Revenge of the Beast

By Jack Meggitt-Phillips and Isabelle Follath

Lemony Snicket meets Roald Dahl in this “wickedly funny” (Kirkus Reviews), deliciously macabre, and highly illustrated sequel to The Beast and the Bethany in which Bethany and Ebenezer try to turn over a new leaf, only to have someone—or something—thwart them at every turn.

Once upon a very badly behaved time, 511-year-old Ebenezer kept a beast in his attic. He would feed the beast all manner of objects and creatures and in return the beast would vomit him up expensive presents. But then the Bethany arrived.

Now notorious prankster Bethany, along with her new feathery friend Claudette, is determined that she and Ebenezer are going to de-beast their lives and Do Good. But Bethany finds that being a former prankster makes it hard to get taken on for voluntary work. And Ebenezer secretly misses the beast’s vomity gifts. And neither of them is all that sure what “good people” do anyway.

Then there’s Claudette, who’s not been feeling herself recently. Has she eaten something that has disagreed with her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aladdin
• Release date: Mar 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781534478947

Jack Meggitt-Phillips

Jack Meggitt-Phillips is an incredibly exciting new talent. He is an author, scriptwriter and playwright whose work has been performed at The Roundhouse and featured on Radio 4. He is scriptwriter and presenter of The History of Advertising podcast. In his mind, Jack is an enormously talented ballroom dancer, however his enthusiasm far surpasses his actual talent. Jack lives in north London where he spends most of his time drinking peculiar teas and reading PG Wodehouse novels.

Book preview

The Beastly Beginning

When Ebenezer Tweezer was eleven years old, the world was much younger.

Instead of cars on the streets, there were horses and carriages. In place of phones and computers, people would communicate via letters and hopeful shouting.

There was no such thing as photographs, and so if you were the sort of person who liked to capture the moment whenever you happened to be wearing a nice outfit or eating a pretty meal, you would have to travel around with your own personal portrait artist. Electricity was nothing more than a silly word back then, which meant that you could only read books past bedtime if you had an extensive collection of candles.

In short, it was a pretty rotten time to be alive. And for poor Ebenezer, it was especially rotten, because he was a deeply unpopular child.

It’s hard to say exactly what made him so unpopular. Perhaps it was because he had a smug-looking face, or it might have had something to do with the fact that his outfits were always rather extravagant—filled with ruffles and colorful patterns.

Whatever the reason, it was clear that the other children did not care for young Ebenezer. He was never invited to their feasts, jester jousts, or theater trips, but this didn’t deter him from arriving uninvited. In fact, Ebenezer would spend most afternoons lurking outside the Muddlington Pie Shoppe because he knew that, from time to time, the children would gather there and challenge each other to impromptu pasty-eating competitions.

More often than not, though, Ebenezer would spend entire days outside the pie shop, and no children would arrive. Ebenezer would use the time to practice his conversation skills by talking to the wall. He’d say things like:

Isn’t it a fine day we’re having?

Or:

Have you seen that new comedy by Willy Whatshisname? No, I didn’t get any of the jokes either.

And:

Such a rotter about that plague, isn’t it?

Invariably, the wall didn’t have anything to say. But Ebenezer didn’t mind, because he saw all these one-sided chats as terribly good warm-ups for the real thing. He was sure that if he could only strike upon the right topic of conversation, or wear the right number of ruffles on his shirt, then the other children would let him join in with their pasty-filled merriment.

On one such day, when he was lurking outside the pie shop, Ebenezer became aware of a commotion taking place in the square. The town crier had given up his usual shouting about the wonderful deals available at his wife’s haberdashery and was now crying something in an urgent voice. Ebenezer wasn’t able to hear the exact words because the commotion and uproar in the street was too loud.

Serious-looking men, wearing some very silly scarlet capes and green stockings, were dismounting from their horses. They each carried a trumpet in their hand, as if it were a weapon, and their faces were grave with worry.

You there, boy! shouted one of them. Ebenezer saw there was a crest on the capes, which read DIVISION OF REMOVING RAPSCALLIONS IN SECRET. Have you seen the deadliest creature that has ever tormented this earth?

