Night of the Giant Everything Page 4

Cold water washed over me as I sank into the soapy water pail.

  I shot my arms up above my head. But I couldn’t stop myself from sinking to the bottom.

  The water felt greasy and the soap made it impossible for me to see. It burned my eyes. And held me down as I struggled to swim to the surface.

  It was like trying to swim in thick pea soup. Finally, I pulled myself to the top of the thick, mucky water. Choking and sputtering, I sucked in a deep breath.

  The piney detergent smell choked my throat. My nose burned. My eyes watered. I kicked and slapped the water, struggling to keep afloat.

  But how long could I swim in this stuff?

  I gazed up to the top of the bucket. Too high for me to reach. I pulled myself to the side and tried to scramble up. But I slid right back into the water.

  No way to climb out. And I wasn’t strong enough to tip the bucket over onto its side so I could be washed out.

  I swam in frantic circles, around and around. My mind whirred. How to get out … How to get out …

  My chest started to burn. My arms were getting heavy. I tried floating on my back for a while. But I couldn’t float and swim in here forever.

  Mom and Dad weren’t getting home till late. No way I could last till they arrived.

  I turned over and started to swim again, doing a slow, lazy breaststroke. The soap burned my eyes and nose. The sharp odor made it hard to breathe.

  My arms ached and throbbed. I knew I couldn’t keep swimming much longer.

  I couldn’t help it. I let out a sob.

  Was I really going to drown in a bucket of soapy water?

  My chest hurt. Pain shot down my chest … my arms … my legs …

  Can’t keep swimming. Can’t do it.

  Can’t breathe … Can’t swim anymore …

  I gave up. My whole body slumped. I folded up like a paper bag—and sank into the cold, greasy water.

  16

  As I started to go down, a shadow rolled over me.

  I turned my face to the surface. What made that sound? Like a flap of wind.

  Using my last bit of strength, I pulled myself toward the top. My head bobbed up from the water. Blinking away the burning suds, I stared up into the shadow. A shadow that flapped and shimmered above me.

  Bugsy!

  The flutter of his wings sent the water churning. The waves tossed me from one side of the bucket to the other.

  The bird appeared enormous now. Like an airplane rocketing down at me. The dark eyes were as big as basketballs. And the bird’s yellow beak … clicked open and shut … open and shut … like hedge clippers.

  The beak snapped at me, splashing the surface of the tossing water.

  “No!” I cried out, and ducked my head.

  Sputtering in the soapy water, I raised my arms to shield myself.

  Bugsy attacked again. The giant beak snapped at my head. Water splashed hard. I felt myself tossed against the side of the metal bucket.

  “Bugsy — no!”

  He flapped above the bucket, then swooped again.

  And then the giant beak clamped around my waist. I felt it cut into my skin.

  The bird flapped his wings rapidly. I let out a cry as he lifted me from the water. And carried me high into the air.

  “Bugsy — let me down!” My voice came out in a tiny squeak.

  I thrashed my arms and legs. Carrying me like a robin carries a worm, the bird swooped across the living room.

  “Let me down! Let me down!” The sharp beak cut into my sides.

  And then the bird opened his jaws, and I tumbled out.

  I hit the living room floor, landing on my stomach. “Oof!” My breath whooshed out of my lungs. Gasping for air, I shot my arms out and tried to crawl to safety.

  On the windowsill I saw the new cage my parents had bought for Bugsy. The door was wide open. Bugsy had busted out.

  Now the big bird swooped down and snapped me in his beak again. He lifted me high off the floor. And dropped me. Then lifted me. And dropped me again.

  I landed hard on my side. My ribs throbbed in pain.

  I rolled onto my back. Raised both hands to shield myself. But I was helpless against the huge bird.

  “Bugsy, please. No! No!”

  I waved my hands furiously. The bird ducked his head under them—and lifted me off the floor again.

  Dropped me. Lifted me. Dropped me.

  I felt too weak to fight him. My body went limp from the pain.

  He thinks I’m a bug, I realized.

