by Sam Fisher
He retreated hastily into the house, slammed the door, and stood panting, unable to decide what to do next. Melissa was out there, possibly surrounded by rats, and James … was he out there too?
A high-pitched shriek followed by the sound of claws scraping on wood brought Morton back to the immediate problem of the rats that were already in his bathroom, and he realized that, alone or not, he would have to deal with them right away. But how?
Morton thought for a moment and then he grabbed two of Dad’s biggest cooking pots and a large metal colander. He also retrieved oven mitts and quickly but carefully taped them to his hands with duct tape. Finally he pulled on Dad’s oversize gardening boots, which lay like deflated inner tubes in the mudroom, and decided he was ready for action — at least, as ready as he’d ever be.
He clambered back up to the bathroom, thinking he must look a little bit like an astronaut from an old black-and-white movie, and paused at the door to listen. The scratching and screeching sounds were louder than before, and when Morton finally dared to peer in for a second time, he realized why. There were now half a dozen Rodents gnawing away at towels, soap, toilet paper — anything that was vaguely edible. In some distant part of his brain he made a mental note that he probably should make a habit of putting the toilet seat down after all, but then he jumped bravely into the bathroom, turned on the light, and slammed the door behind him.
A dozen bristly pink noses sniffed hungrily in his direction. Morton suspected that even though the Rodents were notorious for being able to eat anything, they would still find him more appetizing than soap and old cotton — and he was right. Without warning, several of the creatures leaped at him from all directions. He had to act fast. In a flash he grasped the handles of the two large pot lids and dropped the pots themselves to the tile floor with a loud metal clang. Using the lids as shields he managed to deflect two of the rats, which bounced away and landed at his feet, but two more landed on his head and immediately sank all four sets of teeth into his unruly hair. Morton yelped in shock more than pain but kept his eyes on the two rats that were now gnashing at the ankles of Dad’s heavy rubber boots. He tried shaking them off, but their jaws were strong and no amount of jumping would jar them loose. Then, as he was stomping his feet, two more rats leaped for his arms, and he realized with some significant sense of gloom that they weren’t just attacking him randomly. They were immobilizing him one limb at a time.
Just as he was thinking this, the two rats on his head leered down at him from above, and suddenly he could see nothing but yellow teeth against a backdrop of pink fleshy mouths — mouths that were eager to devour him. For one brief second he hesitated, but then he crashed the lids in his hands together like a pair of heavy cymbals right over the rats’ heads. Stunned, they dropped to the floor in two limp clumps of fur, and Morton quickly bent down and scooped them into one of the pots. Then, using his padded hands, he boldly yanked the two rats from his boots and stuffed them into the same pot, slapping on the lid an instant later. He placed one foot over the lid to hold it down and then quickly scanned the room.
There were only two rats left, clinging fiercely to his wrists and doing a very effective job of yanking the stuffing out of Dad’s oven mitts with their rock-hard teeth. Morton swung his arms out wide, slamming the two rats’ bodies against the wall with the full momentous force of the swing. The rats let out loud wheezing squeaks, like two deflating bagpipes, and dropped unconscious to the floor.
Morton only allowed himself a few seconds to recover from his brief battle and, although his heart continued to pound, he quickly unwound the duct tape on his wrists, threw the unconscious rats into the second pot, and used the tape to fasten both lids firmly in place. Savage hissing and scraping noises came from inside, but he was barely concerned with that. What troubled him now were the whereabouts of James and the safety of Melissa.
He kicked off Dad’s boots and made his way downstairs, but he hadn’t even reached the bottom step when he heard the front door open, followed by a familiar and welcome voice humming happily.
“Melissa?” he called, a sense of relief washing over him.
The humming stopped and Melissa stuck her head into the hallway and squinted in Morton’s direction. “Morton, are you still awake?” she said.
Morton turned on the landing light, causing Melissa to gasp at the sight of him. Only then did he realize that he had a large graze over his left cheek and his pajama shirt was shredded like an old flag.
“What happened?”
“The rats, they got in through the toilet, but …” Morton trailed off. Melissa looked absolutely fine. Her clothes weren’t ruffled, her lipstick wasn’t smudged, and not a single hair was out of place. “You look, uh, normal.”
Melissa gave Morton a questioning look. “Were you expecting me to look somehow abnormal?”
Morton didn’t wait to explain. He raced past Melissa back through the kitchen and out onto the porch. Somehow, impossibly, the lawn was deserted. Where before there had been a dense sea of Two-Headed Mutant Rodents, now there was absolutely nothing.
Melissa appeared beside him, a look of consternation on her face. “Did I miss something?”
“Yes!” Morton exclaimed, both annoyed and relieved. “There were Two-Headed Rodents everywhere. Didn’t you and Jake see them?”
Melissa shook her head. “We didn’t see anything.”
“Well, that’s not the only problem,” Morton went on. “James is missing. I think …”
Morton’s voice suddenly failed him and he stood, staring dumbly at Melissa.
“What? What is it?” she asked, shaking him on the shoulder.
