Lizard of Oz

by R. L. Stine

  The lid to the glass case was a metal screen. I grabbed it and swung it off the case, and heaved it across the room.

  Then I reached down with both hands, grabbed the lizard around its middle, and hoisted it into the air.

  The world went red again. Waves of red pulsed in my eyes.

  “You’re ruining my life!” I shrieked at it. And I started to shake it. I shook it hard, and its head bobbed back and forth.

  I screamed out my anger and shook the creature. I lost all control. I was out of my mind. I wanted to destroy it.

  Suddenly, it swung its head toward me, snapped its jaws, and bit my wrist.

  “Owwwww,” I cried out, shocked by the pain as it swept up my arm.

  My hand snapped open and I dropped the lizard.

  It hit the floor with a loud plop. It remained still for only a second or two. Then its legs began to scramble, and it began to run, heading toward the open door.

  Let it go, I thought bitterly. Who cares?

  But then I had a serious thought: The cobra lizard’s bite caused my problem. If a doctor can find a cure for me … if a doctor can find a way to return me to myself … He or she may need to see this lizard. The doctors may need to study it to find the cure.

  My life may depend on that lizard, I realized. And there I was, letting it escape.

  With a cry, I hurtled myself after it. The lizard ran in a straight line, its four legs clicking on the tile floor.

  I took a deep breath and dove for it. My knees hit the floor hard. I reached out both hands and cupped them around the creature’s fat middle.

  No.

  I missed.

  The lizard was surprisingly fast. My hands closed around nothing but air. The long tail brushed my hands as the lizard pulled itself out of the room.

  I scrambled to the door and watched it scuttle down the hall, picking up speed as it neared the living room.

  I’ll never be able to catch it, I thought.

  What have I done? What have I done?

  “It can’t leave the house,” I told myself. “The doors are closed and it can’t reach the windows.”

  I stumbled into the hall. My legs were like rubber. I forced myself to breathe. I’d never felt this kind of panic. It made me want to curl into a tight ball and hide from the world and never move again.

  But I had to capture that lizard.

  It stepped into a shaft of sunlight as it entered the living room. It moved so rapidly, in a straight line, not swinging its head, not looking to the left or right.

  I ran on tiptoes. I wanted to take it by surprise.

  The creature was a few feet from the back of the green leather couch. Did it plan to hide under it?

  I gasped as it suddenly stopped. I saw its head snap and heard the loud click of its jaws. It pulled something off the floor in its teeth.

  I grabbed the sides of the doorway and squinted into the square of sunlight. The lizard tilted its head up. I saw something kicking and thrashing, held in its teeth.

  A mouse.

  The lizard had caught a mouse. Its jaws were locked around the mouse’s middle. The tiny creature squeaked and squealed, kicked its scrawny feet and swung its tail frantically as the lizard tightened its jaws around it.

  I let out a long whoosh of air. This might have been the first time I ever felt glad that our house was infested with mice.

  I crept closer.

  The lizard gave a violent snap of its head. The mouse uttered its final squeak. It slumped in the lizard’s mouth. Not moving now. Dead.

  The lizard’s jaws worked up and down as it began to chew into its prey.

  I burst forward. I grabbed the lizard tightly around its middle and lifted it off the floor. Startled, the lizard’s eyes bulged. It shot its head from side to side—and dropped the dead mouse.

  I raised the lizard high in front of me, gripping it as tightly as I could. It snapped its teeth at me, but I held it too far in front of me. It couldn’t reach me.

  “You’re going back in your case,” I told it. “Your vacation is over.”

  It snapped at me again. Missed.

  I took a few steps toward the hall. Then I stopped.

  I turned around and gazed down at the floor. My stomach gnawed at me.

  That dead mouse looked mighty tempting.

  Maybe I’ll just take one bite.

  I gripped the lizard tightly under one arm and reached for the dead mouse with my other hand. I lifted it by its stub of a tail and dangled it in front of my lips.

