Martin Bridge: Sound the Alarm!

by Jessica Scott Kerrin

  Still, he didn’t like the idea of spending the entire night in The Toy Box.

  Not one bit.

  Then he spotted the display of Park Ranger Super-Charged All-Night Flashlights. It gave him a fabulous idea.

  “We won’t be here for long,” said Martin triumphantly. “We’re going to signal for help.”

  “Signal?” repeated Stuart, hope creeping into his voice. “How?”

  “With one of these,” said Martin, climbing out of the car and picking up a flashlight from the display. “We’ll beam a light from the window. I know how to signal S-O-S, which means ‘help.’ Someone’s bound to see us.”

  “That might work,” said Stuart cautiously. “Except Park Ranger Super-Charged All-Night Flashlights never come with batteries. And they need a gazillion, don’t they?”

  “No problem,” said Martin, now thinking on his feet. “All we need to do is visit the battery aisle.”

  “Bingo!” exclaimed Stuart. He slapped Martin on the back.

  They dashed over to the battery aisle and inserted a fistful into the flashlight. Martin switched it on. It worked!

  “Let’s get to the window,” he said eagerly.

  They ran back to the wall of panels that covered the underwater scene Stuart’s mom had been working on. Stuart pushed open the hidden door and they climbed inside.

  Martin froze.

  It was very dark.

  Too dark for a window.

  Martin flashed his light to where the window was and discovered that the bottom half was now painted with starfish and seaweed. He slowly slid the beam up the window. Above their heads, the glass turned clear.

  But that wasn’t what made Martin scream.

  “What?!! What?!!” yelled Stuart, charging for the door without bothering to wait for an answer.

  “Mannequins!” Martin choked out. The beam of his flashlight shook violently. Martin’s recurring nightmare was coming true!

  Stuart poked his head back in and looked up. Above them, mannequin children in bathing suits swam and dove in the painted water scene. A robotic dolphin frolicked alongside them, its tail turned off in mid-flick.

  Stuart climbed back into the display area and stood beside Martin, surveying the scene above.

  “Are you worried that the mannequins will fall on us?” asked Stuart. “Because I’m pretty sure my mom would have tied them up well.”

  Martin couldn’t say anything because his throat was squeezed tight with terror. Instead, he slowly backed out of the window display, keeping a constant eye on the mannequins in case any of them tried to follow.

  “Martin? Where are you going?” demanded Stuart, trailing behind the shaking flashlight beam all the way back to the top of the stairs.

  Martin pressed against the gate. But there was no escape.

  “Here’s the thing,” he huffed, doubling over, hands on knees once again. “I hate mannequins.”

  “You hate mannequins?” repeated Stuart. “Why?”

  “Why? I don’t know why! Why does your mom hate spiders? Why do you hate clowns?”

  Stuart thought a minute. “Well, I don’t know about spiders, but clowns? Come on! That frilly thing they wear around their neck? Those really big feet? That honking sound they make? What’s to like?”

  Martin thrust the flashlight at Stuart. “Fine. You signal. I’ll wait here.”

  “But I don’t know S-O-S.”

  “It’s three short bursts, three long, three short. Then keep repeating the whole thing.”

  “But they’re just mannequins,” Stuart persisted.

  Martin shot him his very best death glare.

  “Oh, all right,” said Stuart gruffly. He grabbed the flashlight and climbed back inside the window display.

  Martin stood with his arms tightly wrapped around himself.

  Less than a minute later, Stuart returned. “It’s no use,” he said. “The paint on the window is blocking the flashlight beam. You’ll have to boost me up so I can shine the signal out the top where the glass is clear.”

  “No,” said Martin flatly. “I won’t go back in there.”

  But then Stuart said something really mean. “So, you’re okay spending the night with mannequins? They’re locked in with us on this side, you know.” He shook the gate for chilling emphasis.

  No response from Martin. Stuart’s comment had turned his knees to pudding. He sat down beside the gate.

  Stuart plunked down beside him.

  “Come on, Martin. We need to work together to get out of this one,” he said sincerely.

  Martin shook his head, and Stuart sighed. They sat there for a long, long time. Finally, Stuart spoke again.

  “Hey, Martin. Shine the light on my hands.”

  “What?”

  “Go on. Do it.”

  Martin shone the beam while Stuart twisted his fingers to cast a shadow that looked like a spider crawling up the wall.

  “Your mom would hate that,” observed Martin, not amused. He handed the flashlight back.

  That got Martin thinking about his mom and how nothing much frightened her.

  In fact, she often told Martin that the only thing she feared was losing him. She said so because when Martin was little, he had once gotten lost during a downtown shopping trip.

  Martin never liked recalling that event, but now, stuck here in the empty toy store, that haunting memory rushed back to him in vivid detail.

  He remembered he had frantically charged up and down the aisles looking for his mom, until finally he had spotted the back of her coat as she stood in the women’s jacket department. He darted up from behind and grabbed her hand in relief.

  Only her hand was cold and stiff, and when it fell to the floor, several fingers snapped off.

