Marvin and the Moths

by Jonathan Follett

  “Fifty seconds!” Marvin said. “Get down!”

  Lee was slouched down in his chair, his head rolling backward, his breath coming in short gasps. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and sat bolt-upright. He opened his mouth as if to say something.

  From the back of the room, Little Stevie called out, “This is the lamest thing that I’ve ever—”

  His next words were entirely drowned out by the thunderclap.

  The windows of the classroom blew outward, glass shattering across the yard. Throughout the room, lab beakers and test tubes cracked under the strain. Desks, chairs, and children were thrown violently backward as if they were bowling pins. Miss Sweeney, in her rolling desk chair, was slammed into the wall. The gooseneck lab faucets were torn free, sending gouts of water into the air.

  As the boom passed, the stench settled in. Students began to gag and cough and stumble blindly out of the rubble. Amber Bluestone cried out, “My eyes are burning!” and ran into the emergency chemical shower. At first, kids leaned their heads out the shattered windows to get some fresh air, but it quickly turned into a mad stampede as one after another climbed out to safety.

  A student came running down the hallway to investigate the noise and drew back visibly at the smell. “There’s a gas leak in the science lab!” he cried, and pulled a nearby fire alarm.

  As the alarm rang out, Marvin’s remaining classmates ran from the room. He stood up and shouted to Stevie, who was one of the last to leave, “Hey, genius! Don’t forget your moldy bread!”

  With the assistance of the firefighters, Marvin and Fatima moved Lee and the still-dizzy Miss Sweeney out to the lawn, where the rest of the student body stood in neat rows, lined up by classroom as they had been taught in their fire drills. Lee was disoriented, with signs of a concussion, but the EMTs were finding it difficult to treat him, as his odor had never been stronger. Finally, one of the firemen was able to tend to him, while equipped with a face mask and oxygen tank.

  The rest of Marvin’s science class had been ushered into a hastily erected quarantine tent, intended for use in case of large-scale chemical spills or biological hazards. They were being run through decontamination procedures in an effort to eradicate the smell that Lee’s eruption had saturated them with.

  Fatima’s glasses were cracked, despite the safety goggles and face shield she had been wearing, but she was otherwise unhurt. Neither she nor Marvin had been left stinky by the explosion, thanks to their full-body safety gear. She squinted over in the direction of Miss Sweeney, who was laid out on a stretcher, being examined by the EMTs.

  “I hope she’s all right,” Fatima said. “That definitely deserved an A.”

  The rescue crews and school administrators stood off to one side, conferring in hushed tones. The principal wore a look of panic on his face.

  At last, the firefighters got Lee to his feet. The fireman in the respirator walked away, taking off his mask. He was an older fellow with a bushy, graying mustache.

  “I don’t know why we’re here taking care of a bunch of smelly kids and some fire alarm prank,” he said to a younger fireman as they passed Marvin and Fatima. “Not with what’s going on over at the zoo.”

  “I heard they might be calling in the FBI,” said the young guy. “Or maybe even the National Guard.” The older man suddenly noticed Marvin and Fatima watching them, and elbowed his partner to be quiet. They climbed into their fire engine and drove off.

  “The zoo?” Marvin asked Fatima. She shrugged.

  To everyone’s surprise, the students were not sent back to class. They were sent home, without explanation.

  The Uptons’ driver pulled up in a black car and got out to open the door for Little Stevie and Amber.

  “Your ride home, si—” the driver began but involuntarily gagged at the smell of them. He stepped back a few feet while they climbed in, and then put up the partition to separate the front seat from the passengers.

  Everyone else lined up at the hurriedly organized buses or else made their way home on foot. Marvin and Fatima walked the still-woozy Lee home, as the driver wouldn’t let him on the bus, and they weren’t sure he would be able to make it on his own. The streets were strangely empty, and they passed the trip in silence.

  When at last they arrived at Lee’s doorstep, Marvin clapped him on the back and said, “Good job today, Lee.”

