Hello again. Do I have to tell you who I am? I sure hope not. This chapter is not as funny as the other two, but thats just my opinion. I hope you Harry Potter nutters like it anyway. Disclaimers: I do not own any of those darling stalker letters, the private school, the public school, Spudley's gang, Harold's hippie uniform, Spudley's cane, the second bedroom, the hotel, or the shack. Now READ!

Chapter 3: The Stalker Letters

The boa constrictor incident earned Harold his longest punishment ever. By the time he was allowed out of his cabinet again, summer vacation had started, and Spudley had already crashed his model rocket, stepped on eight of his videogames, and, the first time out on his skateboard, steamrolled into Mrs. Pea as she crossed Pickle Drive on her crutches.

Harold was relieved that school was finally over, but he wasn't able to escape Spudley's gang, who came over almost every day. Patrick, Dan, Matt, and George were all fat and dim-witted, but as Spudley was the fattest and most dim-witted of them all, he was the leader. The group's favorite game to play: Harold Hunting.

Harold spent most of his time outside in order to escape from Spudley and his gang, thinking about the end of vacation. Next year, he would be going to the local public school, and would finally be able to escape from Spudley, as he had been accepted at Uncle Herman's old private school. Spudley enjoyed teasing Harold about the public school.

"The older kids stuff the newbies' heads down the toilets on the first day," he sniggered. "Want to go and practice?"

"Sure, give me your head," said Harold.

"I meant with you, stupid," growled Spudley.

"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea," said Harold seriously. "My head just isn't good enough to be stuffed down that little hole. Yours, on the other hand…" he made a kissing noise with his mouth "…what a perfect match!" And before Spudley could react, he raced away.

One hot July day, Aunt Pansy took Spudley to buy his uniform for the private school, and Harold was left at Mrs. Pea's. She wasn't as bad as usual, though. Harold found out she had broken her leg by tripping over the guinea pigs' cage (which she had left on the floor) and she was quite pissed about it. So this time, she didn't force Harold to look at her guinea pig photo albums, but let him watch television, and even gave him a piece of chocolate cake.

That night, Spudley marched around the living room wearing his new uniform. The private school's uniform consisted of a bright red collared shirt, red and white striped slacks, black shoes, and a red and white striped hat called a fedora. They also carried canes to smack each other when the teacher's back was turned, which was supposed to be good training for later in life.

As Spudley strutted around the room as though he had just been appointed President of the United States, Uncle Herman said hoarsely that this was the proudest moment in his life. Aunt Pansy, of course, burst into tears, wailing she couldn't believe her widdle Spuddykins looked so attractive and grown-up. Harold didn't say anything, for he feared that if he opened his mouth, he would not be able to hold in his laughter.

The next morning, Harold came out of his cabinet to find that a truly disgusting smell had filled the kitchen. Aunt Pansy was dipping some white shirts into a bunch of containers in the sink, each filled with a different color dye. He went to have a look.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and her eyes flashed (as they always did when he dared ask her a question).

"Making your school uniform," she said.

Harold looked into the sink again.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't know they'd be so…smelly."

"The smell will wear off," she snapped. "I'm tie-dyeing some of Spudley's old clothes for you. They'll look just like everyone else's when they've dried."

Harold seriously doubted this, but didn't dare argue. He tried not to imagine what kind of greeting he'd get when he showed up at school looking like a hippie.

Uncle Herman and Spudley entered the kitchen, coughing and spluttering from the smell.

"Ugh, Harold, did you do that?" howled Spudley, squeezing his nose. "What have you been eating?"

"It wasn't me!" cried Harold indignantly. "It was Aunt Pansy, I heard it!"

"I told you not to have the beans last night!" Uncle Herman complained.

"It's Harold's school uniform!" shouted Aunt Pansy, going red in the face.

Uncle Herman sat down at the table and opened his newspaper, looking extremely embarrassed. Harold joined him, and so did Spudley, banging his cane on the ground.

The mail slot clicked and they heard the distinct sound of envelopes falling onto the welcome mat.

"Get the mail, Spudley," said Uncle Herman, not looking up from the paper.

"Make Harold get it."

"Get the mail, Harold."

"Make Aunt Pansy get it," said Harold. "Oh, wait, don't make her get it, she'd have to bend over and then-"

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" shrieked Aunt Pansy.

"Get the mail! NOW!" roared Uncle Herman.

Harold jumped up from the table and raced into the hall, grinning broadly. Three things lay on the welcome mat: a postcard from Aunt Marcie to Uncle Herman, a thick, long envelope that looked like a bill, and…a letter for Harold.

Harold picked up the letter as though it were about to crumble at any moment. He couldn't believe it…who in their right mind would be writing to him? He was clearly unpopular, Spudley's gang made sure of that…he hadn't done anything "funny" at school…yet here it was, addressed so specifically there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Plodder

The Cabinet Above the Refrigerator

7 Pickle Drive

Salem, Mass.

