A Creeper Camps Out Read online

  Also by Greyson Mann

  The Creeper Diaries

  Mob School Survivor

  Creeper’s Got Talent

  Creepin’ Through the Snow: Special Edition

  New Creep at School

  The Overworld Games

  Creeper Family Vacation

  Creeper on the Case

  The Enchanted Creeper

  Mob School Swap

  Field Trip to the Taiga

  Get a Job, Creep

  Secrets of an Overworld Survivor

  Lost in the Jungle

  When Lava Strikes

  Wolves vs. Zombies

  Never Say Nether

  The Witch’s Warning

  Journey to the End

  This book is not authorized or sponsored by Microsoft Corp., Mojang AB, Notch Development AB or Scholastic Inc., or any other person or entity owning or controlling rights in the Minecraft name, trademark, or copyrights.

  THE CREEPER DIARIES: A CREEPER CAMPS OUT.

  Copyright © 2019 by Hollan Publishing, Inc.

  Minecraft® is a registered trademark of Notch Development AB.

  The Minecraft game is copyright © Mojang AB.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].

  Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyponypress.com.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Special thanks to Erin L. Falligant.

  Cover illustration by Amanda Brack

  Cover design by Brian Peterson

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-5107-4105-8

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-5107-4123-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  Day 1: Sunday

  Day 1: Sunday (Continued)

  Day 2: Monday

  Day 3: Tuesday

  Day 4: Wednesday

  Day 5: Thursday

  Day 6: Friday

  Day 7: Saturday

  Day 8: Sunday

  Day 10: Tuesday

  Day 11: Wednesday

  Day 12: Thursday Morning

  Day 12: Thursday Night

  Day 12: Thursday Night (Continued)

  Day 13: Friday Morning

  Day 13: Friday Morning (Continued)

  Day 13: Friday Night

  Day 13: Friday Night (Continued)

  Day 14: Saturday Morning

  Day 14: Saturday Night

  Day 15: Sunday

  DAY 1: SUNDAY

  Ah, summer. Playing my favorite videogame, Humancraft, till dusk. Posting videos of Pete, my rapping parrot, on MooTube. Helping my buddy Sam get his slime-making business off the ground (and, you know, out of Mom’s carpet).

  At least that’s what summer is SUPPOSED to be about. And it was—for two blissful months. But that came to a screeching halt last week when Mom and Dad announced I was going to summer camp. They were all like, “Surprise, Gerald! Good news!”

  But they dropped me off at Woodland Survival Camp about fifteen minutes ago, and I’m still trying to figure out a single good thing about it.

  I blame Sam. He’s been yammering on about summer camp since school ended. His parents must have gotten together with MY parents, and next thing you know, I’m sitting in this musty cabin, wondering how I got here.

  I’m pretty sure my parents were looking for ways to get rid of us kids for the rest of summer. My older sister, Cate, was already gone, lifeguarding at some beach with coral reefs and swimming turtles.

  (I know—tough life, right?)

  So all my parents had to do was send my twin sister, Chloe, off to Golem Scout Camp, and throw me in the back of Mr. and Mrs. Slime’s minecart with a backpack and a sleeping bag.

  They’re probably going to ditch my baby sister, Cammy, somewhere too and head for the hills!

  When I busted Mom about that, she said I was being dramatic. She promised to send me a letter every day for the next two weeks, just to prove that she and Dad hadn’t abandoned me. I almost told her to text me instead, but then I remembered two things. First, we’re supposed to “unplug” at camp. That means no phones and no tablets. (And no fun.)

  Second, I do NOT want Mom texting or emailing or posting or chatting or ANYTHING with me. Not after what she did during my field trip this spring. Let’s just say that I’d rather give up electricity and running water than have Mom sharing sappy posts and embarrassing photos with me (and a gazillion of my closest friends) online.

