"You and how many Frankensteins?" Marc asked.
"Why, you...!" George exploded.
"Go tell your mother she wants you." Marc said. "Stop wasting my time."
George whirled about, reached down and picked up a large chunk of wood. He waved it under Marc's nose. "Don't you talk to me like that!" he said.
"Beat it, you phony, before you get your sheet dirty," Marc sneered. "You're not scaring anyone."
That did it. With an unintelligible burst of wrath and hurt pride, George lifted the block of wood and brought it down on the top of Marc's head. Then suddenly he started back, his mouth agape. It wasn't that Marc had slumped, unconscious, in his chair ... that was only to be desired and expected ... but Toffee, with a slight rattle of her chains, had mysteriously disappeared before his very eyes.
"Oh, my gosh!" George quavered. "How spooky!"
At the same moment, attracted by the noise of the chains, the Blemishes abandoned their work and advanced rapidly onto the scene. They surveyed the empty chair with wonder, then turned to George.
"What happened?" they chorused. "What did you do?"
George looked at them helplessly. "I don't know," he said. "I hit him and she vanished. That's all."