The Adventures of Shrinkman

by R. L. Stine

  We found my dad in the projection booth surrounded by whirring equipment. He glanced up from an enormous film reel and flashed us a smile.

  Dad and I look a lot alike. We’re both tall and a little chunky. We both have straight blond mop hair that can’t be combed or brushed down.

  “The movie is awesome the third time!” I told him. “Megan didn’t like it, but I think it’s the best one yet.”

  “I’m just about to start it again,” Dad said. “Are you staying for the next show, Danny?”

  I shook my head. “Mom said I have to get home.”

  I reached down and started to spin an empty metal wheel.

  “Better not touch that,” Dad warned. “It’s a rewind spool. I need it to—”

  “Hey—!” I cried out as the metal spool came spinning off its machine. It clattered to the floor and rolled across the narrow booth.

  I dived after it.

  “Danny—look out! Don’t!”

  I heard Dad’s shout—too late.

  I ran in front of the projector.

  The beam of white light shot over me.

  I felt its heat.

  Blinding white. So bright and hot…

  I stumbled forward, out of the light.

  But I felt so strange. Dazed…

  Dazed by the weird white light.

  The late Sunday afternoon sun floated low over the trees as I jogged up to the playground in my T-shirt and white basketball shorts. Long shadows stretched over the asphalt basketball court near the school building.

  Coach Gray had called a weekend practice for the Tigers. The city tournament started soon, and we had to be ready for our big rival from across town, Stern Valley.

  I didn’t see the coach anywhere. But I saw Rommy and Jake and a couple of the other guys already warming up, dribbling in close and taking layup shots.

  “It’s the Danny-Man!” Rommy called. “Looking good!”

  Jake flashed me a thumbs-up.

  I trotted across the court. Rommy heaved a ball at me.

  I caught it and began to dribble without slowing my pace. I drove toward him, faked right, faked left, and shot.

  Air ball.

  I didn’t come close to touching the backboard.

  “Coach isn’t coming,” Jake announced. “He’s sick.”

  “We don’t need him,” Rommy said. “We already know the routine.”

  “Go, Tigers!” someone from the bleachers shouted. Shielding my eyes from the lowering sun, I saw a few kids scattered around up there. Nothing better to do but watch our practice, I guessed.

  “Hey, Rommy—in-your-face time!” The shout came from a red-haired girl with her hands cupped around her mouth.

  “Is that your little sister?” Jake asked Rommy.

  Rommy nodded. “I’m supposed to be watching her. Just ignore her. She’s a total geek.”

  The sun dipped lower. The shadows covered the basketball court. “Let’s get started,” I said, shivering.

  The air wasn’t cold. Why did I suddenly feel chilled?

  I dribbled a ball from hand to hand. Through my legs. Faster. Then slower.

  The ball felt heavy, as if it wasn’t fully inflated. I had to hit it hard against the court to make it bounce back to my hand.

  I shivered again. Hope I’m not getting sick, I thought.

  I counted seven of us. Five starters and two subs. We did some other warm-up exercises, then lined up to practice foul shots.

  Normally I’m a really accurate foul shooter. But for some reason today, my ball kept dying before it reached the basket.

  “Energy!” Rommy called. “Energy, everybody. Get your energy up!”

  He was pretending to be Coach Gray.

  “Come on, Danny-Man. Slam it or jam it!”

  We always finished our practices with a slam-dunk competition. A high pass—a high leap—we took turns sailing up over the net, slamming the ball down.

  “Slam it or jam it!” I heard Rommy’s sister shout from the bleachers.

  “Does she know anything about basketball?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Who was that sitting at the very top row? Was it Megan?

  I straightened my shorts and turned back in time to catch a high pass from Jake. “Look alive, Danny-Man!”

  I dribbled around Rommy and passed the ball back to Jake. “Okay. Ready,” I announced.