  He’s playing with me—before he EATS me!

  17

  Thud.

  I hit the floor again. I felt weak. My arms and legs still ached from swimming around in the bucket. My whole body hurt from hitting the floor again and again.

  The bird lowered his beak to grab me again.

  With a groan, I rolled away from him. The diving beak missed me and bumped the floor. The bird uttered a squawk, surprised.

  Panting hard, I scrambled away. Half crawling, half rolling across the floor.

  The shadow of the bird’s wings swept over the floor as he turned and came after me. He came darting down fast.

  I dove for cover—under the couch.

  Wheezing loudly, my chest pounding in pain, I pressed myself low. I peered out from under the couch.

  I could see Bugsy land. His enormous feet clawed at the floor. He made a warbling sound from deep in his throat.

  Still struggling to catch my breath, I watched the bird pace back and forth in front of the couch. Just inches from my face.

  He was searching everywhere for me. But he didn’t look under the couch.

  Birdbrain. The word flashed in my mind. How lucky was I that birds aren’t very smart?

  Lucky probably wasn’t the right word. This wasn’t exactly my lucky day.

  The bird had vanished from my sight. Maybe he flew back to his perch. Or maybe he was waiting off to the side, waiting for me to leave my hiding place.

  I heard a scrabbling sound behind me. A fast tap-tap-tapping.

  My stomach pressed against the floor. I twisted my head around and squinted into the darkness under the couch.

  “Oh, no!” A cry escaped my throat as an enormous creature scuffled toward me.

  It took me a few seconds to realize it was a spider. A spider out of a horror movie!

  The space beneath the couch was filled with thick cobwebs. The huge spider came tearing through the tangle of webs.

  Shiny and black, with blazing red eyes the size of Ping-Pong balls. Its legs were as thick as drinking straws.

  I’d never seen spiders’ teeth before. But I saw them now, gnashing up and down. Thick white drool poured over the pointed teeth from the open mouth.

  The gleaming red eyes stared hungrily straight ahead. Tap-tap-tap. It picked up speed, eager to reach its prey. Me!

  With a gasp, I raised myself and started to crawl out from under the couch.

  But I stopped. Was Bugsy waiting for me just out of view? Waiting to devour me, the bug he had tortured?

  My mind spun. I had to make a choice. A horrifying choice: Stay under the couch and fight the spider? Or crawl out and face Bugsy?

  My hand bumped something on the floor. I gripped it and pulled it closer.

  It took me a moment to recognize it—a toothpick. A wooden toothpick. It looked longer than a sword to me.

  Could I use it as a weapon against the spider?

  I grabbed it off the dusty floor. I tried to raise it. I wasn’t strong enough to lift it with one hand. I had to use two.

  Tap-tap-tap. The spider legs clicked across the floor as the fat creature marched toward me.

  I struggled to hold the toothpick sword steady in front of me. It quivered in my hands.

  Could I bat the big insect away with it? Could I stab the spider? Pin it with the toothpick?

  Tap-tap-tap. It came clicking closer, gnashing its jaws, drooling.

  I lowered the toothpick point toward its belly.
/>   But the spider seemed to have no fear of the weapon. It just kept on bouncing and clicking forward.

  Closer … closer …

  I held my breath. I tightened my grip. Made a sharp stabbing move with the toothpick.

  The spider grabbed the end of the toothpick with two thick legs. It began to climb onto it!

  “Nooooo!” a terrified cry escaped my throat.

  I let the toothpick fall to the floor.

  Then I rolled away. Spun my body out from under the couch.

  Blinking in the sudden bright light, I scrambled to my knees. Heart pounding, I looked behind me.

  The spider moved quickly across the floor. It clicked and tapped its way out from under the couch. It moved in a straight line. The big body bobbed from side to side, but the eyes stayed on me. It wasn’t going to give up its prey so easily.

  I struggled to my feet. Tried to run.

  Then I heard the flapping above me. And saw Bugsy floating overhead.

  I was trapped. Caught out in the open. Nowhere to hide. No way to fight them.