  My mouth was watering. My stomach growled hungrily.

  “Nooooo!” I cried. Fighting it. Fighting the sudden hunger. Fighting the tasty aroma from the mouse’s body. “Nooooo!”

  I flung the mouse across the room. It bounced against the wall and dropped to the floor. I forced myself to spin away from it.

  I trotted back to the hatching room and lowered the lizard into its case. It didn’t seem happy to be back. It began pacing from one end of the case to the other, head low, keeping its yellow eyes on me as it walked.

  I carefully lowered the screen in place over the top of the case. I let out a long whoosh of air. But I didn’t have long to celebrate.

  I saw a flash of color dart through the air. Red and blue, like a flame. I didn’t have time to duck. Or even scream.

  Shrieking angrily, the macaw attacked me. It landed on my head and scraped its talons in my hair. Flapping and shrieking, it bit and scratched.

  I cried out in pain as it dug into my hair. I struggled to shove it off.

  I ducked and twisted and squirmed. But it kept its grip and kept slashing at me with its pointed beak.

  “I’m not a lizard!” I screamed. I must have been insane. Did I expect the bird to understand?

  I pressed my arms over my head, trying to protect myself from its vicious attack. Unable to see, I staggered to the worktable.

  “Get off! Get off me!”

  I sank my hand into the bag of dead crickets. And tossed a handful of the dry, spiny bugs onto the floor.

  The macaw squawked. I felt the air from its flapping wings. The talons loosened their grip on my hair.

  “Yesss!” I cried as the bird lifted off me and dove for the crickets on the floor.

  Gasping for breath, I spun away. I staggered out of the room. Slammed the door hard behind me.

  I slapped at my hair with both hands, trying to push it back into place. My whole head throbbed from the bird’s bites and scratches.

  “I … I need help.” I hurtled upstairs to my room. I tried phoning both of my parents. But each call went straight to voice mail.

  I texted them. I told them to call me as soon as they could. I said I needed help fast.

  I heard music coming from Freddy’s room. I’d better stay away from him, I thought. I don’t want to scare him more than I already have.

  I sprawled on top of my bed and covered my face with my hands. I wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out.

  Dad wants to open a lizard farm. And his own daughter will be one of the lizards.

  I pictured myself on display. Pacing back and forth on all fours in a cage. Sunning on a rock. Flicking my long tongue at flies. Crowds staring at me. Tossing me insects and popcorn and pieces of lettuce and bread crusts to eat.

  I sat up with a shudder.

  I knew I couldn’t just lie there in bed frightening myself. I had to do something. I had to distract my mind somehow until Mom or Dad returned.

  “Oh, wait,” I murmured. I suddenly remembered Adele’s idea for a project in school. Ms. Arnold had loved her idea. What was it again?

  Baby pictures.

  We were supposed to bring in baby pictures for a class online photo album.

  I slid off the bed and climbed to my feet. I stretched my arms over my head, stretched my back. Yes. Good. A project. I needed a project to keep my mind away from my problems.

  I made my way downstairs. I tried to think of where Mom and Dad might put the family photo albums
. I knew they didn’t like to keep their photos online. They printed their photos and kept them in albums.

  But where were the albums?

  Don’t a lot of families keep their photo albums out where people can see them? Don’t families like to look back and enjoy their old photos?

  Where did my parents keep their albums?

  I strode down the back hall and crept into my parents’ bedroom. The room smelled of Mom’s sweet, flowery perfume. The drapes were drawn, and it was dark in here. I clicked on the ceiling light.

  The bed was made. Everything was in its place. It was obvious that Mom hadn’t been home for a while. The papers on her desk in the corner were neatly stacked. The little couch that she usually covered in books and magazines was empty.

  I stepped up to the tall bookcase against the far wall. It was filled with books, mostly hardcover novels and mystery stories. No framed photos anywhere. No albums.

  I gazed around the room. Where were they?