  So if we’re not playing Humancraft or watching MooTube videos at camp, what are we going to do? Well, let me tell you. According to the glossy brochure I’m reading, we’ll be . . .

  • building shelters out of twigs and stuff. (I’ll put Sam on that—he was the master igloo builder when we took a trip to the Taiga.)

  • gathering mushrooms. (Sign me up for that job. I love me some mushrooms!)

  • tracking wolves. Uh . . . WHAT now?

  I like a tame wolf as much as anybody (which is NOT MUCH). My friend Eddy Enderman has a wolf-dog named Pearl, and if I throw her a bone now and then, she pretty much leaves me alone.

  But an UN-tamed wolf in the woods? Let me just say that if a wolf is trotting away from me, I’m going to let the dude run. I’m NOT going to chase him and track him down. So I’m crossing that bad idea right off the list. Okay, what’s next?

  • living off the land during “Survival Night.”

  Huh. I’m starting to wonder if my mom even READ this brochure before she packed my bags. I mean, she could have at least looked at the pictures. Kids swinging axes. HUGE mushrooms that could topple over and kill a mob instantly. Wolves with glowing eyes hiding in a dark, shadowy forest. It’s like some spooky fairytale that you KNOW isn’t going to end well.

  “Look on the bright side,” I can hear Mom saying. “When life hands you moldy mushrooms, make mushroom stew.”

  But there’s nothing bright at Woodland Survival Camp. Did I mention that we’re in the middle of the Dark Forest?

  “At least you’re in a cabin.”

  That was the voice in my head, like a mini Mom who says all the things I don’t want to hear (but that are probably true).

  I AM glad we’re in a cabin—not in an igloo with polar bears sniffing around outside, like in the Taiga. And not in a tent full of cactus prickers, like during our family trip to the desert. And not in a cave filled with spiders.

  Plus, I’ve got my own bed. There are two bunk beds in the cabin and then this big bed in a room all its own. Well, that bed had MY name written all over it. I mean, I had to pretty much tackle Sam so that I could get to it first. But now he’s spilling out over the sides of a top bunk and seems pretty stoked about it, so . . . things ended well.

  I guess I should also be glad that the two mobs sharing our cabin don’t seem half bad. One is this husk from the desert. His name is Harold and he reminds me of our buddy Ziggy Zombie back home—except Harold has a serious suntan and bleached blond hair. Hopefully he’s not a huge fan of rotten flesh, like Ziggy is. (I’m crossing my toes that out there in the desert, they skip the
flesh and eat cactus and stuff instead.)

  Anyway, the other kid in our cabin is Duke Skellington. Now I’m not normally a fan of skeletons—NOT AT ALL. There’s this bully of a skeleton at school named Bones, and he’s pretty much my least favorite mob in the whole entire Overworld.

  But Duke’s not like that. He came in smiling and humming some jazzy tune.

  He didn’t look like the kind of skeleton who would flick things at me with his bony fingers, or hop the nearest spider and turn into one of those spider jocks that think they rule the school. We’ll see, though. I mean, it’s only Day 1.

  UH-OH. So much for looking on the bright side. Our counselor just walked in—or TELEPORTED in. I can already tell Mr. Ender is strict, just like my history teacher, Eagle Eyes Enderwoman. He took one look at my stuff spread out all over the bed, and he told me to pack it back up and move it to the bunk beds. I guess this bed—this ROOM—belongs to him. Well, talk about getting off on the wrong foot.

  Plus, Mr. Ender keeps mixing me up with the husk. He called me “Harold” instead of “Gerald” THREE times, and I was too freaked out to correct him.

  Now I’m squished into the bottom bunk. Sam won’t swap with me, and I can’t really argue about it—not with Mr. Ender’s eyes all over me.

  There’s barely room for me to store all my stuff here. See, Sam and I snuck a few “extras” into our backpacks, just in case camp wasn’t all the brochure made it out to be. See this bag that’s supposed to be packed with shampoo and soap and stuff? I swapped out all of those useless things for FIREWORKS.