  “Shove it, Marvin,” Lee said.

  “What?” Marvin said.

  Lee turned to face him. His hair was sweaty and disheveled, and his skin was still blotchy. “I know this is just some sort of joke to you, but I was actually smelling better. Now I smell so bad, even I can’t stand it.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry, Lee,” Marvin said. “It was all in the name of science.”

  Lee snorted. “I saw what happened. You did this to me just so you could get back at your cousin.”

  “Now, wait a minute—” Marvin began.

  “And whatever’s going on between you two,” Lee said, pointing back and forth at Marvin and Fatima, “leave me out of it.” He went inside and slammed the door shut.

  Marvin turned to Fatima, still stunned. “Going on between us? I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he said. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

  Fatima said nothing for a minute, then took off her broken glasses and squinted at them. “I don’t know if I can find my way home with my glasses like this,” she said. “Can you walk me back?”

  Marvin realized it was the first time he had seen her without her glasses on. For a moment, she ceased to be Fatima, the all-knowing, bossy supernerd who caused him such aggravation. Instead, he saw just a girl who had broken her glasses and needed some help.

  He nodded and then, afraid she wouldn’t be able to see the gesture, added, “Sure.”

  They walked to Fatima’s house along silent streets, accompanied only by the rustling of the first autumn leaves. Not even the sound of a squirrel or bird could be heard. Although the sky was bright and blue, it felt to Marvin like a storm was coming.

  Marvin went upstairs as soon as he got home, glad for the few extra hours of free time. His mother was out with Harry Jr. at a mother–baby yoga class, so Marvin was going to be stuck with either his dad’s cooking or a bowl of cereal. He opted for the Cinnamon Frosted Pork Puffs and went upstairs. He was looking forward to some peace.

  As he opened his bedroom door, a lukewarm liquid cascaded down on his head, followed by a metal bucket, which struck with a painful clank.

  “Our perimeter’s been breached!” a voice shouted. Marvin immediately found himself being pummeled by attackers he couldn’t see through the drenching liquid. They beat him back, driving him out onto the landing before slamming the door shut and turning the lock. Marvin stood there, stunned, smelling faintly of vinegar. Unbidden, he heard the word “shower-kraut” ringing in his head, but the liquid with which he had been doused instead appeared to be some sort of mildly warm vinaigrette. Apparently, his middle school years were destined to be preserved in his memories by—well—preservatives. He wiped off his face and then banged on the door.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Whoever you are, get out of my room!”

  He could hear shuffling from behind the door. Someone fiddled with the latch. The door opened a crack, and Marvin was greeted with another deluge of salad dressing before it slammed shut again.

  “Hey!” he sputtered, spitting the dressing out of his mouth. “What’s the big idea?”

  “He’s still there,” a voice whispered. “I told you the oil wasn’t hot enough!”

  “Could you come back in ten minutes?” another voice called out. “We need time to boil more oil.”

  “What?” Marvin asked.

  “If you’re not with us, you’re against us!” the voice called back through the door.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, and you’re in my room,” Marvin said. “Open up!”

  There was a momentary silence from the other side of the door. Then a voice whispered, “O
kay. Just … don’t … move …”

  At that, the door opened a crack, and a wooden spoon came swinging down through the narrow space, whacking Marvin in the head repeatedly.

  “Ow!” Marvin cried. “Quit it!” He seized the spoon in the middle of its downward arc and wrenched it from his attacker’s hand. Then he forced the door open, flailing the spoon before him.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” the attackers shouted, and Marvin quickly saw that it was Abraham, Aristotle, and Ahab who had been holding the door against him. They fled to the far side of the room, the two smaller moths hiding behind Ahab’s great bulk. Ahab wielded several slotted spoons and spatulas in his many hands. He also wore an old apron whose pockets were overflowing with armaments. The apron read, “Kiss the cook,” but one of the moths had scrawled OF DEATH! after the other words.