Ebenezer was pretty sure that he would have remembered such a creature, but he was a well-behaved child, and he wanted to be as helpful as possible. It took him about twelve seconds to flick through his memories.

No, I’m almost certain I haven’t, said Ebenezer. Is this a game of hide-and-seek? No one’s agreed to play it with me yet, but I don’t think you’re meant to ask for help.

This is no game, boy! If we don’t capture the creature before it regains its strength, there’s no telling what might happen, said the cape-wearer.

Oh, deary me, said Ebenezer. I wish I could help. But like I said, no creatures have crossed my path. Sorry.

The cape-wearer seemed to take this remark as a personal insult. He huffily returned to his horse and trotted away from Ebenezer. The rest of the cape-and-stocking wearers continued their search—bursting into establishments and asking pointed questions—but Ebenezer’s attention was soon drawn elsewhere when he spotted three children approaching the pie shop.

I hear they caught it in Lady Morgana’s basement. Apparently she’d been keeping it hidden from the Division for centuries, said Nicholas Nickle, an unpleasant boy with a suitably unpleasant face.

No one lives for centuries, so that’s clearly not true, brother dearest, said Nicholas’s distinctly undear sister, Nicola Nickle. "I heard that the creature used to be the size of a small hill, until the Division fed it a trumpet. One of Morgana’s neighbors said they saw the creature deflating like a balloon and whooshing out of the house."

I WANT SOME STOCKINGS! said Nicco Nickle, the youngest child of the ghastly family.

The Nickles were generally viewed by the rest of the neighborhood as menaces, but Ebenezer was not in a position to be fussy about friends. As they approached, Ebenezer tousled the ruffles on his shirt and tried to remember his small-talk training.

Isn’t it a rotter about this Willy comedy, eh? No, I didn’t get the plague at all, said Ebenezer. A frown wrinkled his brow. Hang on a moment. I think I might have gotten that a bit up-jumbled.

The Nickles’ faces lit up. Ebenezer mistook this as an expression of friendship, so his face lit up too.

Well, well, well—look who’s here for another beating. It’s only Mr. Ebenoozer Loooooseerrrr, said Nicholas.

I love it when you call me that, said Ebenezer, deadly serious. I read somewhere that it’s very important for friends to have nicknames for one another.

We’re not your friends, Ebenooozer. I thought we showed you last time what happens when you call us that, said Nicholas.

Hmm? Oh yes, that game where you chase me whilst throwing sticks and stones is great fun, said Ebenezer. But perhaps this time we could just have a little chat instead? The wall and I have been practicing for hours.

However, it soon became clear that the Nickles were not in the mood for a spot of sparkling conversation. The three of them charged at Ebenezer, chasing him through the square and out onto the fields that led to the back of his house. They hurled names, insults, and the occasional rock at the back of his head.

Ebenezer was comfortably able to outrun them because he was blessed with a pair of long, gangly legs. As he ran, he tried to convince himself that this was just another game, even though he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t. Like everyone else, the Nickles had taken an immediate dislike to Ebenezer, and he was powerless to do anything about it. There was no amount of shirt-shopping or wall-talking that was going to make them like or respect him.

But then, as he was sprinting through the final field, he stepped on something squishy. He looked under his shoe and found that the squishy something was a worm-sized blob of gray. As he peered even closer, he was able to make out three black eyes, two black tongues, and a dribbling mouth. It had a set of tiny limbs, and its breath stank of boiled cabbage.

Help me, said the squishy something as he scraped it off his shoe.

Ebenezer was so shocked by the voice that he dropped the squishy something. He quickly picked it back up and dusted away the specks of mud from its eyes.

Terribly sorry about that, he said. As he looked at the squishy something, he knew he was holding something extraordinary. For a few seconds, he just stood gazing at it, but then he remembered his manners. My name’s Ebenoo—I mean, Ebenezer.

And I am a beast. Please, you’re my only hope—help me.

