Goldfish from Beyond the Grave #4

by Sam Hay; Illustrated by Simon Cooper

  Fizz was floating in a bottle of mineral water that Joe’s dad had just put in the cart. Joe groaned.

  Joe kept his eye on Fizz for the rest of the shopping trip, but the fish was quiet, floating in the water bottle and staring silently into space.

  “Mmm, mac and cheese!” said Dad as they passed the supermarket café. “Should we have lunch here?”

  Mom checked her watch. “Okay, you put the groceries in the car, and I’ll get in line. What do you want for lunch, boys?”

  Joe glanced at the options. “Fried chicken and fries, and a banana milkshake, please.”

  “Me too,” said Toby, who always wanted the same as his big brother.

  “Okay, boys, go and find a table. I’ll be over in a minute.”

  Joe chose a spot by the window. He could see Dad in the parking lot, loading the shopping bags into the car. He wondered whether Fizz was still in the bottle.

  “Look, Joe!” said Toby proudly. He’d built a tower with the little packets of sugar from the table.

  “Great,” said Joe, not really paying attention.

  “Don’t play with the sugar, Toby,” said Mom as she came over carrying a huge tray laden with food. Dad came back in and helped Mom unload the plates onto the table.

  “Two orders of fried chicken and fries and double milkshakes!” Mom handed Joe and Toby their drinks.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Joe took a sip of his milkshake. It was delicious—thick and creamy. He blew a few bubbles with his straw. Toby did the same.

  “Eat your lunch, please,” said Mom with a disapproving face.

  Joe took a bite of a french fry. “Ow!” He gasped, fanning his mouth. It was burning hot. He grabbed his milkshake and took a huge slurp to put out the fire, and that’s when he saw it: a slimy orange face peering out of his drink.

  “Hello, Joe . . .”

  “Ugh!” Joe spit out his milkshake.

  “Joe!” Mom exclaimed.

  “Sorry! My fries are hot!”

  He grabbed a ketchup packet and spread some on his fries, trying not to look at his drink. But he couldn’t help himself. Fizz looked so freaky with his face pressed up against the glass. His single open eye looked even larger and scarier than before.

  Joe felt queasy.

  Fizz blew a string of green bubbles in the glass and looked at Joe’s lunch plate. “I can’t believe you’re eating right now!” he rasped. Joe scowled back at him. “You should be trying to help me.”

  Joe shrugged. He couldn’t exactly talk with everyone around him.

  Fizz’s eyes narrowed. Then he began to flip wildly, making more frothy bubbles float to the top. Joe glanced at his parents. Had they noticed? But they were too busy listening to Toby, who was telling Mom a long story about swimming.

  “It’s your last chance. Help me or there’ll be trouble!” growled Fizz.

  Joe made an exasperated face and went to grab the shaking glass. But just as he reached out, Fizz did an extra big flip and knocked it over completely, splattering milkshake across the table and onto Joe’s lap.

  “Wow!” Toby giggled, his eyes wide.

  “Joe!” Mom jumped up as the milky puddle reached her side of the table.

  “Sorry, it was an accident . . .”

  “What’s gotten into you today?” asked Dad, reaching over and picking up the glass.

  “You have to be more careful,” said Mom, soaking up the mess with a wad of napkins. “Look at you—you’re soaked!”

  Joe stood up. His jeans and T-shirt were covered in milkshake.

  “You look like you peed your pants,” Toby said, giggling.

  Joe shot him a scowl. But Toby was right. It did look like that.

  As soon as they got home, Joe raced upstairs and stripped off his wet clothes. He put on a clean T-shirt and jeans, and then Mom popped her head through the door.

  “Give them to me,” she said, irritated, as she scooped up the pile of clothes. “I still can’t believe you made such a mess at the store, Joe!”

  He shrugged. “I told you, I didn’t mean to.”

  Mom sighed. “I’ll add them to the next load of laundry.”

