42 - Egg Monsters from Mars (3 page)

A baby chicken?

No way.

I couldn’t see a head. Or wings. Or feet.

I gripped the dresser top and stared down at it. The strange animal pushed
away the last section of shell. This was amazing!

It rolled wetly over my socks.

A blob. A sticky, shiny yellow blob.

It looked like a pile of very runny scrambled eggs.

Except it had tiny green veins crisscrossing all over it.

My chest felt about to explode. I finally remembered to breathe. I let out my breath in a long whoosh. My heart was
thudding.

The yellow blob throbbed. It made sick, wet sucking sounds.

It turned slowly. And I saw round black eyes near its top.

No head. No face. Just two tiny black eyes on top of the lumpy yellow body.

“You’re not a chicken,” I murmured out loud. My voice came out in a choked
whisper. “You’re definitely not a chicken.”

But what was it?

“Hey—Mom! Dad!” I shouted.

They had to see this creature. They had to see the scientific discovery of
the century!

“Mom! Dad! Hurry!”

No response.

The lumpy creature stared up at me. Throbbing. Its tiny green veins pulsing.
Its eggy body bouncing.

“Mom? Dad?”

Silence.

I stared into my drawer.

What should I do?

I had to show it to Mom and Dad. I carefully closed the dresser drawer so it
couldn’t bounce out and escape. Then I went running downstairs, shouting at the
top of my voice.

My pajama pants were twisted, and I nearly fell down the stairs. “Mom! Dad!
Where
are
you?”

The house was silent. The vacuum cleaner had been pulled out of the closet.
But no one was around to use it.

I burst into the kitchen. Were they still having breakfast?

“Mom? Dad? Brandy?”

No one there.

Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window. The breakfast dishes—three
cereal bowls and two coffee cups—were stacked beside the sink.

Where did they go? I wondered, my heart pounding. How could they leave when I
had the most amazing thing in the history of the known universe to show them?

I turned to leave the kitchen when I saw the note on the refrigerator. It was
written in blue ink in Mom’s handwriting. I snatched it off the magnet and read
it:

“Dad and I took Brandy to her piano lesson. Make yourself some cereal. Love,
M.”

Cereal?

Cereal?

How could I think about cereal at a time like this?

What should I do now?

I leaned my forehead against the cool refrigerator, struggling to think. I
couldn’t leave the throbbing egg blob locked up in the dresser drawer all
morning. Maybe it needed fresh air. Maybe it needed exercise. Maybe it needed
food.

Food? I swallowed hard. What would it eat? What
could
it eat? It was
just a lump of scrambled eggs with eyes.

I’ve got to take it out of there, I decided. I’ve got to show it to someone.

I thought instantly of Anne.

“Yes!” I exclaimed to myself. I’ll take it next door and show it to Anne. She
has a dog. She’s really good with pets and animals. Maybe she’ll have some idea
of what I should do with it.

I hurried back upstairs and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt I had tossed on
the floor the night before. Then I made my way to the dresser and slid open the drawer.

“Yuck!”

The egg blob sat in its own yellow slime. Its whole body throbbed. The tiny,
round eyes stared up at me.

“I’m taking you to Anne’s,” I told it. “Maybe the two of us can figure out
what you are.”

Only one problem.

How do I take it there?

I rubbed my chin, staring down at it. Do I carry it on a plate? No. It might
tumble off.

A bowl?

No. A jar?

No. It couldn’t breathe.

A box.

Yes. I’ll put it in a box, I decided. I opened my closet, dropped to my hands
and knees, and shuffled through all the junk piled on the floor.

That’s how I clean my room. I toss everything into the closet and shut the
door. I have the cleanest room in the house. No problem.

The only problem is finding things in my closet. If I’m searching for
something to wear, sometimes it takes a few days.

Today I got lucky. I found what I was looking for right away. It was a shoe
box. The box my new sneakers came in.

I picked up the shoe box from the clutter and climbed to my feet. Then I
kicked a bunch of stuff back into the closet so I could get the door closed.

“Okay!” I cried happily. I returned to the throbbing egg glob. “I’m carrying
you to Anne’s in this box. Ready?”