  “Oh, it’s just that weird kid,” said Abraham at last. He stepped out from behind Ahab. “What do you want, kid?”

  “This is my room!” Marvin said.

  “Is it?” Aristotle said. “Property rights are typically suspended during wartime. I don’t think you can really say this is ‘your’ room, any more than I can say that it’s my room. It’s been annexed to serve the collective good.”

  “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of weird little boys who come in unannounced and trip our booby traps,” said Abraham. “Leaving us defenseless against intruders.”

  “You doused me in salad dressing!” Marvin said.

  “Sorry, that wasn’t the plan,” said Abraham. “It was supposed to be boiling oil. If a certain moth”—he jerked his head in the direction of Ahab, whose head drooped in shame—“hadn’t scrounged up a broken hot plate from the next attic over, we would have scalded the flesh right off of you.”

  “Apology accepted, I guess,” Marvin said. “But what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in your own attic?”

  “Because of the Elephant Vampire, of course!” Abraham said. “We were watching TV when the news broke. Then we thought we heard something that sounded just like an Elephant Vampire coming from the other end of our attic. So we barricaded ourselves in here.” He waved an arm at a mound of debris that had been shoved into the hole in the wall.

  “You did what?” Marvin said, taking in the mess. “You did what to my room?”

  “I really think that such questions in this time of crisis are unpatriotic,” Abraham said.

  “I don’t know what that even means,” Marvin said. “And what the heck is an Elephant Vampire?”

  “I’ll fill you in, my young recruit,” Aristotle said, taking Marvin by the elbow and walking him toward the far side of the attic.

  “This is the war room,” the moth said.

  “You mean, just this corner?” Marvin asked.

  “Yes,” Aristotle said, stopping in front of a bulletin board. “Stand up straight and pay attention as I guide you through your security briefing.” He first pointed to a clipping of a newspaper story—apparently stolen from one of the neighbor’s porches—whose headline read: ELEPHANT VAMPIRE STRIKES BUTCHERVILLE! MAYOR DECLARES STATE OF EMERGENCY AND FEAR!

  Below the headline was an infographic describing the basic facts:

  Animals had been going missing for many days.

  That morning, the skin and bones of the beloved elephant, Big ’Un, had been found at the zoo.

  The elephant’s insides had been sucked out.

  A dusk-to-dawn curfew was in effect until further notice.

  “Wow,” said Marvin. “They sure got these newspapers out fast.”

  “Who says print is dead?” Aristotle said. “Unfortunately, the paperboy probably is dead, what with the Elephant Vampire on the loose. Experts such as myself theorize that the creature first dined on smaller animals around town, growing larger day by day. And now that it is full grown, it has taken to its natural prey: elephants.” The tall moth pointed to a drawing of Dumbo, apparently ripped from an old children’s book.

  Marvin’s eyes wandered from the cartoon elephant to the other objects pinned to the cluttered war room wall. “What’s the rest of this stuff?” he asked.

  “This is how we plan our strategy and keep track of the enemy’s movements. Here”—he pointed to a cartoon map of Butcherville that was clearly an old place mat from a fast-food restaurant—“we have plotted the locations of all of the recent animal disappearances and confirmed kills.” The map was covered with stickers of animals as well as pushpins that were connected to one another with yarn. “Here we see where a junkyard dog vanished. And over here, a significant drop in local alley cat population. And this cheeseburger”—he pointed to a sticker shaped like a smiling cheeseburger—“represents a rail car full of missing cows.” He turned to Marvin sheepishly. “We didn’t have a cow sticker.”

  “What’s with the string?” Marvin asked.

  “We are trying to stay one step ahead of the killer,” Aristotle said. “Anticipating his next moves, trying to discern a pattern in these killings.”

  “And?” Marvin asked, looking at the unintelligible tangle of multicolored yarn.

  “After much analysis of the relevant data, we have come to the conclusion that—there is no pattern. But”—and here he leaned in close to Marvin—“lack of a pattern also indicates something.”

  “Yes?” Marvin asked.