The De-Beasting

What a creature—so unlike anything I’ve ever seen! Such beauty, such poise, such grace—you deserve the world, and I’m going to jolly well make sure I give it to you."

Five hundred years later, Ebenezer was soaking in his morning bubble bath, whispering sweet nothings to the reflection in his handheld mirror. Over the centuries, he had learned that mirrors are much easier to talk to than walls—especially when you have a rigorous potion-and-skin-care routine that gives you a face as beautiful as a twilight moon.

Why the sad face? Ebenezer asked himself. The morning bath has always been a happy occasion!

Over the course of his long, long lifetime, Ebenezer had soaked in almost two hundred thousand baths, and they had all been very happy occasions indeed. Today, however, there was something amok.

For one thing, Ebenezer’s windup rubber ducky was missing. This was a serious blow to proceedings, because Raphael was a ducky who had performed tricks and sung moving sea shanties every morning since the beast had vomited him out.

For another, there was something peculiar about the smell in the room. Thanks to the beast, Ebenezer was accustomed to baths that were bubbled and salted with only the very finest products a man can bathe in, and yet there was a distinctly cheap and nasty odor leaking out of the bubbles—as if someone had replaced his salts with dishwasher powder.

For the third, final, and most-disturbing-of-all thing, there was a smudgy, greasy-fingered message from Bethany on his handheld mirror:

OI, GITFACE. NO TIME FOR BATHING TODAY. DE-BEASTING TO BE DONE.

Naturally, Ebenezer had ignored the message, because it was his long-held belief that there is always time for a bath. He believed that you often need to take a bath right at the moment when other people would have you believe that there is no time for one.

However, the message continued to vex and irk because it made him wonder what Bethany had planned for their day, and eventually his curiosity could take it no more. He cut his bath short by a couple of hours; threw on some loungewear, slippers, and a dressing gown; and made his way downstairs.

His journey was fraught with confusion and peril because certain items in the fifteen-story house seemed to have gone walkabout. Confusion clouded his face when he noticed that all the furnishings from the velvet suite had been replaced with deck chairs and whoopee cushions. The confusion gave way to alarm when he found that his favorite collection of beautiful paintings had been taken off the wall. In their place was a selection of doodles and unconvincingly proportioned stick figures, which had been graffitied onto the wallpaper and signed by Bethany.

No, no, no! said Ebenezer, sprinting downstairs to address Bethany in his best I’m really rather cross with you sort of voice. What on earth are you doing?

Stupid question, said Bethany. She was quite right, because it was perfectly obvious that she was trying to remove a piano from the front room of the house. Gimme a hand, gitface. We’ve gotta get this onto the street with the other stuff.

I shall do no such thing! said Ebenezer. I’m not going to help you rob me.

We’re not robbing you; we’re helping you. Claudette and I have been working our flipping butts off, said Bethany.

And then, as if to show off her butt-working, Claudette the Wintlorian purple-breasted parrot flew into the house. Her feathery forehead was slightly damp with sweat.

That’s the last of the dancing teapots done, poppets! she said, spreading her wings in a Ta-da! pose. Hi-de-hi, Ebenezer! Has Bethany told you about our wonderful de-beasting mission?

De-beasting? asked Ebenezer.

Yeah, said Bethany matter-of-factly. De-beasting.

Claudette sank her talons into the piano and assisted Bethany in her efforts to drag it out of the room. They were neither strong enough nor strategic enough to move the instrument without causing great damage to the walls and floors.

Why do we need to de-beast? he asked. "Claudette killed the beast; I’d say that’s a pretty thorough de-beasting already."

How very dare you—I’m not a killer! I just happened to accidentally eat it, and I’ve been feeling simply awful ever since, said Claudette, puffing her feathery belly.

Don’t feel awful. The beast was a wicked, terrible monster who tried to eat me! said Bethany.

"Oh yes, I know that, but you’ve somewhat misunderstood me. I really have been feeling awful. Indigestion, or something like that. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks," said Claudette.