U.S.A.

The envelope was heavy and thick, made of yellowish parchment, and written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp or address label.

Turning the envelope over, he saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a tiger, a dolphin, a hedgehog, and a cobra, surrounding a large letter P.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Herman. "What are you doing in there, checking for grenades?" He chuckled at his joke.

Harry slowly walked back into the kitchen, as if sleepwalking. He handed Uncle Herman the postcard and the bill, sat down in his seat, and began to open the envelope.

"Marcie's sick," said Uncle Herman, scanning the postcard. "Must be food poisoning-"

"Dad, Harold's got a letter!" cried Spudley.

Harold had just taken the letter out of the envelope when it was whisked out of his hand by Uncle Herman.

"Hey!" he yelled. "That's mine!"

"Why would anyone write to you?" sneered Uncle Herman. He glanced at the letter…and gasped, his face turning from red to green faster than a traffic light. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it had turned whitish-gray.

"P-P-Pansy!" he yelped.

Spudley tried to snatch the letter, but his father held it out of his reach. Aunt Pansy took it curiously, and read what seemed like no more than the first line before turning white like Uncle Herman. She clutched at her heart, looking faint.

"Herman…oh my goodness! Herman!"

Spudley was not used to being ignored. "I want to see it!" he yelled.

"I want to see it!" Harold bellowed. "It's my letter!"

"Get out of here, both of you!" snapped Uncle Herman.

Harold didn't move.

"GIVE ME MY LETTER!" he screamed.

"OUT! OUT!" roared Uncle Herman, and, seizing both Harold and Spudley by their waistbands, threw them into the living room, slamming the door behind them. Harold and Spudley had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole. Spudley won, and Harold bent down to listen at the crack under the door, his glasses hanging from one ear.

"Herman…" Aunt Pansy was saying, "look at the address…they know where he sleeps! Do you think they could be watching us?"

"Watching…spying…they could be following us everywhere!" said Uncle Herman. He had started to pace the kitchen.

"But what do we do?" cried Aunt Pansy. "Should we write back? Tell them we're not interested…?"

"No," said Uncle Herman finally. "Let's just ignore it. They won't write back if they don't get an answer…"

"But…"

"I'm not having one of those in the house, Pansy! Didn't we swear we'd stamp out that ridiculous nonsense when we took him in?"

After he got back from work that evening, Uncle Herman visited Harold in his cabinet for the first time.

"Where's my letter?" demanded Harold, as soon as Uncle Herman opened the door. "Who wrote to me?"

"Nobody," said Uncle Herman. "It was addressed to you by mistake."

"Mistake? That wasn't a mistake! It had my cabinet on it!" cried Harold.

"SHUT UP!" roared Uncle Herman so loudly that a few cockroaches fell from the ceiling. One fell on his head, and Harold was forced to wait as Uncle Herman ran around the kitchen, screaming, until the cockroach fell off and scurried under the stove. Taking several deep breaths, Uncle Herman forced himself to smile at Harold. It looked quite painful.

"Um, Harold…about your cabinet…your aunt and I think that it would be best if you move into Spudley's second bedroom…you're getting too big for this small space!"

"Do I have to?" moaned Harold.

"YES, YOU HAVE TO!" yelled Uncle Herman. "NOW TAKE YOUR STUFF AND GO UPSTAIRS!"

It only took one trip to move Harold's things up to Spudley's second bedroom. Spudley had a second bedroom only to store all of his toys that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. Nearly everything in it was broken from when Spudley had his tantrums and decided to crush, kick, smash, or sit on something. Harold could hear him right now, whining to his mother, "I don't want him in there…that's my room…I need that room…"

Harold sighed and sat down on the bed. Yesterday he would've given anything to be in here. Today he would rather be in his cabinet with his letter than in here without it.

The next day, Spudley was in shock. He'd whacked his father with his cane, punched his mother in the gut, been sick on purpose, threw the vacuum cleaner out the window, and screamed himself hoarse for hours, and he still didn't have his room back. Harold was punishing himself inside his head for not opening the letter in the hall.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Herman made Spudley get it. After whacking him with the cane, Spudley waddled into the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another, one! Mr. H. Plodder, The Smallest Bedroom, 7 Pickle Drive…"

Uncle Herman gave a cry of fury and stormed into the hall, Harold right behind him. He wrestled Spudley to the ground with one arm while Harold twisted the other behind his back. After a few short minutes, in which everyone got clobbered with Spudley's cane, he stood up, Harold's letter clutched in his fist.

"Go to your cabinet…I mean, your bedroom," he growled. "Spudley, just…go. NOW!" he barked, when no one moved.

Harold climbed the stared, his mind racing. How had the person known he had not gotten his letter? How had the person know he switched rooms? He vowed to get his letter first the next morning…he had a plan.

