Planet of the Lawn Gnomes Page 2

  I made a fist and knocked on a lawn gnome’s shiny red cap. “Knock knock. Anyone in there?” The cap was as hard as concrete.

  I wrapped my hands around its waist and tried to pick it up. But it weighed a ton. I couldn’t budge it.

  Why do we have to have lawn gnomes? Just to fit in with everyone else in the neighborhood?

  I thought about my friends back home. All the fun we had hanging out in the woods behind the school playground. It’s sad when you have to move far away and leave your friends behind.

  But my family had no choice.

  I climbed onto my bike and coasted down the driveway. I gazed up and down the street. No sign of Kayla. What a pal. She just rode off without me.

  I glimpsed McClatchy’s yard. The tree workers were back. They were sawing off a high limb near the street.

  I squinted along the hedge. “Hey!” The two lawn gnomes I’d seen there a few hours ago were gone.

  I turned and stared at McClatchy’s front porch. Squinting into the shadows, I saw them huddled beside the porch.

  Did the workers move them away from the hedge? Were these the same lawn gnomes?

  Jay, who cares? Stop thinking about stupid lawn gnomes! I scolded myself.

  I turned my bike and started to pedal hard. The chain was loose, and it took a few seconds for it to catch. But then I was cruising smoothly past the big old houses and wide front lawns on my block.

  I rode past the school. A bunch of kids had a soccer game going. Some boys were skateboarding in the parking lot. School doesn’t start for another month, so there were no cars there.

  I didn’t stop. Pedaling hard, I picked up speed and rolled on. Beyond the school I saw a wide empty lot with a FOR SALE sign on it. And then two rows of houses, smaller than on my block.

  I turned a corner. Still no sign of Kayla. A little white dog yipped at me and chased me for half a block. I was too fast for it. Glancing around, I realized I’d never been on this block before.

  The street dipped downhill. I was sailing fast — and picking up speed.

  A shout made me nearly jump off my bike.

  “LOOOOOOK OUT!”

  I saw the boy on the bike roaring right at me. He was rocketing.

  I tried to stop. But my brakes didn’t catch.

  “NO BRAKES!” I screamed — just before the crash.

  The hard thud jolted my body. My hands flew off the handlebars, and I went sailing into the air.

  Not for long.

  I came crashing down to the pavement with a scream. I landed hard on my side and the bike toppled onto me, tires still spinning.

  I lay there for a long moment, gazing up at the trees. The setting sun made everything go red. I waited for the pain to sweep over me. But it didn’t happen. I wasn’t hurt much at all.

  I heard a groan beside me. It snapped me alert. I shoved the bike off my chest and forced myself to sit up.

  The other boy sat dazed on the street, rubbing one arm. His bike lay on its side beside him.

  He was a big kid, dark haired, broad shouldered, very athletic looking. I guessed he was about my age. “You okay?” he asked. He had a gruff, hoarse voice.

  “Yeah. I think so,” I said. “You?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Just a scrape.” He narrowed his dark eyes at me. “Didn’t you see me?”

  “I saw you. But my brakes are bad. I couldn’t stop.”

  He nodded again. With a groan, he climbed to his feet. He was wearing a black T-shirt and baggy, faded jeans. One sleeve of the shirt was a little ripped from our accident.

  He stood his bike up and tested it. “Seems okay.” He turned back to me.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m Jay. My family just moved here.”

  “Elliot,” he said. “Remember me?”

  “No way,” I said. “I don’t know any kids in this neighborhood.”

  “I live over there.” He pointed to the street across from us. Little yellow-and-white houses with square front yards.

  I picked up my bike and spun the chain. It was okay. The handlebars were at a weird angle. I pushed them back where they belonged.

  “Want to ride to the quagmire?” Elliot asked.

  I climbed onto my bike. “Quagmire? What’s that?”

  “Kind of a quicksand pit.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Is it near here?”

  He motioned with his hand. “This way.” He took off pedaling, and I followed him.