  I usually win the slam-dunk contests. Even though the other players are all sixth graders, I’m the tallest guy on the team. I’m nearly five-eleven and still growing. Dad is six-two. He thinks I might grow even taller than he is.

  Jake moved to the left of the basket, holding the ball waist high in both hands, preparing to pass.

  I lined up at the foul line and took a deep breath. I bent my knees a few times, as if testing their springiness.

  Then I took off.

  Jake heaved the ball high.

  I leaped up, up, up into the air to catch it and slam it down into the net.

  “Owwww!” I screamed as my hands slapped the solid wood backboard under the basket.

  The ball hit the bottom of the board and bounced away.

  I dropped to the ground, both hands stinging. “Whoa.”

  “What happened, Danny?” Rommy came running over. “You missed by a mile.”

  “Uh…guess I jumped late,” I said. I wiped away cold sweat from the back of my neck.

  “You barely got off the ground.”

  “That’s a do-over,” I insisted. I bounced the ball to Jake. “Throw it higher this time. I’m going to fly.”

  My heart pounding, my hands still stinging, I made my way back to the foul line.

  No big deal, Danny, I told myself.

  You didn’t time the jump right. It happens all the time.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ready,” I called to Jake.

  I took off toward the basket.

  Jake fired the ball high.

  I jumped—and sailed up off the ground. Flying…flying high…

  My hands grabbed for the ball—but it flew just out of reach. I grabbed nothing but air.

  My jump took me only halfway up to the hoop.

  And as I started to come down, I heard screams—screams and shrieks—from the bleachers.

  I landed off-balance. I stumbled and fell to my knees.

  Something clung to my ankles.

  Screams and laughter rang out from the bleachers behind me. And I heard Rommy’s sister shouting, “No way! No way!”

  I scrambled to my feet—and saw why the kids were shouting.

  My shorts had fallen off.

  I stared down at my underwear, then at the white basketball trunks around my ankles. I could feel my face grow hot. I knew I was blushing.

  As I reached to pull up the shorts, I glimpsed Megan at the top of the bleachers. She was staring down at me through binoculars! What’s with that? I wondered.

  Rommy slapped my shoulder. He grinned at me. “Nice shot, ace. Let’s see you do that again!”

  Jake was still laughing, bending over, hands pressed against his knees.

  I adjusted the shorts. They still felt loose around my waist. “The…uh…the elastic must be shot,” I muttered.

  I let go of the shorts, and they started to slip down again. No way I could practice.

  “Catch you later, guys,” I called.

  Holding my shorts with one hand, I turned away from the court and started for home, walking quickly. I could still hear the shrieks and laughter repeating in my mind.

  “Danny! Hey, wait up!”

  I turned and saw Megan chasing after me, the binoculars bouncing in front of her as she ran.

  I groaned. I didn’t like the evil grin on her face.

  She caught up to me, and the grin grew wider, those dimples at either end. “Are those your dad’s shorts?”

  I started walking faster. “Ha ha. You’re a riot.”

  She started jogging to keep
up. “You look shorter or something. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t jump so high.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I muttered.

  She snickered. “Maybe you’re turning into Shrinkman.”

  “Maybe you’re turning into a jerk,” I said angrily.

  I stomped up the driveway. I was in no mood for Megan and her dumb jokes. I started up the front stoop—and tripped on the step.

  “Ow!” I scraped my knee on the concrete.

  Why did the steps seem higher?

  I turned back and saw Megan watching me, studying me.

  What’s going on? I wondered. Why do I feel so strange?

  I couldn’t fall asleep that night. I was worried that I might be getting sick.

  Maybe I’m coming down with the flu or something, I decided. That’s why I couldn’t jump as high as I usually do.

  I climbed out of bed, turned on the light, and sat down at my drawing table. I pulled out a clean sheet of paper and started to pencil a new Shrinkman comic.

  I thought for a minute or so. Then I lettered in the title: Shrinkman Grows Up. I started to draw the first panel. Shrinkman, the size of a mouse, is being attacked by a giant crow.