  He had grabbed hold of a mannequin wearing the exact same coat as his mom!

  Martin’s nonstop screams rang out through the entire store, bringing not only his mom, but six others to the rescue.

  Yet, as frightening as that had been for Martin, it was his mom who had cried while she hugged him, then again when she later told the story to his dad.

  “What a nightmare!” she had sobbed over and over.

  Martin’s stomach complained some more. It must be way past dinner. And he still wasn’t home. Would his mom be crying now?

  Yes, he told himself sadly.

  Martin got up. He finally understood why he hated mannequins so much, and now he knew what he had to do.

  Martin took a deep breath. And another. And another.

  “Okay,” he said a bit shakily. “Let’s do it.”

  “Great!” exclaimed Stuart, leaping to his feet. “You boost me and I’ll signal.”

  “No,” said Martin as evenly as he could. “Let’s do it the other way around.”

  “Me boost you?” asked Stuart. “But you’ll be closer to the —” Stuart paused and pointed up with quick jabs.

  The thought of his head near all those mannequins gave Martin a fresh wave of the willies. But he shook it off.

  “Signaling will keep me busy,” Martin explained.

  He grabbed the flashlight before he could change his mind, and they climbed back into the window display.

  “Ready and steady?” Stuart asked in a bold Zip Rideout voice.

  “Onwards and upwards,” Martin replied, and Stuart boosted him.

  Martin rose above the painted window scene and could see clearly into the empty parking lot. He began to signal.

  Three short bursts, three long, three short. Three short bursts, three long, three short. Three short bursts, three long, three short.

  And all the while, he pushed away any nightmarish thoughts of the mannequins that were floating a hair’s breadth above him.

&
nbsp; It felt as if he had been signaling forever when he spotted two people strolling along the far sidewalk. He turned his beam right on them. They stopped.

  “I think someone sees us!” Martin cried out.

  He signaled madly and banged on the glass.

  “Help! Help!” yelled Stuart from below.

  When the couple crossed the empty parking lot and got really close, Martin turned off his flashlight and waved furiously. They waved back. Then one stayed put while the other dashed away to get help.

  “We’re saved!” said Martin with relief.

  Not long after, someone opened the main doors to the store and flicked on the lights. It was blinding.

  “We’re here! We’re here!” called the boys, rattling the gate.

  The store manager and two police officers strode across the main floor and up the stairs to where the boys stood prisoners.

  “Stuart!” exclaimed the manager, unlocking the gate. “Oh, my! Your mother must be worried sick!”

  One officer radioed the police station to report that they had found the missing boys. The other officer took notes as the boys told their story.

  “Why didn’t you sound the alarm?” he asked, looking up from his writing.

  “What alarm?” the boys asked together.

  The officer pointed to a fire alarm on the wall nearby, clearly visible now that the lights were on.

  “Oh,” the boys said sheepishly.

  “Still, it was good thinking to signal at the window,” said the manager.

  “They’re smart boys, all right,” said the officer taking notes. “I’ll put that in my report.”

  The boys beamed.

  When they left the store, Martin and Stuart retrieved their bikes. Then they climbed into the backseat of the police cruiser while one of the officers loaded the bikes into the trunk.

  “Want to hear the siren, boys?” the other officer asked jovially as he turned around to face them.

  They nodded eagerly.

  Wee-woo! Wee-woo! went the siren. Martin’s heart jumped at the short, shrill bursts of sound.

  It was then that Martin realized he was glad he and Stuart hadn’t sounded the alarm back in the store. After all, if they had, he would still be afraid of mannequins.

  Martin squared his shoulders proudly at that thought.

  Stuart was dropped off first. His parents were pacing on the porch when the cruiser pulled up. The police officers let Stuart out, and he bolted across the lawn. Martin saw lots of hugging.

  Then they drove to Martin’s house. When they turned into the driveway, he saw that his mom and dad were waiting on the front steps. They leapt to their feet.

  “Looks like their nightmare is over,” said the officer who was driving.

  “Mine, too,” said Martin as he bounded out of the cruiser. “Mine, too,” he repeated with conviction.

  Be a Pilot!

  Bruce taught Martin how to make a paper airplane that really soars! You can make one, too. Just don’t aim it at your friend, your pet or your grandmother’s favorite vase!

  1. Fold a 22 cm by 28 cm (8 1/2 in. by 11 in.) sheet of paper in half the long way. Open out and flatten.

  2. Make a 1 cm (1/2 in.) fold along the top of the sheet. Then fold over and over six more times. This will make a thick, heavy front edge.

  3. Fold the two corners of the front edge into the center fold line.

  4. Fold in half along the center fold line and crease.

  5. Fold each wing down from the center along the angled fold line.

  6. Push the wings up into position.

  7. Glue short bits of blue wool along the tail edge for that roaring jet engine look!

  Scare Yourself!