  When she was gone, Joe lay on his bed, thinking about Fizz. Why did the fish think a human had killed him? For some reason Fizz just didn’t seem to want to accept the truth—that he’d been gobbled up by his tank-mates! Suddenly Joe had an idea. He jumped off his bed, and went over to his bookcase. He was sure he had a book about goldfish somewhere . . .

  Maybe if I can find proof that fish really do eat each other sometimes, he thought, then Fizz will believe me and swim off into the afterlife!

  He pulled out a thin book with a fancy fan-tailed goldfish on the front and leafed through a few pages. “There!” he said triumphantly, reading a section with the heading “Looking After Your Goldfish.”

  “Ha!” said Joe. “Proof!”

  He was just wondering where to find Fizz so he could show him the book, when suddenly he heard a scream from the kitchen.

  Joe raced downstairs and found Mom crouching in front of the washing machine, which was churning out soapy water onto the kitchen floor.

  “Quick, Joe!” wailed Mom. “Call your dad in from the garage, before the house floods!”

  As Joe turned to go, he saw a flash of orange surfing through the foamy puddle that was forming.

  “I told you there’d be trouble if you didn’t help me,” growled Fizz.

  Joe glared at the fish, then dashed outside to find his dad.

  “Hello, Joe. Want to help me wash the car to earn some extra money?”

  “Dad! Quick! The washing machine’s gone berserk and it’s flooding the kitchen!”

  Dad groaned. “Not another thing to fix!” He thrust the bucket he was carrying into Joe’s hands. “Could you get started on this, Joe? I’ll be back soon.” He dashed indoors.

  Joe reached into the bucket for the sponge, but instead he felt something wriggle between his fingers . . . Joe peered into the bucket. “Did you break the washing machine, Fizz?”

  “I might have; I can’t remember.”

  Joe set the bucket down on the ground. Then he squatted next to it. “Who do you think you are? The Cod-father?”

  “Huh!” rasped the fish. “If you’d done what I asked, it wouldn’t have happened. I told you—I can’t pass over until you help me!”

  “But how? What do you expect me to do?”

  “Find out who killed me.”

  “I keep telling you, the other fish ate you.”

  “They didn’t! They wouldn’t dare.” Fizz swam around the bucket for a bit. “I was the boss of the tank, you know. The toughest fish! None of the others would have dared to eat me.”

  “Well, maybe Dan forgot to feed them and the

  y got hungry,” said Joe. “I’ve been reading about it—it does happen!”

  “Not to me!” snapped the fish. “That isn’t what happened!”

  “So what did happen, then?”

  “You got flushed down the toilet?” said Joe incredulously.

  “Yeah!” Fizz made a choking sound.

  “So who put you in there?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see!”

  “But that’s ridiculous!”

  Fizz glared up at him. “Have you ever been stuck nose-down at the bottom of a fish net? No? Well, trust me—you don’t get the best view!”

  “Okay, okay, calm down! There can’t be many suspects,” said Joe. “Was it Dan? Maybe he got fed up with you . . .”

  “No chance!” Fizz growled.

  “Or his mom and dad? Maybe they didn’t like your grumpy face!”

  “Ha!”

  “Or what about one of Dan’s little sisters, then—Lily or Lolly? Matt says they’re a real handful.”
/>   “I’ve told you! I don’t know who did it, and it’s your job to find out!”

  “Well, give me some clues, at least! Was it a grown-up or a child? I know Matt has lots of little cousins, so it could have been one of them.”

  “I told you, I don’t know!” yelled Fizz. “Dan doesn’t like people going in his room, so I don’t know who’s who! You find out!”

  Joe puffed out his cheeks. “How? I’m not Sherlock Holmes!”

  “That’s your problem,” growled the fish. “Go to Dan’s house and find out!”

  “Oh no!” said Joe, shaking his head firmly. “No way. I am not going to that barbecue tomorrow!”

  Fizz swished around the bucket, splashing Joe with soapy water. “Then say hello to your new pet,” he growled, “’cause I’m not going anywhere until you find out who killed me!”

  For the rest of the day, Fizz hung around like a bad smell. Wherever Joe went, Fizz went, too.