Morton still couldn’t find his voice. He’d avoided any mention of Robbie’s Snarf sighting and his suspicions that James might be out prowling again because he’d hoped it wasn’t happening, but now, faced with the facts on hand, he could think of no other explanation for James’s behavior.
“You don’t think he’s … ,” Melissa began, seemingly as reluctant to put it into words as Morton was.
Morton nodded.
Melissa’s expression turned to one of pure terror. “Are you sure?” she said in a breathless whisper.
“I’m not sure of anything. But Robbie saw a Snarf on Halloween, and James is definitely not in the house.”
Melissa didn’t wait to hear any more. She kicked off her high heels and bounded up the stairs like an Olympic athlete. Morton scurried after and followed her into James’s room. She turned on the light, just as Morton had done earlier, only this time, there was a cry of distress.
“Ow! Turn that off, I’m trying to sleep!”
Morton looked on in disbelief. There was James lying in his bed, tangled in his sheets, as usual, with a very drowsy look on his face.
Morton was speechless.
Melissa walked right over to him and looked directly into his bleary eyes. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
James covered his face with his hands. “What are you talking about? I’ve been here, fast asleep. What happened?”
“Morton nearly got eaten alive by Two-Headed Mutant Rodents is what happened.”
All trace of James’s sleepiness vanished and he sat bolt upright. “What? When?”
“Just now!” Morton exclaimed. “I came in looking for you but you weren’t here.”
“Were you hurt?” James asked.
“Of course he was hurt!” Melissa exclaimed, pointing to the scratch on his cheek. “Which makes me repeat my question, where were you?”
James dropped his head and stared guiltily at the floor. “I … I was under the bed,” he said.
Melissa placed her hands on her hips. “Really? You expect us to believe that?”
“It’s true!” James pleaded. “I woke up a few minutes ago and found myself under the bed. I must have fallen onto the floor and somehow rolled under. It’s not the first time it’s happened — Morton will tell you that.”
Melissa looked questioningly at Morton
. He realized that this was in fact true. James had rolled under the bed at least twice before that he remembered.
Morton shrugged and held up his palms, and Melissa started wandering around the room looking over everything with a suspicious eye.
James sighed in frustration. “Please don’t tell me you think I’m still turning into a Snarf, because that’s a ridiculous idea.”
Melissa pulled back the curtains and inspected the windows. Like most of the house’s upstairs windows they were painted shut and probably hadn’t been opened in twenty years.
At last she too let out a big sigh, as if to clear the air, and let the curtains fall. “Sorry,” she said. “We’re all a bit too worked up, just like you said.”
“Well, I’m sorry too,” James said, looking at Morton. “I won’t let that happen again, I promise.”
Melissa smiled and turned to the door. “I suppose we should at least try to get some sleep.”
“What about the rats?” James said, still sitting up in his bed.
“Leave that to us,” Melissa said, and she headed out of the room.
Morton turned to follow. “Good night,” he said, and he closed the door behind him. He paced off down the hallway and stopped beside Melissa, who was lingering outside her own room.
“He’s lying,” she whispered crossly. “I don’t know how he did it. But he did. Somehow he snuck back into the house without you seeing him.”
“What makes you so sure?” Morton asked.
“Look, James is very smart, but he’d make a terrible spy,” Melissa said. “He had dirt on his face and leaves in his hair.”
Morton nodded silently. He hadn’t been close enough to see the dirt, but something else had occurred to him. Something must have scared away the rats, something that even a swarm of giant Two-Headed Mutant Rodents would be afraid of, and only one creature came to mind: the Wargle Snarf, with its fear-inducing pheromone.
“What are we going to do?” Morton sighed.
“Watch him like a hawk,” Melissa said.
When Morton ambled into the bathroom the next morning, he found it spotlessly clean, with no sign of the previous night’s battle. Melissa had sent him off to bed hours before, insisting she would handle the cleanup on her own, and to her credit, she had done an impressive job. The bathroom was now possibly even cleaner than it had been before the rat invasion.
Morton washed his hands and face with a sense of relief, and then shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen. As he did so, he heard Dad’s voice echoing up to the landing, and even before he heard what he was saying, Morton could tell by his tone that something had upset him. He found out exactly what a moment later when he stepped into the dining room.
“It’s a total disaster!” Dad was saying to a stunned-looking James and a pale and disheveled Melissa. “My spring bulbs have been ravaged, and so has half the town by the sound of it.”
A familiar sense of doom squeezed out the last drops of Morton’s sleepiness.
“Uh, what happened?” he asked, although he knew exactly what Dad was complaining about.
Dad dropped the Sunday paper on the table. “Apparently Dimvale is infested with a mutant strain of two-headed rats.”
“Oh, uh, right,” Morton said, faking a yawn. “I think we knew about that. We saw the pest control van on the way to school the other day, didn’t we, James?”
“Oh, yeah. I think we did,” James said, also feigning disinterest.
“Yes, well, the blasted things swarmed right through the north end of Dimvale last night,” Dad went on, “which very unfortunately includes our garden.”