"Still not seeing what any of this has to

Reviews for Revenge of the Beast

[benbailie32 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is an amazing story of bad turned into good ? also so funny so if you don’t read this you are a git face

[hcnewton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.---WHAT'S THE BEAST AND THE BETHANY ABOUT?Ebenezer Tweezer has one goal in life—to keep on living. And he's been doing a good job of that for over five centuries. He's able to do this because of potions given to him by a magical Beast he met as a child. To keep the potions coming, he has to bring food to the Beast (who is only slightly more mobile than a caged bird). In return, the Beast magics money, treasures, and other gifts for Ebenezer.The thing is, The Beast has peculiar tastes—monkeys, cacti, Ebenezer's beloved cat, endangered species, and so on. Now, it has a specific task for Ebenezer. The Beast wants to eat a human child. A nice plump one with rosy cheeks. Initially horrified, Ebenezer decides that he's really more interested in prolonging his own life enough that he can probably find a child easily enough.It's actually not as easy as he initially thought, but he eventually brings one home and sets to fattening it up a little bit for The Beast. In those few days, Ebenezer starts to think that maybe there are things more important than living to 512.THE BEASTShockingly, The Beast is the least interesting thing in this book. It's a large, grey, probably hideous looking, blob with tiny hands and feet. Its mouth is anything but small, much like its appetite. And that's the problem.This amorphous and amoral antagonist has an avaricious appetite. It has an overwhelming desire for more and for novelty. It's not satisfied with being gluttonous, it wants something new, new experiences, new tastes, new flavors. If, like with its first victim in the book, the food happens to be rare, that's all the better. But what seems to drive it more than anything else is something it hasn't had before. For parents, caretakers, teachers who like to make young readers think about what they read will probably have a lot of fodder there.But let's not get bogged down in that—it's mean, it's greedy, and it's not that bright and fairly helpless. It's these two things that will help the protagonists.THE BETHANY(I love that the title uses the definite article for her...I can just see the beleaguered teachers at her school doing that. "Oh, you've got The Bethany in your class this term? Better you than me..." "Did you hear what The Bethany did today?")Bethany is...and I mean this in the strictly technical sense...a horrid, obnoxious, pill. And yes, yes, there are reasons for that, and we ought to understand that and exercise empathy toward her and try to help her. But at the beginning of this book, that's not the point. The point is that she's an ill-mannered bully, and that if Ebenezer had to pick a child to feed to the monster, you can certainly grant that she'd make a worthy nominee. Put in a slightly less homicidal way, Bethany is precisely the kind of girl who'd make Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle think of retiring.Until—and this is the key—until she's shown some kindness (unintentionally, sure, but that's not important). When Ebenezer does nice things for her, extends her some courtesy—and inadvertently acts like a friend. That makes all the difference to Bethany, and she responds in kind (and probably ends up losing her definite article along the way). Those parents, caretakers, and teachers I mentioned earlier can really camp out on this point, I'm sure.EBENEZER TWEEZERWhen the book starts, it's easy to write off Ebenezer as merely The Beast's errand-boy. Sure, a 511-year-old errand boy, but an errand boy nonetheless. Then once you understand what he's doing and why...well, you lose pretty much all sympathy for him. Sure, some sort of alien, magical creature that only wants to eat is one thing, you can get that impulse. But Ebenezer has sold his metaphorical soul to him, in his Faustian bargain for a long life, Ebenezer has helped facilitate a swath of destruction through this world. And that just seems worse than The Beast's actions.And for what? Money, years, and nice things? He might as well be Smaug.But as soon as you're about to name him the true villain of the piece, he shows a little bit of a conscience. A teeny, tiny hint of one, but a conscience. Then, like the Grinch's heart, that conscience grows three sizes. And once he accidentally befriends The Bethany? Suddenly, this villain becomes something approximating a hero. Then when Bethany reciprocates his kindness, his friendship, well, then you can't help but cheer him on and wish him all the success. Parents, caregivers, teachers—you get where I'm going with this.Throw in a backstory worthy of Heinz Doofenshmirtz and Ebenezer Tweezer turns out to be a character that could become a favorite after a re-read or two.A BIT ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATIONSI've proven time and time again, that I'm just not that good with describing visual art or my reactions to it. So let me start with the simple—I liked Follath's work, it seemed to fit the flavor and feel of the text. Which is just what you're looking for, right?My memory of Quentin Blake's work is pretty dim, but I can see why people would compare these illustrations to his work (although most of that probably has to do with comparisons to Dahl, see below). But the artist that came to mind—repeatedly—for me while reading this was Jules Feiffer. Stylistically, there's a lot to distinguish the two—but there's some quality that I can't put a name to that made me think of Feiffer.I'm also not sure how big the art is in hard copy, how much of a page it'll take up. In my eARC, the illustrations are typically pretty small—like they wouldn't take up much room on a page. That's a shame—if that's true for the hard copy, I'd recommend getting a magnifying lens, so you can take in the detail. If you're reading an e-copy, you should be able to zoom in/magnify the pictures with a click or a reverse pinch. Do so, you'll be glad you did.SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT THE BEAST AND THE BETHANY?I think it's pretty clear that I liked The Beast and the Bethany—I've certainly talked enough about it. It's a solid story with great characters, told in a clever way—just enough humor and wit to make this truly disturbing tale pretty entertaining and diverting. There's even a nice little moral or two embedded in the text, but delivered in such a way that the target audience can ignore them so they can focus on Bethany's efforts not to get eaten.** While the morals percolate in the reader's subconscious, where it'll do some good.I've seen a lot of comparisons to Roald Dahl used in discussions of this book. Those may be fair and apt, I don't remember enough of Dahl's work to make them myself (nothing against the guy, I remember positive experiences with his works, but he was never a favorite). For me, this reads like a latter-day Daniel M. Pinkwater.* I don't know what kind of audience he has today (I certainly had a hard time finding his stuff when I had kids the right ages), but I remember spending a lot of time in elementary school rereading and rereading books like Lizard Music, The Hoboken Chicken Emergency, I Was a Second Grade Werewolf—which combined horror elements, odd humor, and snappy writing. Just like this book. I couldn't tell you the last time I thought about him—but I wasn't far into this book when I started thinking about Pinkwater.* It may not be fair to say latter-day, as Pinkwater's still putting out books.Put another way, this is the kind of book to give a middle grader that you want to turn into an A. Lee Martinez fan. I'm not sure how many people have that as a goal (it'd be a worthy one), but it'd work. If you are an A. Lee Martinez reader and are thinking about reading this book yourself or getting it for someone younger, this is right up your alley.** Conversely, if you're looking for something like this written for adults, check out Martinez.For laughs, for a warm fuzzy or two, for a little bit of horror, for a fun read for readers of all ages, The Beast and The Bethany is an almost sure-fire winner.