  The spider was inches behind me. Above me, the giant bird spread his wings. Lowered his head. And dove.

  18

  “AAAIIIII!”

  I let out a scream as the spider shot out two legs and grabbed me by the shoulders. The hard, stiff legs dug into my skin.

  With incredible strength, it pulled me toward its gaping mouth. I struggled to free myself. But I was no match for it.

  I opened my mouth to scream again—but stopped as the shadow of the bird covered me in darkness.

  I heard a sharp snap. Saw the huge beak swoop down in front of me—and grab the spider!

  “Huh?” I uttered a startled gasp as Bugsy tightened his beak over the spider. The bird lifted the spider off the floor. Turned and flapped away with it.

  For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I stood there shaking. I could still feel the hard pinch of the spider’s legs on my shoulders. And I couldn’t get that gaping, drool-covered mouth from my mind.

  I took a deep breath and held it. I knew I had to get out of the house—fast. Bugsy wouldn’t be happy with his spider meal. He’d be back looking for me—the other bug—any second.

  I knew what I had to do. I had to get to Ava’s house. I had to find out what she and Courtney gave me to drink.

  But could I get all the way across the street to Ava’s house?

  My trip down the stairs had been a nightmare. Would I have to fight every ant, every squirrel, every bunny rabbit, every bug hiding in our front yards to get there?

  I had no choice. I had to try.

  My heart still thudding in my chest, I ran to the front door. I stopped a few feet in front of it, gazing up at the doorknob high above my head.

  Problem Number One: How to open the door?

  I gazed down at the crack under the door. Too narrow for me to squeeze through.

  I studied the doorknob. Even if I could reach it, I wouldn’t be strong enough to turn it.

  And the door was probably locked. That meant turning the knob above the doorknob.

  No way. No way. No way.

  I heard Bugsy chirp somewhere behind me. The sound sent a chill racing down my back.

  I knew I didn’t have much time. But what could I do?

  “Hey—wait!” I slapped my forehead. I stared at the mail slot. I was tiny enough to slip through it.

  Then I saw the pair of boots standing at the door. My dad’s boots, the tall ones he wears to go hunting in the deep woods.

  I grabbed the toe of the nearest boot and rubbed my hands over the rough leather. Then I raised my eyes to the thick crisscross of laces.

  I knew what I had to do. Hoist myself onto the toe of the boot. Then use the laces as a rope ladder. Climb the laces. Pull myself to the top of the boot.

  That would take me almost to the mail slot.

  If I could lift the metal lid of the mail slot, I could slide through it. And drop onto the front stoop.

  Another bird chirp in the room behind me moved me to action.

  I pressed both hands flat on the toe of the boot—and heaved myself onto it. I stayed on my hands and knees, waiting to catch my balance.

  Then I crawled over the toe to the bottom of the laces. The laces felt rough in my hands. They were as thick as ropes.

  I wrapped both hands around the bottom laces and pulled myself to a standing position. Then I grabbed the next crisscross of laces.

  I gazed up. This wasn’t going to be easy. It was like climbing a mountain that rose straight up.

  I pulled myself higher. And dug my plastic shoes into the laces beneath me.

  I found I could lean my weight against the tongue of the boot as I carefully pulled myself up.

  One more row of laces. Then the next.

  My arms ached. The scratchy laces had turned my hands red. Leaning on the tongue, I dug my shoes into the X of laces beneath me. And tugged myself up higher.

  I was breathing hard. Sweat poured down my face as I reached the top of the boot.

  I gripped the worn leather at the top. The mail slot shimmered just a few inches over my head.

  I can do this! I told myself. I can do this! I let go of the boot—and flung myself at the mail slot lid.

  But my shoes caught on the edge of the boot.

  My hands grabbed air.

  And I started to fall. Headfirst. Inside the boot.

  Into the cavelike darkness of the boot.

  Down … down … Screaming all the way.

  19

  “OWWW!”

  I landed hard on one shoulder. My body thudded onto the leather bottom of the boot.