  Stuart showed Martin a hand shadow sure to make Stuart’s mom scream! Now Martin has come up with two scary hand shadows of his own. To try them, all you need are a small lamp (take off the shade) and a light-colored wall for a screen. Remember to stand between the lamp and the wall. And when you’re done scaring yourself, make Martin’s favorite animal.

  About the Creators

  Jessica Scott Kerrin grew up with an astronaut hero, too, but her fear of small spaces put her plans for rocket travel out of orbit. She lives with her family in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and only sounds the alarm when she sees a spider.

  As head of the Bug Relocation Program at his home in Sonoma, California, Joseph Kelly is always ready to leap into action with a juice glass and a sheet of paper whenever his family sounds the spider alarm.

  An Excerpt from The Lobster Chronicles

  Floater Number Four

  “I’ll dangle Lynnette by her ankles off the gunwale,” Graeme Swinimer swore to himself when he discovered a mummichog floating sideways in his plastic saltwater tub.

  Its lifeless, speckled body bobbed above the sand dollars, periwinkles, brittle sea stars, urchins and a rock crab, all part of his marine life collection.

  Lynnette was always feeding her food to his fish. What else could explain the soggy banana-and-peanut-butter sandwiches, crusts cut off, hanging in the water?

  A dead giveaway.

  And this was the fourth floater since the start of the spring lobster season!

  Graeme sighed. Ankle dangling would have to wait, because his little sister was at the playground with her buddies from the after-school program. He could hear their screams of glee way off in the distance, along with the putta-putta sound of Homarus II, his dad’s mint-green Cape Islander, motoring home for the day.

  Graeme cast about his room for the fishnet. He checked underneath his aquarium magazine, Cold Marine Tanks. He skirted past his posters of sharks, whales and sea turtles and scanned the top of his sock-and-underwear dresser. He turned to the other side of his room, which featured a large plaque of sailors’ knots mounted next to his closet door.

  Aha! There it was, hooked on the knob. He remembered that he had hung the net to dry after scooping out Floater Number Three just last week.

  Graeme strode across his bedroom’s round braided rug to retrieve the net. Then he dipped it into the saltwater tub to recover the limp fish.

  Down the hall he plodded — drip, drip, drip — into the yellow bathroom with the wicker clothes hamper that faintly whiffed of lobster and diesel. Graeme stopped in front of the toilet. Plop went the fish. Whoosh went the bowl. Then, as payback, he grabbed Lynnette’s hairbrush and plunged it deep into the smelly hamper.

  Graeme returned to the scene of the crime and wrote up the incident in his scientific journal. He included the usual details: the date, the type of marine animal, the probable cause of death.

  Entry completed, he closed his notes, then gazed into the saltwater tub to observe the remainder of the school of mummichogs frolicking between barnacle-covered rocks, apparently unaware of the recent decrease to their number.

  “Graeme’s going to be a marine biologist,” his dad boasted regularly at the government wharf next to the Lucky Catch Cannery where he unloaded his lobsters.

  A longtime widower, Mr. Swinimer was determined that Graeme follow his dream, despite the challenges of having to raise him and Lynnette alone.

  “Can’t wait!” Graeme always added, riding the wave of his dad’s enthusiasm.

  The other fishermen would reply by thumping his back good-naturedly with their sausage-fingered hands.

  “It’ll be nice to finally have a local scientist who knows what’s what around here!” they would say.

  Fishermen often argued with come-from-away biologists about the state of the lobster stock in Lower Narrow Spit. But they argued even more with the owner of the town’s only cannery about the price for their daily catch.

  From the open window above his desk, Graeme heard that the putta-putta had slowed down to a dull throb. His dad was maneuvering around the shoals at t
he entrance to their harbor.

  “The sea is as big as the all outdoors,” his dad liked to remind Graeme, “but you best mind the rocks in the bay.”

  Graeme understood what that meant. Even though his dad supported his career choice, he also believed that Graeme should know everything about home port before safely venturing farther away.

  Which was true.

  Except that Graeme had run out of fresh discoveries. He even knew exactly how many steps it took to get from their white-shingled house to the government wharf where he collected his specimens to study.

  For Graeme, the unexplored sea beckoned.

  The reverberation of the engine changed again, and Graeme realized that his dad must be getting close to the wharf by now, preparing to throw the lines. When he heard that his dad had cut the engine, Graeme got a move on. He raced past the bathroom and down the stairs, but froze when he heard a knock at the front screen door. A bothersome voice he recognized called out from the covered porch.

  “Graeme! You home?”

  “Geez Louise,” Graeme muttered when he saw who it was.

  “Hi, Norris,” Graeme said flatly, talking through the screen door, arms crossed. “I was just leaving to meet my dad.”

  Norris was Graeme’s least-favorite classmate. Unlike the rest of the school, Norris loved dodgeball, and he hammered slow-moving players every chance he got. Norris was always telling everybody what he thought, even when no one asked. He had the annoying habit of jingling coins in his pocket whenever he started to argue, which was all the time. And Norris was the only boy Graeme knew who had the audacity to use the front door rather than the one off the kitchen mudroom.