Harold woke up at six o'clock sharp the next morning. He snuck down the stairs and tiptoed into the hall…he would get the letter first, as soon as it came through the mail slot…he crept towards the front door…

"EEEEEEEEK!" he screamed, leaping backwards. He had stepped on something squishy…something alive!

"YEEOOOWCH!" howled a voice just below him.

The hall light clicked on as Aunt Pansy raced to find the source of the noise. Harold looked down…and wished he hadn't. Uncle Herman had been sleeping on the welcome mat in front of the door, to prevent Harold from doing exactly what he had just tried to do, and Harold had stepped on his…well, let's not go there.

Anyway, while Uncle Herman rolled around on the floor, the mail slot clicked open and three letters for Harold fell into his lap.

"Give me-" he began, but Uncle Herman tore the letters to pieces before his eyes.

He stayed home from work that day and nailed the mail slot shut. He whistled "Funkytown" while he worked and yelped at small noises.

On Saturday, no less than twenty-four letters had found their way into the house, rolled up in the egg cartons or stuffed between pages of the newspaper. Spudley was astonished.

"Who the heck is this desperate to talk to you?" he asked Harold.

On Sunday, Uncle Herman sat down in the living room, wearing his bathrobe and carrying a large cup of coffee. He looked exhausted, but satisfied.

"No mail on Sundays," he chuckled. "No more of those stalker letters today-"

The next moment, thirty or forty letters shot themselves down the chimney, flying through the air. Harold jumped on the couch, holding up his hands, trying to catch one…

"GET OUT!" roared Uncle Herman, picking up Harold like a sack of flour and throwing him into the hall. He followed Aunt Pansy and Spudley out the living room door, ripping hair out of his mustache, and slammed it shut.

"That's it! I've had enough! Everyone, pack some clothes into a bag, we're leaving!"

He looked so scary with half a mustache that no one dared argue with him.

When they were finally all in the car (Spudley sniffling because he couldn't bring his Nintendo Wii) Uncle Herman stepped on it. He drove and drove and drove, and Aunt Pansy didn't dare interrupt to ask where they were going. Every once in a while, he would make a U-turn in the middle of the street and go in the opposite direction, muttering, "shake 'em off, shake 'em off" every time. Finally, they stopped at a run-down hotel for the night. Spudley and Harold shared a room, but Spudley was too tired and depressed to do anything but go to sleep. Harold stayed awake for a long time, thinking…

They ate stale Cheerios and butter on toast for breakfast the next morning. They had just finished when the hotel owner came over to the table, looking half-drunk.

"Uh, iz one of you Mr. H. Plodder…we got 'bout a 'undred of theez up at the desk…"

Harold made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Herman yanked him back into his seat. The man stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Herman, and followed the man out of the dining room.

Within a half an hour they were on the road again. They didn't stop until they reached the edge of what looked like a giant lake. Uncle Herman told everyone to stay in the car, and disappeared.

"Dad's gone insane, right, Mom?" wailed Spudley. Aunt Pansy had no answer for him.

Uncle Herman came back, smiling, holding a long, thin package and a big paper bag. "Found the best place to escape those damn letters!" he exclaimed. He pointed out into the middle of the lake, where a large, gray rock could be seen. "And this man's going to let us borrow his boat!" he added, as an old man with no teeth ambled up to them and grinned wickedly.

They climbed into a little rowboat, and Uncle Herman rowed towards the island. It has started to rain. By the time they had gotten to the island they were all soaking wet. A tiny, miserable looking shack sat in the center of the rocky land.

Uncle Herman pushed open the door and led the way inside. There were only two rooms. Aunt Pansy found some dirty blankets in one room, and used a sheet full of holes to make a curtain between the two spaces. She and Uncle Herman disappeared behind the sheet to their side, and Spudley and Harold stayed on the side with the door.

Spudley took every blanket but one and made himself a bed on the sofa. Harold was left with the last very thin blanket and the floor as his bed.

The storm picked up as the night went on. No matter how much he tossed and turned, Harold could not sleep. In the end, he waited for midnight to come, when he would turn eleven. Spudley's arm was hanging over the side of the sofa, and Harold could clearly see the bright green numbers on his digital watch.

Five minutes to go…he heard the roof creak, and hoped it wouldn't fall on top of him…four minutes to go…maybe by the time they got to Pickle Drive (if they ever went back) the house would be so full of letters he would be able to grab one…three minutes to go…what was that slapping noise outside? Was it the water? And (two minutes to go) what was making that crunching noise?

One more minute and he'd be eleven…ten…nine…eight…maybe he should sneak up on Spudley and punch him, see how he liked it…three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shook, and Harold sat bolt upright. Someone was knocking on the door.

Wow full of suspense rite? I bet! Now do me a huge favor and REVIEW ALREADY! heehee