  I can hear Sam unpacking, too. That TINK, TINK, TINK sound is the glass potion bottles his girlfriend, Willow Witch, gave us—just in case we need them. She’s super protective of Sam, which is normally really annoying. But I gotta say, sitting in the middle of the Dark Forest with an Enderman staring me down, I’m kind of glad for those potions.

  OOPS. Something just fell from the top bunk, bounced on the floor, and rolled under the bed. Sam’s SLIME! He packed a bunch of slime balls—the super-stretchy kind, the glow-in-the-dark kind, the uber bouncy kind. I told him to HIDE them, just in case slime is against camp rules. (I’ve noticed that grown-ups really aren’t big fans of slime.) But Sam’s TERRIBLE at hiding things. He can keep a secret for like two seconds before he bursts. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when that slime ball went whizzing by.

  Anyway, I’m waiting for Mr. Ender to teleport over and check it out. He’s looking this way—I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. OH, CRUD. He’s standing right by my bunk!

  PHEW!!! That was a close call. Just as Mr. Ender bent over to look under the bed, the dinner bell rang. SAVED BY THE BELL!

  We’re off to dinner now, so time to pack you up, my trusty journal. I gotta help Sam pack up those slime balls, too. If we’re going to survive two weeks of survival camp, we need to get back on Mr. Ender’s good side—PRONTO.

  DAY 1: SUNDAY (CONTINUED)

  Well, so much for getting back on Mr. Ender’s good side. ARGH!

  Just as we were leaving the cabin for dinner, he pulled me and Sam back inside. He found the slime ball under the bed, and THEN found the other slime balls in Sam’s backpack. He didn’t even have to climb up to the top bunk to do it. He just reached up with those freakishly long arms and pulled the pack down.

  And, YES, he found the potions, too. And the fireworks in my backpack. And he said ALL of those things were “against camp rules.”

  “WHAT’s against camp rules?” I thought. “Having FUN?” Except I didn’t just think it. I accidentally said it out loud.

  Mr. Ender narrowed his eyes and said, “Not funny, Harold.” Then he dragged us off toward the dinner hall.

  By the time we got there, we were WAY late and there was nothing left but crumbs. Sam ate a skinny chicken leg and a few wrinkled potatoes. But I decided to go on a hunger strike. If Mr. Ender saw me withering away like a melon on an un-watered vine, maybe he’d feel bad and give us back our stuff.

  That was my plan anyway. But he teleported to the counselors’ table and left me alone with my grumbly stomach. So I finally ate a dried-out piece of fish. I mean, a creeper really has to keep up his strength at a place like this.

  That’s when I finally looked around the room and realized something. Sam and I had landed in a camp full of ILLAGERS.

  Now I’ve never met an Illager in my life—probably because those mobs like hanging out in the Dark Forest, and I . . . really don’t. They look a lot like villagers, except their skin is grey and they have these big, bushy eyebrows.

  I’m not gonna lie—sitting close to mobs that look like villagers kind of freaked me out. I mean, villagers and creepers don’t exactly get along.

  One table was full of Evokers, in their long black robes.

  The other was full of Vindicators. They sat around like tough guys with their arms crossed. I’m pretty sure they were hiding something they DIDN’T want the counselors to see.

  But Sam seemed totally INTO those Illagers. When he whispered to me that they looked like witches, I figured out why. It’s a LOVE thing. Sam is so into Willow Witch that any mob that reminds him of her is instantly his BFF. Especially the Evokers. One of them waved his arms in the air, casting a spell, and I swear little bubbles floated over his head just like Willow when she uses one of her potions.

  I was curious about what kind of spell he’d cast, but Mr. Ender teleported over and shut that spell right down. Then he gave us this HUGE long speech about camp rules.

  “No spells,” he said to the Evokers.

  “No axes at the dinner table,” he said to the Vindicators. Is THAT what they were hiding behind their crossed arms?