  He made a sharp turn onto the next street. My handlebars were loose, but I managed to keep up with him.

  Tall trees cast shade over the street. We rode side by side, pedaling in a steady rhythm. Elliot rode no-hands for a while.

  “What’s this neighborhood called?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Beats me. It’s just a bunch of houses.”

  Then I saw two lawn gnomes in the shade of a fat tree trunk. They leaned into the tree, as if trying to hide in the shadows. In the next yard, I saw a red-costumed gnome sitting on a white rock.

  I turned to Elliot. “Hey — what’s up with all the lawn gnomes?” I asked.

  He shrugged again. “Oh, you know.” He started to pedal harder. I forced my bike to try to keep up with him.

  We raced right down the middle of the street. The houses on both sides of us became a blur. We were really zooming when the quagmire came into view.

  The street ended. Beyond it, I saw what looked like a wide, flat orange lake.

  Elliot pressed his brakes. His bike squealed and slid to a stop at the end of the street.

  I squeezed my brakes. They didn’t catch. Not again! I squeezed harder. No.

  I opened my mouth in a cry as my bike sailed over the edge of the big lake. I flew several feet — and landed with a loud plop.

  Orange gunk rose up like ocean waves on both sides of my bike.

  Quicksand! I thought. Quicksand!

  It tugged me down … down. My bike and I … we were sinking fast.

  “Ohhhh …” A terrified moan escaped my throat.

  The orange gunk was thicker than wet sand. And cold.

  Sinking fast, my bike tilted hard to the left, and I started to fall off.

  My hands flew from the handlebars, and I fell off the seat backward — into the goo.

  I slapped the surface hard, struggling to stay on top of it. The thick sandy goo swam up to my waist. My bike was disappearing. I could see only the handlebars now.

  “OWWW!” I screamed as something bit my left ankle. I felt another bite, on my other leg. Another bite.

  There are creatures down below.

  Snakes? Killer fish?

  “OWWWWW!” They were snapping hard. Biting right through my jeans.

  I tried to squirm away, but my legs were trapped under the gunk. I sank another few inches.

  My heart pounding in panic, I spun around — and saw Elliot jump off his bike. He came running toward the quagmire.

  Stretching out his arms, he dove toward me. He made a wild grab for my arms. Missed. And landed facedown in the muck with a sickening splash.

  I gaped in horror as he started to sink under the surface.

  “Elliot — raise your head! Pick up your head!”

  No. He thrashed and kicked. But it only made him sink faster.

  In seconds, he disappeared into the orange sand.

  “Pick up your head! Elliot!” I screamed in a high, shrill panic. “Elliot — please!”

  But he was gone. Gone. I stared down at the muck. Not even a ripple where he had sunk.

  “Nooooo!” I cried out. And I leaned forward … forced myself to move through the muck … reached out my arms … stretched my arms over the surface.

  And with a burst of strength, I bent down — and plunged both hands into the wet sand. Deeper. Until I felt something.

  Yes. Elliot’s head. I grabbed his head with both hands — and tugged.

  Panting hard, I tugged with all my might. I pulled him by his hair. Pulled hard. Pulled his head up over the surface.


  His eyes were closed. He made a choking sound. His mouth opened and he spewed an orange spray of thick gunk.

  “Elliot? Elliot?” Without realizing it, I kept repeating his name.

  He opened his eyes. He shook his head. His hair was thick with the orange sand. He had it caked in his nose.

  “I … I’m okay,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  He shook his head again. He coughed up some more gunk.

  I grabbed him under the shoulders and pulled hard. He came sliding up higher. We put our hands around each other’s waists. Working together, we struggled to the edge of the quagmire.

  We dove onto the small patch of grass at the end of the street. We lay there for a couple of minutes, breathing, not speaking. Then we slowly climbed to our feet. It felt so awesome to stand on solid ground again.

  I started to wipe the gobs of wet sand off. But I stopped when I saw the legs of my jeans. They were covered with rips and tears and bite marks.