  It was a pretty good drawing. But I kept yawning and my eyelids felt as heavy as steel.

  So I turned off the light and wearily slipped back into bed.

  The next morning I woke up on the floor beside my bed.

  No big deal. It happens a lot. I always toss and turn in my sleep. I fall out of bed, and it doesn’t even wake me up.

  I sat up and pulled carpet fuzz from my hair. Then I climbed to my feet.

  “Whoa!” My pajama bottoms fell to the floor.

  “I don’t believe this,” I muttered.

  I kicked the pajamas out of my way and started to get dressed. I pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans.

  Wait a minute. The jeans were never this baggy. And why did the jean legs come down over my feet?

  “You’re turning into Shrinkman.” Megan’s words repeated in my ears.

  That’s totally dumb, I told myself.

  But why didn’t my jeans fit?

  I crossed the room to the dresser mirror.

  “Hey—!” Did somebody raise the mirror?

  It has to be a joke, I realized.

  That’s it. Megan convinced my mom and dad to play along in one of her dumb jokes.

  They raised the mirror. And put a pair of bigger jeans on top in my dresser.

  They’re tired of hearing about Shrinkman all the time. So they’re trying to make me think that I’m shrinking.

  All a joke, I told myself.

  I tightened my belt a few notches to keep the jeans up.

  Well, I can play along with it. I’m going to pretend I haven’t noticed a thing, I decided.

  I brushed my hair and hurried down to breakfast. As I entered the kitchen, I saw Megan sitting at the breakfast table. She’s always at our house. The food is much better.

  “Wow!” Her eyes grew wide when she looked at me. “Danny, are you losing weight?”

  I’m not going to play along, I told myself.

  “No. I’m fine,” I replied. “Where’s my mom and dad?”

  “They told me to tell you they had to leave early this morning.”

  I sat down across from Megan and poured myself a glass of orange juice. Why did the carton feel so heavy?

  “You look a little weird,” Megan insisted. She studied me like some kind of insect specimen. If she had a magnifying glass, she would have raised it to her eye.

  “No. I’m fine,” I said again.

  I’m fine. I’m fine. I repeated those words to myself.

  But why did the orange juice glass look so much bigger? Had Mom and Dad switched glasses as part of the joke?

  Wasn’t that a lot of work for just a dumb joke?

  I’m not going to say anything, I reminded myself. I’m going to pretend I don’t notice a thing.

  That will spoil the joke for them.

  “Do you feel as if you’re shrinking at all?” Megan asked.

  I didn’t answer. I ate breakfast in a hurry, grabbed my backpack—which seemed much bigger and heavier—and stepped out the door.

  Things didn’t get really scary until I walked into the school.

  I had to stand on tiptoe to get water from the water fountain in the front hall.

  When I opened my locker, I stared up at the books on the top shelf. I couldn’t reach them.

  All the other kids suddenly seemed taller than me—even the third and fourth graders.

  I had to tighten my belt another two notches to keep my jeans from falling. And I had to roll the cuffs up to keep from tripping over them.

  I stepped into Miss Denver’s classroom and gasped.

  The desks all seemed so tall! I had to use both hands to climb up into my seat.

  I suddenly felt cold all over. I felt sick. My stomach heaved. My throat tightened up. I struggled to breathe.

  “It isn’t a joke,” I muttered to myself.

  Something horrible is happening to me, I realized. Something horrible—and real.

  I’m shrinking.

  I’m shrinking like Shrinkman. Except he’s a cartoon superhero. And he can get bigger whenever he wants.

  I’m real. I’m a real person.

  And I’m shrinking…shrinking fast.

  I could see the other kids staring at me. At first they laughed. But when they realized it was me—a small me—they stopped laughing instantly. And their expressions changed to shock…and horror.

  I can’t stay here, I decided.

  Not with everyone staring at me. Not with all my friends thinking I’ve become some kind of freak.