  When Joe was watching TV, Fizz appeared in the vase on the mantelpiece, blowing green bubbles and glaring at Joe menacingly. When Joe had a drink, Fizz popped up in the glass. And when Joe went to the bathroom, Fizz was already there, waiting in the toilet.

  “Go to Dan’s!” he shouted up. “Or else!”

  “Go away!” Joe hissed. “I can’t pee when you’re there!”

  Joe was glad when it was bedtime. He figured that his bedroom was the one place Fizz couldn’t find him. There was no water in there!

  “Don’t forget to pull out the plug in the sink after you’ve brushed your teeth,” called Dad as Joe headed upstairs. “I haven’t had time to fix that leaky faucet yet. We don’t want another flood today!”

  But Joe wasn’t listening. He was thinking about Fizz. Who could have killed him . . . and why?

  As Joe filled the sink, he expected Fizz to burst out of one of the taps. But he didn’t. “Where are you?” Joe whispered. He didn’t trust that fish! But there was still no sign of him.

  Joe brushed his teeth, then turned off the cold water as best he could. It was leaking quite badly now. He turned off the bathroom light and headed back to his room.

  As he climbed into bed, he thought about Fizz being flushed down the toilet and chuckled. He looked forward to telling Uncle Charlie about it when he came for his next visit. I wonder where he is right now? thought Joe as he closed his eyes. Probably exploring a lost city somewhere . . .

  Joe was just drifting off, dreaming about a city at the bottom of the sea, when suddenly he heard a yell from the bathroom . . .

  “Joe Edmunds! I told you not to leave the plug in the sink!”

  He opened his eyes and sat up. “What?”

  Dad’s head appeared in Joe’s door. He looked furious. “The bathroom floor is soaking wet, Joe! If I hadn’t come up, you’d have flooded the house!”

  Joe rubbed his eyes. “But I didn’t leave the plug in.”

  “Well, someone must have, and you were the last person in there. The sink was overflowing when I went in!”

  Joe gritted his teeth. Fizz!

  Mom came into the room with a glass of water. “Your head’s been all over the place today, Joe!” She put the glass by Joe’s bed and bent down to kiss him. “Good night. Try to be a bit more careful tomorrow, okay?”

  “Good night, Joe,” Dad added.

  “Night,” Joe replied.

  As Mom closed his door, shutting out the light from the hallway, Joe spotted a strange glow coming from the water glass.

  And then a sarcastic voice said, “Night-night, Joe. Don’t let the bed-fish bite!”

  It took Joe forever to drift off after that. Fizz didn’t say anything else. But knowing that the zombie fish was in his room gave Joe the creeps. Every time he drifted off, he dreamed about a shark-size goldfish chasing him up and down the swimming pool.

  “Whoooa!” he yelled, sitting bolt upright, just as another monster fish was about to gobble him up. He glanced at his clock. It was 6:00 a.m. He felt tired and groggy, and his throat was dry. Without thinking, he reached for his water glass and glugged down a few mouthfuls. The water tasted odd—slightly fishy. And then he remembered why!

  “Morning, Joe!”

  “Ugh!” Joe spit out the water. “Gross!” He felt like he was about to throw up. “You didn’t poop in there, did you?”

  “Can’t remember,” rasped Fizz.

  Joe banged down the glass. “Okay, okay! I’ve had enough,” he snapped. “You win. I’ll call Matt and tell him I’ll go to the barbecue. And when I get there, I’ll try to find out what happened. But I’m not making any promises!”

  The fish fixed its beady eye on him. “Smart move, Joe. You’re finally beginning to use your brain.”

  Dan and his family lived on the other side of town in a big stone house with a long gravel driveway.

  “I hope you’re hungry, because Uncle Frank loves food!” said Matt. “He’s got one of those giant barbecues—it’s bigger than our car!”

  “Great,” said Joe unenthusiastically.

  They were in the car. Joe was imagining what was in store when they got to the party—an afternoon playing with the twins . . . not to mention having to somehow unmask a fish killer at the same time. He was holding the water bottle he was carrying Fizz in.