I didn’t expect it to answer. And it didn’t.

I pulled off the shoe box lid and set it on the dresser top. Then I lowered
the box to the drawer.

“Now what?” I asked myself out loud.

How do I get it in the box? Do I just pick it up?

Pick it up in my hand?

I held the box in my left hand and started to reach into the drawer with my
right. But then I jerked my hand away.

Will it bite me? I wondered.

How can it? It doesn’t have a mouth.

Will it sting me? Will it hurt me somehow?

My throat tightened. My hand started to tremble. It was so gross—so wet and
eggy.

Pick it up, Dana, I told myself. Stop being such a wimp. You’re a scientist—remember? You have to be bold. You have to be daring.

That’s true, I knew. Scientists can’t back away from something just because
it’s yucky and gross.

I took a deep breath.

I counted to three.

Then I reached for it.

As my hand moved toward it, the creature began to tremble. It shook like a
glob of yellow Jell-O.

I pulled back once again.

I can’t do it, I decided. I can’t pick it up barehanded. It might be too
dangerous.

I watched it shake and throb. Wet bubbles formed on its eggy skin.

Is it scared of me? I wondered. Or is it trying to warn me away?

I had to find something to pick it up. I turned and glanced around the room.
My eyes landed on my baseball glove tucked on the top shelf of my bookcase.

Maybe I could pick up the egg creature in the glove and drop it into the shoe
box. I was halfway across the room when I decided I didn’t want to get my glove
all wet and gloppy.

I need to shovel it into the box, I thought.

A little shovel would make the job easy. I walked back to the dresser. The
egg creature was still shaking like crazy. I closed the drawer. Maybe the darkness will calm
it down, I thought.

I made my way down to the basement. Mom and Dad keep all their gardening
supplies down there. I found a small metal trowel and carried it back up to my
room.

When I pulled open the drawer, the eggy blob was still shaking. “Don’t worry,
fella,” I told it. “I’m a scientist. I’ll be real gentle.”

I don’t think it understood English. As I lowered the trowel into the drawer,
the green veins on the throbbing body began to pulse.

The creature started bobbing up and down. The little black eyes bulged up at
me. I had the feeling the little guy was about to explode or something.

“Easy. Easy,” I whispered.

I lowered the trowel carefully beside it. Then I slowly, slowly slid it under
the throbbing creature.

“There. Gotcha,” I said softly.

It wiggled and shook on the blade of the trowel. I began to lift it carefully
from the drawer.

The shoe box sat on the top of the dresser. I had the trowel in my right
hand. I reached for the shoe box with my left.

Up, up. Slowly. Very slowly, I raised the egg creature toward the box.

Up. Up.

Almost to the box.

And the creature
growled
at me!

A low, gruff growl—like an angry dog.

“Ohhh!” I uttered a startled cry—and the trowel dropped from my hand.

“Yaaiii!” I let out another cry as it clanged across the floor—and the egg
creature plopped wetly onto my sneaker.

“No!”

Without thinking, I bent down and grabbed it up in my hand.

I’m holding it! I realized, my heart pounding.

I’m holding it.

What’s going to happen to me?

Nothing happened.

No shock jolted my body. No rash spread instantly over my skin. My hand
didn’t fall off.

The creature felt warm and soft, like runny scrambled eggs.

I realized I was squeezing it tightly. Too tightly? I loosened my grip.

And lowered it into the shoe box. And fastened the lid over the top.

I set the shoe box down on the dresser top and examined my hand. It felt wet
and sticky. But the skin hadn’t turned yellow or peeled off or anything.

I could hear the creature pulsing inside the box.

“Don’t growl like that again,” I told it. “You scared me.”

I grabbed some tissues and wiped off my hand. I kept my eyes on the box. The
creature was bouncing around in there.

What kind of animal is it? I wondered.

I wished Mom and Dad were home. I really, really wanted to show it to them.

I glanced at the clock radio on my bedside table. Only nine o’clock. Anne
might still be sleeping. Sometimes she slept until noon on Saturdays. I’m not
really sure why. She said it made the day go faster. Anne is a pretty weird
girl.

I lifted the box with both hands. The egg creature felt surprisingly heavy. I
made sure the lid was on tight. Then I carried it down the stairs and out the
back door.