  I can’t just sit at this big desk and shrink away to nothing.

  I’ve got to get help.

  I turned in the seat and lowered myself to the floor. The bell hadn’t rung yet. Kids were still walking into the classroom. They all gaped at me in shock as I made my way to the door.

  “What happened to Danny?” I heard someone whisper.

  “Is that his little brother?”

  For some reason, I suddenly thought about the basketball game against Stern Valley. The other guys were counting on me. But now I was a shrimp. How could I help them out?

  I pictured Rommy picking me up by the waist and holding me high so that I could shoot a basket.

  The thought made me start to tremble. My legs shook so hard, I could barely walk.

  Slowly I made my way down the hall to the nurse’s office. She greeted me with a surprised gasp and jumped up from behind her desk. “Danny?”

  “I—I don’t feel well,” I stammered, my voice tiny and weak. “Can I call my parents?”

  “Of course.” She shoved the phone across her desk toward me. I had to stand on tiptoe to punch in the number.

  I dialed Dad at work. It took a long time for him to come to the phone. “Danny, what’s wrong?”

  I was never so glad to hear his voice. “I don’t…feel so well. Do you think you could come pick me up?”

  Mom came home from work, too. When Dad and I pulled up the driveway, she came running out to greet us.

  She pulled open my car door—and screamed. Then she pressed her hands against the sides of her face. “But you were fine yesterday…”

  “We’ll call Dr. Hayward. I’m sure he’ll agree to see us right away,” Dad said.

  I saw him exchange worried glances with Mom. I saw tears glimmer in Mom’s eyes. She quickly wiped them away.

  “Why is this happening?” I asked. “Real people don’t shrink. Only guys in comic books or movies.”

  “Dr. Hayward will be able to explain,” Dad said.

  Mom swallowed hard and wiped away more tears.

  They helped me up the steep front steps and into the house. Mom hurried to the phone to call the doctor.

  Hands on my shoulders, Dad led me over to the wall beside the kitchen pantry. I could see the pencil marks on the wall where we
had marked my height every few months. The marks went up to five-foot-eight.

  I turned and pressed my back against the wall. I couldn’t stop from trembling. Dad chewed his bottom lip as he studied the marks. He left the room for a second, then returned with a tape measure. He didn’t say a word as he stretched out the tape.

  “Well?” I asked. “How tall? How much have I shrunk?”

  Dad frowned at the tape measure. His eyes kept going from the new marks on the wall he’d just made and back to me.

  “Come on, Dad,” I pleaded. “What does it say?”

  Dad cleared his throat. “You’re three feet tall, Danny.”

  “What—?” Mom let out a shriek.

  “No!” I cried.

  Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s not panic. I’m sure there’s a good explanation. I’m sure—”

  “Dr. Hayward said to bring you right now,” Mom said.

  “If I keep shrinking this fast, I’ll disappear in a day or two!” I wailed.

  Dad guided me toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go. The doctor will know what to do.”

  “Are you sure, Dad? What if he doesn’t?” I asked. “What if he doesn’t?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Dr. Hayward said, shaking his head.

  Dr. Hayward is young and good-looking with bright green eyes under thick blond eyebrows. His wavy blond hair is always brushed straight back off his tanned forehead.

  I’ve always thought Dr. Hayward looks more like a lifeguard at the beach than a doctor. But he must be very good because his waiting room is always jammed with people.

  But we didn’t have to wait today.

  As soon as he saw me, he ushered me into the examining room. And now I sat on the hard metal table in just my underwear as he shook his head, sweeping a hand back through his wavy hair.

  “Do you feel strange in any way, Danny?”

  I cleared my throat. “Just scared.”

  “Headaches? Upset stomach?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  He nodded solemnly. “Didn’t you once tell me about some superhero you liked to draw? A superhero who could shrink?”

  “Yes. Shrinkman,” I said. “But you don’t think—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Just an odd coincidence.”

  He pulled open a drawer and lifted a stethoscope.