  Something caught my eye. I turned back toward the quagmire. I saw two large fish — fish with teeth and wide fins and legs — leap up from the sand.

  I slapped Elliot on the shoulder. “Look.”

  Another pale green fish jumped over the surface. It had froglike legs and jagged, spiky teeth.

  “I … never saw a fish like that,” I stammered. “Why didn’t you tell me this place is dangerous?”

  Elliot wiped sand from his hair. “I didn’t tell you to ride your bike right into it,” he said.

  “But —”

  “It’s a quagmire,” he said. “Don’t you know what a quagmire is? Didn’t you study about them? We had it in first grade. It’s in all the Beginner Geography classes.”

  “Huh? Not in mine!” I exclaimed. “And those gross biting fish. They kept biting and —”

  I stopped as a dark shadow rolled quickly over me.

  I raised my eyes and saw a huge creature overhead. Bigger than a swan. Black with big outstretched wings. It lowered its narrow head as it came diving down at us.

  “Look out!” I cried.

  “Duck!” Elliot screamed. “Hit the ground!”

  I dropped flat onto my stomach and covered my head.

  I felt a strong whoosh of wind as the huge bird-creature swooped over us.

  Twisting my neck, I glanced up. There were two of them. Enormous birds. Flapping noisily above Elliot and me, preparing to dive again.

  “Get flat! Get flat!” Elliot cried in a hoarse whisper.

  “What are they?” I cried.

  “They’re Buzzard Hawks.”

  “Huh? They’re so huge. They —”

  “Get flat,” he ordered. “As flat as you can.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because they’re blind.”

  I heard them squawking angrily above us. Their shadows rolled over us again. “Buzzard Hawks are blind?”

  “They can’t see, but they can smell you,” Elliot whispered. “They can smell fear.”

  We both were spread out on our stomachs. I buried my face in the grass. I held my breath as I heard the enormous creatures swoop down on us again.

  “Ohhhhh.” I couldn’t help it. I let out a moan as I felt sharp talons scrape down the back of my shirt. Pain shot through my whole body. I started to curl into a ball.

  “Don’t move,” Elliot warned. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “They haven’t smelled us down here yet. If they did …”

  He didn’t finish. The birds made another dive. I buried my face in the dirt and held my breath. Every muscle in my body tightened.

  Another whoosh of wind swept over me as the birds swooped inches over us. It took only a second or two, but it seemed like an hour. Frozen in fright, I didn’t move. I felt the wind off their wings, then silence.

  After a long while, I slowly, carefully, lifted my head. Yes! The Buzzard Hawks had flown away.

  I stood up, but my legs were so shaky, I could barely balance myself. “Close one,” I said.

  Elliot nodded. His eyes were still wide with fright. “They must have heard us when we were in the quagmire. Dangerous birds. Their claws are deadly. I mean really.”

  “You mean they’d claw us?” I asked.

  “Claw us, then eat us,” Elliot replied. “They’re meat eaters.”

  I shuddered. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this place.”

  Elliot started to his bike. “It’s not bad if you keep alert.”

  “Keep alert?” I shouted. “How can you keep alert against fish that chew your jeans off and birds that can rip you to pieces?”

  He didn’t answer. He picked up his bike and climbed onto it.

  “I’m in trouble,” I murmured. “I’m already in big trouble because of a thing I did to our neighbor. And now I’ve lost my bike. And no way Mom and Dad will believe me if I tell them it’s at the bottom of a quagmire.”

  “But it’s the truth,” Elliot said. “I could back up your story. They’ll believe me.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  As I walked home, Elliot rode beside me, circling me, riding up a ways, then back. I didn’t want to think about how we almost drowned in the quagmire. I didn’t want to think about anything that happened there.

  So I decided to count lawn gnomes as I walked. They were perched on every lawn, posted near driveways, leaning against tree trunks. Ugly little bearded fellows in red outfits and those funny caps.

  Totally weird.

  I counted thirty-two of them, and I was still a few blocks from home. Most of them stared straight out to the street, as if they were watching, watching us pass by with their big, blank painted eyes.

