Mogey slammed the door and threw his back against it, screwing his eyes shut tight as he panted wildly.
"Neighborhood boys still coming after you with their nerf blasters?" Smush asked, scarcely looking up from his heavily annotated copy of Superfudge.
"They're away at dermatology camp," said Mogey. "Thank the lord. No, this time it's devil dogs."
"Devil dogs?"
"You heard me, capitaine. They're an unstoppable force. I can only hope they haven't followed me here."
At that very moment, the doorbell rang. Though their bell was an ominous old thing, Smush rolled his eyes, rolled out of his beanbag chair, and rolled himself over to the window. There, he twitched the curtain aside and peeked onto the landing.
What he saw chilled Smush to the core for only the second time in his life (the first being his record-setting performance at the Saskatchewan ColdBelly Challenge Creamsicle Consumption Competition, brought to you by Jumble-Ice brand Freeze Pops - he retired a champion).
"Gadzooks, Mogey!" Smush exclaimed. "I thought you were talking about snack cakes!"
Much to Smush's dismay, a ghastly creature stood upon the pals' front porch. Its canine face contorted into a sneering growl and its red eyes glowed with the evil of a hundred dictators. A nefariously bulky bag of black leather was thrown over one of its shoulders.
"I was," Mogey replied. "That's Wolfman Billingsly, the door-to-door snack cake salesman. He knows full well that I gravitate to devil dogs the way Hawaiian Punch gravitates to a new pair of white jeans, and I regret to say that he's come to score his biggest sale of the year!"
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