  “Have they still got the guinea pigs?” Joe asked. He remembered Matt once telling him that the twins had each been given one.

  Matt made a grim face. “No. They left the hutch open by mistake and they escaped!”

  Lucky guinea pigs, thought Joe gloomily.

  “I bet they planned it,” Matt’s dad said with a chuckle from the front.

  “Yeah,” added Matt. “To get away from the twins!”

  “That’s unfair,” scolded his mom. “The girls were devastated. Remember, they’re still little.”

  “Yeah, little monsters!” said Matt’s dad under his breath.

  “Oh, look, there’s Aunt Jane!” said Matt’s mom as they pulled up outside the house.

  Joe recognized her from a party at Matt’s house last Christmas. She looked just like her twin daughters—small, blond, and very nicely dressed.

  “Hi, Matt! Hi, Joe! I’m really glad you could come,” she said as they climbed out of the car.

  Her husband, Frank, appeared behind her. “Great to see you again, Joe,” he said, beaming.

  “Um . . . yeah. Thanks for inviting me.”

  As Joe followed them through the house and into the backyard, Matt nudged him. “I still can’t believe you decided to come.”

  “Yeah,” muttered Joe. “Me neither!”

  “Everyone’s in the yard,” said Uncle Frank. “The barbecue is up and running, so the food won’t be long. What do you want to drink, boys—Coke, lemonade?” He noticed the water bottle in Joe’s back pocket, where Fizz was hiding. “I see you’ve come prepared, Joe. You’ll need lots of water today—it’s going to be a scorcher!”

  “Enough chitchat. Get to work,” growled Fizz. “Find my killer!”

  Joe sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon!

  The backyard was huge, and it was already full of people. There were grown-ups wearing flowing dresses and bright shirts, and a gang of small children were playing in a sandbox.

  Right in the middle of the yard stood Lolly and Lily, the twins. Both had matching blond pigtails and pink swimsuits.

  “Maybe they won’t notice us,” whispered Matt, trying to hide behind a group of chattering adults.

  “Fat chance!” muttered Joe.

  “Maaaaattttt!” screeched one of the twins. (Joe could never tell which was which.) “Come and play!”

  She charged across the grass toward her favorite older cousin, grabbing his arm and trying to haul him toward the sandbox. “You too!” She grabbed Joe’s arm with her other hand.

  “Maybe later,�
� said Matt, wriggling free.

  “Oh, you two don’t mind playing with the little ones, do you?” said Aunt Jane. “They’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Matt, looking apologetically at Joe.

  The other twin joined her sister, and they both dragged the boys toward the sandbox. “Come and play!”

  Joe groaned. There were lots of other little kids there, too!

  “That’s Martha and Henry,” said Matt, nodding to a couple of wild-looking toddlers, who were trying to bury each other in sand. “And that one’s Emma.” He pointed to a little girl picking her nose. “Billy’s the one in the green hat. Watch him—he’s a biter! He once tried to eat his daycare hamster—but they rescued it just in time . . .”

  Joe stared at the little boy. If he attacked hamsters, maybe he flushed fish . . .

  “Oh, and that’s Franklin over there,” said Matt. “He likes to pinch—really hard! So keep your eye on him, too!”

  Each of the children seemed worse than the last!

  “Play babies—now!” said one of the twins. The little girl dropped a scruffy doll into Joe’s lap. It had scribbles on its face and no hair. “Baby needs her diaper changed.”

  Matt, who was building sand castles next to him, made another apologetic face.

  “Right,” said Joe, not sure where to start.

  Just then he felt his water bottle twitch. Then he heard Fizz shout, “Come on, Joe! Why aren’t you trying to find out who killed me?”

  Joe took the water bottle out of his back pocket and pretended to take a swig.

  “I am!” he hissed. “Keep calm!” Then he smiled at the kids. “So . . . where’s Dan?” He glanced around the yard to see if he could spot Matt’s oldest cousin.

  “In his room,” said one of the twins grumpily. “He never plays!”

  “Lucky him,” muttered Joe.