  “In my old neighborhood, no one had lawn gnomes,” I told Elliot. “We thought they were too ugly to put on front lawns. I don’t get it. Really. Why are these stupid little men everywhere I look?”

  He spun his bike around. “I’ve got to go. This is my street.” He pointed. “Do you know the rest of the way?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Well, see you around,” he said. “Thanks for saving my life.” He started to pedal away. “Sorry about your bike,” he called.

  “Yeah. Me, too,” I said. I watched him ride down the street. He turned into the driveway of a little yellow-and-white house at the end of the block.

  I turned and started walking slowly toward my house. The sun was nearly down. The sky was streaked with red.

  Lawn gnomes stared at me from front yards as I passed. But I didn’t feel like counting anymore.

  I was worried about my lost bike. I’d promised my parents I’d be more responsible in our new neighborhood. And here I was, coming home without my bike.

  I sighed. Maybe they won’t notice, I told myself.

  I turned at my house and walked up the front lawn. To my surprise, two lawn gnomes stood on the front porch.

  Who moved them? I wondered.

  I climbed onto the porch, stepped past the ugly little gnomes, and started to open the front door.

  “Jay — where is your bike?” one of them demanded.

  I gasped. I raised my eyes. And saw my dad on the other side of the screen door.

  The lawn gnome didn’t speak to me. Of course not. It was Dad. “Where’s your bike?” he repeated.

  “Uh … well … It’s a long story,” I murmured.

  He held open the door and I slumped into the house. “Did you lose it?” he demanded.

  “Kinda,” I said. “It’s at the bottom of a quagmire.”

  He squinted at me. He didn’t look happy.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” I said.

  Dad sighed. “I don’t know what to believe. I don’t want to keep punishing you. But, Jay, you promised —”

  “Dad, what’s up with all the lawn gnomes?” I asked. “Those two on the porch. And in every yard. And —”

  “You know,” Dad said.

  Mom called from the kitchen. “Hey, you two — supper is almost ready. Time to eat.”

  Dad turned and
strode to the kitchen. “Coming, dear.”

  I hurried upstairs to wash up. I could smell myself. I smelled like a swamp. I thought about sinking in that sandy orange goo, and it made me shudder.

  I wasn’t sure I liked my new neighborhood. In two words, it was dangerous and creepy.

  Of course, I had no idea how creepy it really was.

  The next afternoon, I stayed in my room. Sunlight poured in through my window, and a warm breeze ruffled the curtains. But I didn’t feel like going outside.

  I set up my test tubes and glass beakers on my lab table. Then I arranged my chemical bottles.

  I’ve always been a science freak. I love taking chemicals at random, mixing them together, and seeing the results. It’s relaxing and exciting at the same time.

  I studied the brown glass bottles, trying to decide what kind of mixture to create. I poured a little bit of a bright orange chemical I made into a large beaker. Then I added just a drip of hydrogen peroxide.

  It made a soft hissing sound, and it smelled sharp and bitter.

  I stirred in a few teaspoons of magnesium. But it didn’t seem to do anything at all.

  When my family moved here three weeks ago, my parents tried to stop me from bringing my chemistry set. I mean, we had to move because of all the trouble I caused with my chemicals.

  And we all wanted a clean start. No one in our new town knew about what I had done. Mom and Dad wanted to make sure it never happened again.

  But my chemicals are just too important to me. How could I leave them behind?

  Working with chemicals and learning about science isn’t just a hobby with me. It’s what I care about more than anything in the world. Maybe someday I’ll be a famous scientist, and I’ll create something totally terrific.

  I screamed and cried and begged and pleaded. But they said no. So, I had no choice. I hid my chemistry set in a carton of blankets and sneaked it into the house.

  I raised a test tube of a new acid I discovered and I tilted it into my mixing beaker. The acid made the liquid inside start to bubble and fizz.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  Kayla walked into the room. She startled me. I almost dropped the tube of acid.