  I rolled onto my back and tried to shake off the pain. It was dark down here and smelly. I grabbed the wall of the boot. The leather was smooth. I slid right back down.

  I raised my eyes to the top. Pale light poured down from the opening above me.

  I pressed both hands against the side and tried to climb. Too slippery and nothing to hold on to. No way I could get back to the top. And I was too small to push the tongue away and climb back to the laces.

  I was stuck.

  I tried to hold my breath. The smell down here was sharp and gross. It smelled like sweat and damp socks.

  I’d been so close … so close to grabbing the mail slot.

  Angrily, I slammed my fist against the wall of the boot.

  That gave me an idea. I shoved both fists into the side of the boot. I felt it tilt a little.

  I lowered my shoulder and slammed it into the boot wall. Then I dove to the other side and shoved against it.

  The boot was rocking from side to side. I pushed one side, then dove into the other side. I whirled from side to side, making the boot tilt harder …

  … until it toppled over.

  “Whooooaaa!”

  I went sliding out headfirst. It was like going down a long waterslide — without the water.

  The boot rocked onto its side, and I came tumbling out.

  I didn’t wait to catch my breath. One boot lay on its side. The other boot stood straight up in front of the door.

  I scrambled to the other boot. I hoisted myself onto the toe, crawled to the laces—and began the long, steep climb again.

  A little while later, I gripped the top of the boot. The metal mail slot stood inches in front of me.

  Slowly, I edged myself over the side of the boot. I reached one hand out and grabbed the lid of the mail slot.

  This time I wasn’t going to leap at the slot. This time I wanted to be careful. This could be my last chance to escape Bugsy and get out of the house.

  Could I lift the mail slot lid with one hand? I leaned forward and gave it a tug.

  No. Too heavy for my little hands.

  I leaned farther out of the boot and gripped the lid of the mail slot with both hands. “Ohhhh!”

  I felt the boot start to fall from under me.

  I gripped the mail slot and held on for dear life as the boot fell onto its side.r />
  My feet dangled in the air. Instantly, my arms started to ache. My hands throbbed as I hung on tightly to the lid.

  With a burst of strength, I swung my body up—and YES! YES!

  My feet shot out through the slot. I let go of the lid and sailed right through.

  “Ooof!” I landed hard on my butt on the welcome mat. I waited for the pain to fade. Then I stretched my arms and legs to make sure nothing was broken.

  I gazed across my front yard. I saw only shades of gray and black. It took me a few moments to realize the sun had dropped behind the trees. It wasn’t afternoon anymore. It was evening.

  “Hey!” I raised my arm to shield myself as two flies buzzed around my head. The flies were as big as bats!

  I could see Ava’s house across the street. I could usually run there in less than a minute. But now, her house seemed a mile or two away. And the sloping front lawn looked like a mountain.

  A funny thought flashed into my mind. Maybe my cousin Mindy’s rock-and-roll Ken doll came with a little motorcycle. I could ride it across the street to Ava’s house.

  Of course, it was a stupid idea. There was no way I’d risk going back into my house to find out.

  But riding would definitely be better than walking.

  I turned and lowered myself off the stoop, one step at a time, the way I’d climbed down the stairs.

  The shortest way was right down the center of the lawn. But the grass was tall—up to my waist. I moved into it, brushing the high blades away with my shoulder.

  The grass bent easily. But the sharp edges of the blades scratched my face and hands as I pushed my way toward the sidewalk.

  It was slow going. The air grew cooler. The sky darkened to purple.

  I was about a third of the way down the front lawn when my foot caught on something. I stumbled. Lurched forward. Both feet kicked only air.

  And I fell into a deep darkness. A pit. Hidden by the grass.

  A deep hole.

  “Hey!” I landed on both feet. My hands shot out and touched a cool, damp wall of dirt.

  I glanced up. The hole was deep. But I could probably climb the dirt wall.

  Something poked my back.

  I let out a startled cry. I spun around. Too dark to see.

  Something poked my chest.