[avoraciousreader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Book source ~ TourEbenezer Tweezer (hehe it rhymes) is 511 yrs old. Say what? Yep. You read that right. Is he a vampire? Is it magic? Nope and sorta. In order to stay young Ebenezer has to feed a beast who lives in the attic of his 15 story (!) house. Feed the beast and the beast coughs up a magical youth potion which The Ebmeister has to take once a year. The rest of the year, the beast coughs up whatever Ebbie desires. Sounds easy, right? And for a while it was. But then the beast started demanding more exotic fare which bothered Ebenezer a bit, but not enough to give up his youth. When the beast demands a child to eat, that’s when things fall to pieces. Not literally though I wouldn’t have been surprised.So, who wouldn’t want a magical beast, no matter how gross and stinky, to barf up anything you want including potions to stay young and all you had to do was feed it things it considers nommable? Considering I cleaned up after six kids (not to mention many furkids) I think I could handle that. But feeding a child to it? Even one so extremely bratty as Bethany? I’d have to draw the line. Probably. I mean, definitely. If you’re looking for a wildly fantastic tail tale that is reminiscent of Lemony Snicket then look no further. This is one middle grade fantasy that will entertain as well as horrify, has great characters, a decent plot, and splashes of humor tossed into the mix. In fact, I believe it would be perfect to feed to the beast. Quite unique and eminently satisfying.