Box of Shocks (7 page)

I don't say anything. I'm too shocked to talk. It's like I've been thrown into an ice-cold mountain lake. My brain doesn't know what to make of this, so it can't think of any words right now. I am totally stunned.

“We know it's rather sudden,” Dad says. “And we thought of calling you, but it's been so busy rushing back from Toronto and organizing the move…”

“And we didn't want you to worry,” Mom says. “We thought it might spoil your holiday. Plus, we thought it would be a nice surprise!”

“We've moved?”

“Pretty much, Ollie. There are still plenty of boxes to unpack. The movers just brought everything across the street a few days ago.”

“You never said anything about wanting to move.”

“I know. It all happened so quickly,” Dad said. “This house came up for sale when Mr. Watson got transferred to Toronto.”

“It's got so much more room,” Mom says. “You have your own bathroom, plus there's a shop in the back where you and Dad can work on that old go-kart you've always talked about fixing up.”

“What about our old house?”

“We sold it the day the sign went on the front lawn, if you can believe it,” Dad says with a grin. “Mom's boss bought it as an investment, and he's renting it out.”

“What's wrong, Oliver?” Mom says. “We thought you'd be thrilled about moving into a newer, bigger house, but you don't look very pleased. You were always complaining about having to wait to use the bathroom. And remember how cold your room got in winter? This house is better for all of us in so many ways. Plus, it's just across the street, so it's not like you have to go to a different school. You'll still live close to all your friends.”

“What about all my stuff?”

“All moved!” Dad says with a grin. “The movers had us all moved across the street in a day! I made sure they were particularly careful moving your fish.”

I begin to walk across the street toward my old house, gripping the bolt so tightly I can feel the end digging into the palm of my hand.

“Where are you going, Oliver?” Mom says. “Don't you want to see your new house?”

“I have to go back.”

“You can't go back! A new family's already moved in,” Mom says.

“I don't care. I have to go back.”

“There's no reason to go back. We moved everything,” Dad says. “Nothing of yours was left behind. We even set up your new room just the way you had it in the old house. Everything's the same!”

“I don't care. I have to go back!” I shout.

“You can't, Oliver!” Dad says, raising his voice. “It's someone else's house now. I'm sorry you're upset, but you'll love the new house. I promise.”

I point across the street and say, “That's the house we're supposed to be living in! That's our house! Not this new one!”

“I know the move must be a bit of a shock to you, Oliver,” Mom says. “Change is hard sometimes, but it won't take long for you to get used to living in this house.”

“I don't want to get used to it. I like our old house. I want to move back!” I feel my jaw tighten as the words tumble out.

This is horrible! No! It's worse than horrible! My parents have no idea! I have to go back to our old house and get the most valuable thing in the world! But I can't tell them about it. No matter what, they can't ever know about my Box of Shocks.

Dad steps toward me and slings his arm around my shoulders. “I know you're attached to the old house, Ollie. Your mom and I have fond memories of the old house as well. But we think moving here is for the best.”

Mom tugs at my arm and pulls me into the new house. As she and Dad show me and Uncle Ned around, I don't say anything. The wheels are already turning in my head. Somehow, I'll find a way back into my old house. Somehow, I'll rescue my Box of Shocks. I have to. The bolt in my hand is burning to get in that box.

After the tour of the house, Dad serves us lunch in the new dining room. I'm eating with my left hand, but Mom and Dad don't seem to notice anything unusual. While we eat, they go on and on about the hardwood flooring in the living room, the teak cabinets in the kitchen and the marble countertops in the bathrooms. As Dad begins to describe the built-in vacuum system, I blurt out, “Who lives in our house?”

“It's not our house anymore, Oliver,” Mom says.

“Okay, then, who lives in the old house across the street?” I say.

“I don't know. They just moved in today. We haven't met them yet,” Dad says.

“I heard they were new in town, but beyond that, I haven't a clue,” Mom says.

“I'm sure you'll have a chance to meet them soon,” Dad says. “It looks like they have a boy about your age.”

After Uncle Ned leaves, I storm up to my room, pull a chair over to the window and sit, staring at my old house. The only good thing about the new house is that my bedroom window looks out across the street to my old house. I sit for a long time, holding the bolt and staring at my old house. There's no car in the driveway, and I can't see any lights on. The new family living in my old house must be out. I keep watching, waiting for them to come home.

A couple of hours later, Mom calls me down for supper. “Not hungry!” I call back without opening my bedroom door. As usual, she tries to coax me down to dinner, but this time, it's no use. I refuse to budge.

“He'll come out when he's hungry,” I hear Dad say to Mom.

I sit at the window, staring across the street without taking my eyes off my old house. Eventually, the people living in my house have to come home.

It gets dark, but there are no lights on in the old house. They've been out for a few hours now, and who knows when they'll return? Should I take a chance and run over there right now? There's a house key hidden under a rock in the back garden. It wouldn't take me more than a minute to run upstairs to my old room and rescue my Box of Shocks.

I think about it for a minute, but then a really old car with no muffler, squeaky wheels, grinding brakes and a sputtering engine drives up the street and turns in to the driveway. The car stops, the doors slowly open, and three people get out—two adults and a kid. It's too dark to get a good look at them.

“Lights out, Oliver,” Mom calls from the hall. “It's way past your bedtime.”

“Bedtime?” I call back. “It's only ten o'clock. At Uncle Ned and Aunt Jean's, I stayed up until at least three every morning.”

“Oliver! You heard me,” Mom says.