Dad took a large swig of tea, draining his cup, and immediately poured himself another. “I spent a fortune on that garden, not to mention all the time digging and planting, and then I get home this morning to find it looking like somebody had just finished a reenactment of the Battle of Hastings right over my perennials. Of course, the veggies are all gone too.”
James caught Morton’s eye and made a “be thankful for small mercies” shrug. In spite of the dire situation Morton felt a smirk creep to the corners of his mouth.
Dad meanwhile had finished his second cup of tea and poured himself yet another. “This article makes it sound like these horrid things might be a real problem,” he went on. “Apparently some woman was walking one of those little Chihuahua dogs, and they swarmed out of the drain and went straight for it. The poor woman tried to fight them off, but they chewed right through the leash and then scampered back into the sewer, taking the dog with them. And the authorities think there might be thousands of them living in the sewers.”
“Are you sure you didn’t read this in one of those fake newspapers?” Melissa said, still maintaining a facade of disinterest.
Dad shook his head and tried to pour himself a fourth cup of tea, but the pot was now empty. “I assure you this is a real newspaper, Melissa,” he said. “And you might not be too happy about this, but I’ve decided I’m not comfortable leaving you kids home alone while these things are roaming the streets, so Mrs. Smedley has very kindly offered to babysit until this blows over.”
“What?” Melissa yelped, a look of genuine outrage on her face. “I thought we agreed I was old enough to be in charge?”
“We did,” Dad said, “but these are extenuating circumstances.”
“They’re just rats,” Melissa protested.
“Nonetheless, I’ll feel a lot safer knowing there’s a fully grown adult on the premises.”
“I don’t think I’d describe Mrs. Smedley as a fully grown adult,” Melissa scoffed. “More like an overripened adult.”
Dad gave her a reprimanding look. “Regardless of her age, she’s coming,” he said firmly.
“She’ll have a heart attack at the first sign of trouble,” Melissa went on, changing her tone as if to appeal to Dad’s reason. “Something shocking like that might traumatize Morton. He’s really quite fragile, you know.”
Dad got to his feet and began clearing away plates. “If Morton’s fragile, then I’m a chocolate rabbit,” he said. “In any case, I wasn’t inviting a discussion. I was merely informing you. She’ll be coming after supper tonight.”
Dad then hastily piled the dishes into the kitchen sink and retreated up to his office.
Melissa turned up her lip and scowled across the table at James and Morton. “Great, that’s all we need, Medley Smedley keeping tabs on us.”
“Well, you can hardly blame him,” James said.
“I don’t suppose it matters,” Melissa replied in a miserable tone. “The whole situation is hopeless anyway. Things are getting worse by the minute, and we still don’t have a single clue about why any of it’s happening.”
As Melissa said this, Morton realized he still hadn’t had time to mention his visit to the bookstore or the photos of King he’d found in the attic. He cleared his throat sheepishly.
“Uh, actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Melissa and James both craned their necks around suddenly and locked their eyes accusingly on Morton.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” James said.
Morton glared back at them defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Melissa put in quickly.
Morton knew this wasn’t true and found himself feeling annoyed. Despite this, he sighed and told them about the comic he’d found in Nolan’s locker and how it, and King’s photos, had led him to the bookstore. He did his best to play down the scary parts, hoping that they’d be more interested in what he’d learned and not so concerned with how he’d learned it. Unfortunately this strategy didn’t work at all. James was practically purple with rage by the time Morton had finished, and he jumped up from the table and began waving his arms up and down like an angry scarecrow.
“What is wrong with you?” he screeched. “You find out that King might have a brother and then go off alone to some strange store, and don’t even think
to tell one of us? And you wonder why I made Melissa promise not to get you involved in anything dangerous!”
“It was just a bookstore!” Morton protested. “And it was broad daylight. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” James echoed. “Morton, do you have any concept of danger? Honestly, you are hopeless sometimes. I just don’t know what we’re going to do with you.”
“Do with me?” Morton exclaimed, now feeling very angry. “I’m not some pet you get to push around and tell what to do.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” James said.
“Yes, you do!” Morton shot back. “You mean it exactly like that. You and Melissa expect me to sit home like a good puppy dog and wait for your instructions. Well, for your information, that’s not the kind of person I am. And more to the point, while you were out snuggling with Wendy on some park bench, I was actually trying to do something to get us out of this mess before the whole town gets eaten alive, so don’t start telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“Wendy and I were not snuggling!” James protested, but Morton wasn’t in a listening mood. He stormed out of the dining room to head up to his room. Before he could reach the stairs, however, the phone in the hallway rang, and he rather foolishly snatched up the receiver on his way past.
“Hello?” he said gruffly.
“Morton!” came Robbie’s voice over the phone. “Is everything okay? You sound upset.”
“Upset?” Morton said, his anger now very much in control of his mood. “Why should I be upset? My family doesn’t trust me and my best friend doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then at last Robbie responded.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“Julie told me that you don’t want to hang out with me anymore,” Morton replied.
“Julie said what?” Robbie asked, his voice pained.