  I remembered that the room two doors down was used as a storage room. It had bookshelves from the floor to the ceiling on two walls. And it had a deep closet piled with old books and all kinds of junk.

  My parents had two or three storage rooms like this. The old house had more rooms than our family needed. Dad kept promising he’d get them all fixed up, but we knew he never would.

  Pale sunlight washed into the storage room from a high window, and a cloud of dust hung in the air. I used my phone as a flashlight to see better and beamed the light along the rows of books on the shelves.

  No sign of any photo albums.

  Finally, I found a couple of albums tucked away in the back of the deep closet. They were hidden behind my dad’s college hockey uniform and a pile of torn and stained blankets.

  I hoisted them both into my arms and carried them to my parents’ bedroom. The covers were cracked and covered with a layer of dust that made me sneeze a couple of times.

  I dropped them on the bed and sat beside them. I lifted the older-looking one onto my lap and began to turn pages. The photos looked yellowed and faded.

  I flipped through page after page. I didn’t recognize anyone in the book, not even my parents.

  I was about to put this album down and try the other one—when a page caught my eye. I read the handwritten caption under a photo and gasped in shock.

  And then a voice in front of me cried, “What are you doing in here?”

  Freddy stood in the doorway, staring in at me.

  “Photo albums,” I said. “I found them.” I motioned with both hands. “Freddy, come here.”

  He stepped into the room. “Are you going to bite me again?”

  “No. I’m sorry,” I said. “I got angry, that’s all. I … I’m not feeling right.”

  He squinted at me. Hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” I said. I slapped the bedspread. “Sit. Hurry.”

  For once, he obeyed. He plopped next to me on the edge of the bed.

  “Look,” I said, stabbing my pointer finger on a page of photos. “Is this weird or what?”

  We both lowered our heads and gazed intently at the album.

  At the top of the first page, my name was printed in blue ink: KATE.

  And then, under the first photo, someone had printed: Almost here.

  And the photo showed a close-up of an EGG.

  Under the next photo, someone had printed in blue ink: Can’t wait to see my baby.

  That photo showed the same egg.

  I flipped the page. We both stared at the next group of photos. Neither one of us said a word.

  Freddy’s name was at the top of this page. There were four photographs lined up perfectly. All four of them were photos of an egg.

  I felt a chill at the back of my neck. My hands were suddenly cold and wet. I wanted to slam the album shut, but I couldn’t stop staring at the eggs on the pages.

  “Wh-what does this mean?” Freddy stammered. He jumped to his feet, his face twisted in confusion. “I mean, is it a joke or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said softly. “I don’t think it’s a joke. But I don’t know what it means.”

  I closed the album with trembling hands. My brain spun. I wanted to think of an explanation. But I couldn’t think of a thing.

  “We have to show this to Mom and Dad,” Freddy said. “We have to ask them—”

  Before he could finish, we heard a heavy thud in the hall outside the door. I jumped to my feet at the sound.

  Another thud that seemed to make the floor shake.

  Before Freddy or I could move, a huge creature burst into the doorway. It flicked a snakelike purple tongue at us. The lizard. The giant lizard, standing upright.

  It filled the doorway, blocking out all the light from the hall. Its yellow eyes, bright as headlights, slid from Freddy to me. It flicked its tongue again and clicked its enormous jaws.

  And I screamed as it staggered heavily toward us, reached out its scaly green claws, and grabbed me by the shoulders.

  I screamed again.

  Freddy dove forward and bumped the lizard in the side. But Freddy wasn’t strong enough to budge it.

  The creature made horrifying panting sounds. Its tongue, sticky and warm, brushed over my face. Its claws held firmly to my shoulders.

  Freddy tried to bump it away again, using his whole body. But the enormous, panting lizard was too big and too powerful. Freddy wrapped his arms around the creature’s middle, and …

  And …

  The lizard raised its head, opened its jaws, and let out a room-shattering sneeze.

  As I gaped at it, trembling in horror, its claws slid off me. It took a lumbering step back. And sneezed again.

