off as we drove within sight of the lakeshore. A wind farm lay in ruins nearby, with turbines snapped in half and some smashed flat. And from the weird tracks in the mud, it looked like whatever had destroyed them had come out of the lake itself!
Walter stopped the bus, and we all got out to take a look. A local constable was already on the scene, taking a statement from some rich-looking guy in a business suit jacket and a kilt.
“Only caught a glimpse of the creature as it was slithering back into the water,” the businessman was saying. “But no doubt it was her. The Loch Ness Monster tore up the wind farm!”
“Phooey!” said Walter as he stomped over to him. “Since when has Nessie destroyed anything?”
The constable and the businessman looked Walter up and down. I have to say, an old guy in a scout uniform shouting in your face probably doesn’t make the best first impression.
“Who are you?” the businessman asked.
“Scout Master Walter Simmons. Who are you?”
“Martin MacGregor,” answered the man. “I own MacGregor’s Classic Golf Green.”
“Wait a minute!” said Spitzer, pushing his way in front of Walter. “You mean the MacGregor’s Classic? I’ve been dying to golf there for years!”
MacGregor grinned. “Well, the wait’s over, laddie. It’s over yonder. We’re expanding, too! Just broke new ground today at the construction site. Soon it’ll be double the size!”
He pointed to a nearby collection of lights and towers. On the drive in, I’d thought it was some kind of crazy mall, but now that I looked closer I spotted fake castles, windmills, and what looked like a giant plastic lake monster. Kids were trying to hit a golf ball into the monster’s mouth, and when one of them succeeded, the plastic monster breathed smoke.
“Hold on, Spitzer!” said Ginger. “Are you telling us that you came all this way to play Putt-Putt golf?”
Spitzer’s cheeks turned red as he glowered down at the tiny girl. “It’s called miniature golf, and it’s a perfectly respectable sport,” he said.
Ginger didn’t flinch under Spitzer’s glare. She did snort, though, as she struggled not to laugh in the Scout Master’s face.
“All right, enough,” said Walter. “Let’s get back to the topic at hand.”
But MacGregor turned his back on us and said, “The topic is done. I know what I saw—Nessie’s gone berserk, and no piece of property along the Loch Ness shoreline is safe anymore! I thought those wind farms were an eyesore before, but now look at ’em. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll all steer clear of the lake until this problem’s dealt with.”
Then MacGregor stomped off to his mini-golf course, leaving us alone with the constable.
“Constable,” said Walter. “You can’t believe—”
But the constable held up his hands. “People have been claiming to have seen old Nessie for hundreds of years, but no one’s ever heard of her doing harm. Heck, my granddad used to tell his teacher that Nessie ate his homework! But MacGregor’s a respected man around here, and this property damage has to be taken seriously. We’ll look into it. In the meantime,
I think tourists should use caution. Stay out of the water!”
Walter was awfully quiet when we got back on the bus, while Spitzer talked our ears off about his favorite mini-golf courses all around the world. He even showed us pictures of his trophy case back home, which was filled with those cheap plastic toys you can earn as prizes.
Now, back at Camp Spirit, Troop D had been forced to sleep in ramshackle old cabins that leaked when it rained and creaked when the wind blew, but nothing could have prepared us for our “accommodations” at Loch Ness.
The sun had gone down by the time we stopped for the night. I’d expected a cheap hotel. Maybe a run-down cottage. What we got instead was a creepy old lighthouse straight out of a scary movie. Asma, Ginger, and I couldn’t believe our eyes. Manuel wouldn’t have, either, if he’d ever bothered to look up from his video game. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure if he even knew we’d made it to Scotland yet.
“Welcome to the Strange Scouts Chapter House, Scotland Division,” said Walter.
“It looks kinda dirty,” said Asma.
“Hogwash!” answered Walter. “Every scout that’s ever been through our ranks has spent the night in this here lighthouse.”
Asma shook her head. “Did any of them bother to clean it? You know household dust is a serious allergen.”
“Shouldn’t we maybe stay someplace where we can get some dinner?” I asked.
I actually wasn’t hungry at all, but I hadn’t forgotten the haggis, either. I could just picture it: We’d all sit down to dinner, I’d order the biggest haggis on the menu for the whole table, and then I’d make sure to get a picture of their faces when it arrived.
Then I’d have that picture put on a T-shirt.