  Aristotle leaned in even closer, whispering conspiratorially, “These killings are random.”

  “It does kind of look like a bird’s nest,” Ahab said.

  “Yes, yes, we’ve heard your bird’s-nest hypothesis before!” Aristotle shouted.

  “Just tryin’ to help, Aristotle,” Ahab said, and slinked off.

  “Let’s continue with the tour,” Aristotle said, turning back to Marvin. “Over here is our pantry.” He indicated a stack of wool clothing. “Emergency rations, you know.”

  “Are those my sweaters?” Marvin asked, pulling one from the pile.

  “Yes, I do believe we picked those up in here,” Aristotle said. “But they’re not a very good vintage. Rotten flavor. We shall definitely be eating those last.”

  He turned Marvin around and walked him over to a pile of assorted gadgets—kitchen utensils, small appliances, toys, exercise equipment. The moths must have dragged all the junk in from the neighboring attics. Marvin noticed that some of it had been strangely modified.

  “Now we get to the real excitement,” Aristotle said. “Our siege engines and field artillery.”

  He pointed to an exercise bike that, through a complicated assembly of springs, pulleys, ropes, and cookware, had been rigged to a broom handle attached to a colander. “This is my greatest creation,” Aristotle said. “The eighteen-inch siege colander, with built-in straining capabilities. Best of all, by building it on a bicycle platform, I have made it extremely mobile.”

  “You know that’s a stationary bike, don’t you?” Marvin asked.

  “Mobility is a state of mind,” Aristotle said. “You do not understand the ancient art of war. I have studied.” He handed Marvin an encyclopedia, which was open to an entry on catapults. “See? An exact replica!” Aristotle said.

  Marvin looked at the illustration in the book and then at the moth’s ramshackle creation. “Your catapult doesn’t look anything like this,” he said.

  Aristotle snatched the book away. “I have improved upon the work of the ancients with modern technology,” he said testily.

  “Hey,” Ahab interrupted. “Come and look at this.” He motioned them over to a corner of the room where the moths had stacked up five old television sets. Marvin saw that they had somehow tapped into the cable TV, and that each set was tuned to a different channel.

  “Considering you were fleeing for your lives, you sure managed to bring a lot of stuff with you,” Marvin said.

  Suddenly, Sinclair Hackett, the mayor of Butcherville, flanked by the police commissioner, fire chief, and other local dignitaries, appeared on all five screens.

  “Butcherville, this is our darkest hou
r. Right now.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Five o’clock. And it will get even darker, because daylight saving time ends in a few weeks. Just a reminder—your clocks need to be set back one hour. Much like our police department has been set back in their investigation of this relentless killer. Yes, they were asleep at the switch when our pets, our livestock, and our beloved Big ’Un …” Here the mayor paused, and everyone on the dais bowed their heads in memory of the elephant. “… were taken from us long before their time, by a foe too terrible to be withstood by our fat, lazy police force. Underskilled, overweight, and with no great store of intelligence … filled to the brim like vessels of raging incompetence—well, let’s just say they blew it. But I promise you, one day, they will find this murderer, and bring him to justice.” He slammed his fist on the podium for effect, his face turning slightly purple. “And then, the scattered remnant of our population that has survived the inevitable slaughter will rise up from the smoking ruins, band together, and rebuild this town brick by brick—with no compensation for their efforts, except for the memories of those who have gone before, and perhaps a brown-bag lunch. And, of course, they will vote for myself, your humble servant, in November’s general election. Thank you. The police commissioner will now take your questions.” The mayor dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, and then ran off the stage.

  The TV news stations cut away from the startled-looking police commissioner, who was being barraged with questions. An anchorman came onto the largest of the TVs the moths had collected, and nodded his head soberly. “Comforting words from our mayor during this dark time,” he said. “And this just in—the Butcherville School Board is ready to make a special statement. We go live to Sam Fletcher, who is covering an emergency meeting at Butcherville High School. Sam?”