  The green slime from its nose splattered the wall.

  The creature sneezed again. Again. Each violent eruption made the room shake.

  “Sneezes like Dad,” Freddy choked out.

  And yes, as it sneezed, the lizard began to change. I stared in shock as its body began to shift.

  I watched its claws pull in. Its snout melt into its face.

  Another sneeze. Another snot splat against the wallpaper.

  The lizard face sank into itself. The yellow eyes faded to black. As its scaly skin faded away, I could see human clothes beneath it. Khaki pants and a striped shirt.

  And there was Dad.

  Sneezing a last sneeze.

  Dad, sweeping back his hair with one hand. Straightening his shirt. Beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Dad shaking his head. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Freddy and I were too stunned to move. We both stared openmouthed at him.

  Dad took a few deep breaths. “So sorry. So sorry,” he repeated. “I see you found the photo albums. I’m so sorry. Mom and I were waiting for the right time to tell you,” he said.

  Freddy squinted at him. “Tell us?”

  Dad nodded. “Yes. Tell you that you weren’t born—you were hatched.”

  Dad pushed the albums aside, and the three of us sat down side by side on the edge of the bed. “I wish your mom was here,” he said, shaking his head. “She wanted to be here when we told you the truth about our family.”

  “Well, why is she still in Shaker Heights?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She’s helping your aunt hatch a new baby.”

  “Hatching a new baby? What’s going on here, Dad? I don’t get it at all,” I said. I shook my head in disbelief. “Were you the huge lizard I saw in the lab? Standing at the worktable? That was you? And then you changed back?”

  Dad nodded. He put an arm around my shoulders. “Yes, that was me. Our family isn’t like most other families,” he said softly.

  “We’re not people? We’re lizards?” Freddy cried.

  “Well … we’re kind of both,” Dad said.

  Then he turned to me. “I’m really sorry I pretended I didn’t know what you were talking about. I had to leave for Toronto, and I knew there wasn’t tim
e to explain everything.”

  I suddenly felt very angry. Dad should have explained. He shouldn’t have run off to Canada without telling me.

  “Let me explain now,” he said. “First of all, when that Tasmanian cobra lizard bit you, Kate … That bite didn’t harm you at all.”

  “It … it started to turn me into a lizard,” I stammered.

  Dad shook his head. “No, it didn’t. The bite didn’t do anything because you already were a lizard. All of us … Our whole family is shape-shifting lizards, Kate. We shift from human to lizard and back.”

  “But—but—” I sputtered. “Freddy doesn’t act like a lizard. And I didn’t act like a lizard until last week.”

  “Your lizard identity comes out when you are twelve or thirteen,” Dad explained. “Freddy is too young.”

  Freddy suddenly went pale. “But I’ll be a lizard in a couple of years?”

  Dad chuckled. “Don’t look so worried. You will both soon learn to control your lizard urges. You will be able to stay in your human form most of the time, just as I do.”

  “We can control it?” I asked.

  “Yes. It will take practice,” Dad replied. “But you will learn how to control when you shift and when you don’t.”

  Dad opened the photo album and gazed at the photos of the eggs. A smile spread over his face. “You were such cute babies.”

  “Is this why you wanted a lizard farm?” Freddy asked. “Is this why you and Mom were so interested in lizards?”

  “Yes,” Dad said, still gazing at the egg photos. “Lizards are our ancestors and our relatives. I’ve always wanted to learn how this happened to our family.”

  I let out a long, sad sigh. “I’m having trouble with all this,” I said. “I … I feel very upset and—and—”

  “Listen to me,” he said, squeezing my hands. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be able to control it. You can keep people from finding out. No one knows about your mom and me. No one. Kate, no one will know you come from a family of lizards.”

  I let out another long, miserable sigh. “Not true, Dad,” I said, my voice cracking. “Not true. I’m ruined forever. I can’t go back to school. I … I can’t go anywhere.”