  “No blowing up,” he said to me, as if I were the kind of creeper that ran around with a half-lit fuse.

  “And NO slime balls,” he said to Sam, who got so jittery I thought he was going to wiggle right off his chair and go SPLAT on the floor.

  When Mr. Ender called the other counselors up to the front of the room, that Enderman suddenly looked a LOT less scary. Because get this: the other two counselors were VINDICATORS. Yup, thick eyebrows. Glowing green eyes. Crossed arms (probably hiding axes). The whole bit.

  So if I thought we were going to have ANY fun at camp, that hope just popped like a potion bubble drifting out of a cauldron.

  My cabin buddies, Duke and Harold, didn’t exactly look thrilled either. Duke finally stopped humming. His mouth gaped wide open, taking it all in. And Harold? Well, he looked like he might shrivel up with fright and blow away, like a speck of dust in the wind. But Sam kept gazing at that table full of Evokers as if they were Willow’s long-lost cousins. Someone’s really gotta look out for that poor love-struck slime.

  Sitting there in that room full of Illagers, I had to wonder again—did my parents actually read the brochure for this place? I’m pretty sure this is an ILLAGER camp, and the counselors only let the rest of us in so that the Illagers would have some mobs to pick on.

  Plus, it shouldn’t be called a “survival camp.” After Mr. Ender told us more about what we’d be doing, it sounded more like the survivor SHOW—the reality TV show Mom watches called OVERWORLD SURVIVOR. Because we’re not just going to learn how to survive out here. We’ll be COMPETING against the other cabins.

  Mr. Ender was all like, who can build a sturdy shelter FASTEST? Who can gather the BIGGEST mushroom and bring it back to their cabin FIRST? Who can track a WOLF all the way to water? Who can survive the night outside and be the first one to use a map to find hidden treasure?

  Okay, the treasure part sounded kind of interesting. Until I pictured myself sleeping outside in a tent with Sam. With wolves sniffing around. Sam will probably take up the whole tent, and I’ll be squished against the side, gasping for air, practically BEGGING that wolf to eat me and put me out of my misery.

  Yup, I can see the whole thing, plain as day. So now we’re back in the cabin, and I figure I have to make a plan. I’m the kind of creeper who likes to have a plan
—especially when I’m at survival camp, staring death in the face. So here goes:

  Okay, that’s a good start anyway. Now I just have to figure out how to survive the bottom bunk of this bed without a slime crashing down from up above.

  DAY 2: MONDAY

  So Mr. Ender woke us up at the crack of dusk tonight for the shelter-building competition. Boy, was THAT a rude awakening. I was dreaming I was home in my own bed, cuddling with Sticky the Squid. And next thing I knew, two glowing purple eyes hovered over me, telling me to GET UP ALREADY.

  Sheesh. Mr. Ender didn’t have to tell this creeper twice. I shot out of bed like a firework rocket. Then he shoved a pickaxe, and sent me out with my cabin buddies into the Dark Forest.

  The first thing I saw was a HUGE mushroom. It was twice as tall as I was, and I’m not even kidding. At first, I thought I must be dreaming. Then I remembered that they grow ‘em big out here in the Dark Forest. At least we wouldn’t starve anytime soon.

  Did I mention how DARK the Dark Forest is? The trees grow so thick and close together, I thought Sam was going to get STUCK on the trail. I had to push him through a couple of tight spaces. (Luckily for that slime, I’ve got his back.) Duke, the skinny skeleton, had no trouble, though. He was humming and snapping his bony fingers to some song in his head.

  But where was Harold? I had to keep checking behind me to make sure we hadn’t lost the husk. Then I saw that Harold was SHAKING.

  “What’s up?” I asked him.

  He didn’t want to tell me at first, but then he finally said he was worried about water. I guess husks don’t know how to swim. (You know, because there’s not a lot of water in the desert.)