It was a sunny, warm day. A soft breeze made the fresh spring leaves tremble
on the trees. Two houses down Mr. Simpson was already mowing his back lawn. Near
the garage two robins were having a tug-of-war over a fat brown earthworm.

I carried the box to Anne’s back door. The door was open. I peered through
the screen.

“Hi, Dana. Come in,” Anne’s mother called from in front of the sink.

Balancing the box against my chest, I pulled open the screen door and stepped
into the kitchen. Anne sat at the breakfast table. She wore a big blue T-shirt
over black bike shorts. Her red-brown hair was tied behind her head in a long
ponytail.

Three guesses what she was eating for breakfast.

You got it. Scrambled eggs.

“Yo, Dana!” she greeted me. “What’s up?”

“Well—”

Mrs. Gravel moved to the stove. “Dana, have you had breakfast? Can I make you
some scrambled eggs?”

My stomach did a flip-flop. I swallowed hard. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Nice fresh eggs,” Mrs. Gravel insisted. “I could make them fried if you
don’t like scrambled.”

“No thanks,” I replied weakly.

I felt the eggy blob bounce inside the box.

“I might need some more,” Anne told her mom, shoveling in a big glob. “These
eggs are great, Mom.”

Mrs. Gravel cracked an egg on the side of the skillet. “Maybe I’ll make one
for myself,” she said.

All this egg talk was making me sick.

Anne finished her orange juice. “Hey—what’s in the box? New sneakers?”

“Uh… no,” I replied. “Check this out, Anne. You won’t believe what I
found.”

I was so eager to show it to her! Holding the box in front of me with both
hands, I started across the kitchen.

And tripped over Stubby.

Again!

That big dumb sheepdog always got underfoot.

“Whooooaaa!” I let out a cry as I fell over the dog—and watched the shoe
box fly into the air.

I landed on top of Stubby. Got a mouthful of fur.

Struggled frantically to my feet.

And saw the egg creature sail out of the box and drop onto Anne’s breakfast
plate.

Anne’s mouth dropped open. Her face twisted in disgust. “Oh, yuck!” she
wailed. “Rotten eggs! Gross! Rotten eggs!”

“No—it’s alive!” I protested.

But I don’t think anyone heard me. Stubby jumped up on me as I started to
explain, and nearly knocked me down again.

“Down, boy! Down!” Mrs. Gravel scolded. “You know better than that.”

“Get this away!” Anne demanded, shoving her plate across the table.

Her mom examined the plate, then glared at me. “Dana, what’s wrong with you?
This isn’t funny. You ruined perfectly good scrambled eggs.”

“You spoiled my breakfast!” Anne cried angrily.

“No, wait—” I protested.

But I wasn’t fast enough.

Mrs. Gravel grabbed up the plate. She carried it to the sink, clicked on the
garbage disposal—and started to empty the egg creature into the roaring drain.

“Nooooo!”

I let out a shriek—and dove for the sink.

I made a wild grab and pulled the creature from the drain.

No. I pulled a handful of
scrambled eggs
from the drain!

The egg creature rolled around the sink and started to slide toward the
gurgling drain. I tossed the scrambled eggs down and grabbed the creature as it
started to drop toward the grinding blades.

The lumpy yellow blob felt hot in my hands. I could feel the veins throbbing.
The whole creature pulsed rapidly, like a racing heart.

I raised it up to my face and examined it. Still in one piece. “I saved your
life!” I told it. “Whew! What a close one!”

I balanced it carefully in my palm. It shuddered and throbbed. Wet bubbles
rolled down its lumpy sides. The black eyes stared up at me.

“What
is
that thing?” Anne demanded, getting up from the breakfast
table. She straightened her long ponytail. “Is it a puppet? Did you make it out
of an old sock or something?”

Before I could answer, Mrs. Gravel gave me a gentle push toward the kitchen
door. “Get it out of here, Dana,” she ordered. “It’s disgusting.” She pointed
down. “Look. It’s dripping some kind of eggy goo all over my kitchen floor.”

“I—I found it out back,” I started. “I don’t
really know what it is, but—”