It's useless to argue. Arguing with my parents is like wrestling a five-hundred-pound gorilla armed with a bazooka. So I turn off my light and pretend to go to bed while I wait for her to go downstairs. I count to a hundred slowly, and then I slip out of bed and cross my room to sit by the window.

There's a light on in the living room of my old house. Then I see something I don't like one little bit. It makes me want to throw open the window and jump down onto the front lawn, tear across the street, break down the door and charge upstairs.

There's a light glowing from the side of the house. I know exactly where that light's coming from. My old bedroom! Someone is in my bedroom! Probably the kid! And if the kid's in my bedroom, he'll be using my closet! And if he's using my closet, he'll discover the loose wall panel at the back! And if he loosens the wall panel at the back, he'll find my Box of Shocks! And if he finds my Box of Shocks, then what will he do? Maybe he'll eat the candy I got from the Milburn house. Or maybe he'll think it's a bunch of junk and throw it all out, including the box. That kid has no idea how important that box is to me.

I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood. There's no time to lose. I have to break into my old house and rescue my Box of Shocks as soon as I can.

Suddenly the lights go off in my old house. I breathe a sigh of relief. If the lights are out, the kid won't be able to find my Box of Shocks. For now, it's safe.

I lie on my back on the bed and clasp my hands behind my head. In one hand, I'm still holding the bolt. There has to be a way to get back inside my old house without being caught.

But the more I think about it, breaking into my old house seems pretty risky. For one thing, it's probably against the law. For another, I don't know what the new people are like. Maybe they have poisonous pet snakes that run loose in the house. Or maybe they're professional knife throwers who can pin me to a wall from forty feet. Or maybe there's something worse that I haven't even thought of.

This makes trick-or-treating at the Milburn house look easy. It makes jumping from the Pegasus Valley Bridge look like a walk in the park.

But when I sit up, open my hand and see that rusty bolt, it doesn't matter how dangerous going back into my old house might be. I have to get my Box of Shocks back. But how?

Seven

I
hide the bolt in the bottom drawer of my desk in a pencil case and go back to bed. I'm not going to sleep. I'm going to think. Think about how to get my Box of Shocks back.

At first I think about going over, knocking on the door and telling the new people in my house that something was left behind when we moved. But what if they ask what it was? What if they follow me to my hiding place and see me take my Box of Shocks out of the closet? And what happens if these people eventually become friends with my parents and tell them about it? No, I definitely can't take that chance. I don't want one single person to know about my Box of Shocks. The only way to get it back is to sneak it out of the house. But how?

I'm awake most of the night trying to figure out a way to rescue my Box of Shocks. Suddenly, as I'm about to doze off around
3:30 AM
, I've got it! The perfect plan. I'll flush them out.

It'll be simple. All I have to do is let some dangerous animal in through the back door. The people living in my old house will run for their lives, leaving the house wide open. It'll be easy for me to head up to my room and rescue my Box of Shocks.

The question is, “What kind of dangerous animal should I use?” My Grandpa Golley might have one. It's hard to believe Mom grew up in Grandpa Golley's house, which is like some weird minizoo with birds, hamsters, cats, dogs and who-knows-what-else filling every room of the house. The only pet Mom lets me have is a fish.

Even though Grandpa Golley has tons of pets, the problem is that none of them are scary enough. The people in my old house aren't exactly going to run for their lives when I turn a hamster loose in their kitchen.

A skunk would be way better. That's when I think of Stanley “Stenchly” Stevenson.

He was in my class two years ago. Everyone calls him Stenchly because of his part-time job. He and his dad trap skunks in people's yards. I decide to give Stenchly a call first thing in the morning.

“Hi, Stan? This is Ollie. Remember? From Frogface's class? Second row, third from the back? I was the one who never called you Stenchly because I thought it was cruel and wrong.”

“Are you serious?” Stenchly says.

“Yeah, I'm serious. Anyway, I was wondering if you had a skunk I could borrow?”

“You want to borrow a skunk?” he says. “What for?”

“It's top-secret,” I tell him.

“Hmm,” Stenchly says. After a bit of hemming and hawing, he says, “I don't normally do this, but I'll rent you a skunk.”

“
Rent
me a skunk?” I say.

“Yeah. The rent includes use of a cage,” he says.

“How much does it cost to rent a skunk?” I ask.

“I'll give you a deal.”

“Really?” I say. “How much?”

“A hundred dollars.”

“What! Are you kidding me?” I yell into the phone. “A hundred bucks to rent a stinky little furball? What kind of a deal is that?”

“Take it or leave it,” Stenchly says.

I hang up without saying another word. I wouldn't pay him a hundred bucks to rent a skunk even if I was a millionaire. And besides, maybe it wasn't such a good idea anyway. After chasing that cow out at Uncle Ned's, I've had enough of four-legged critters.

With the skunk idea gone kaput, I have to come up with some other plan to scare the new people out of my old house. But forty-eight hours later, my brain is a great big black hole of nothingness. I don't have one single idea. That's when I decide to call Kosmo.

I wouldn't exactly call Kosmo a friend. We never hang out at school together or anything. Last year, my teacher, Mr. Martins, paired everyone up in the class to work on a science project. I was stuck with Kosmo. At first, I tried to trade for someone more normal, but Mr. Martins said, “No tradesies! In real life, you've got to work with who you're stuck with. So suck it up and get to work!” There was no arguing with Mr. Martins. He was as tough as a bulletproof ham sandwich.

The way things turned out, Kosmo was the best partner. Our assignment was to design a space station for thirty people to live on the surface of Mars for six months. When I saw this impossible topic, I slapped my forehead so hard, I almost knocked myself out.