Night of the Giant Everything (6 page)

“Huh?”

I heard Ava gasp.

The big foot came to a stop inches above my head.

I was sprawled on my back on the red carpet. Ava’s face floated into view.

Her blue eyes bulged in shock. Her mouth dropped open.

I sat up. “Ava? It’s me!” I called up to her.

“Steven?” She blinked several times. “No. It can’t be.”

“Ava —” I started. “You have to listen to me. I —”

“Is this one of your magic tricks?” she demanded. “How are you doing this? Is this some kind of video projection?”

“It’s me!” I cried. “Ava, I shrunk.”

“No no no no!” She pressed her hands against her cheeks. Her mouth was twisted in horror. “This isn’t happening. No way.”

She reached down and grabbed me around the waist. “Oh, no. You’re real.”

“I’m trying to tell you —”

“How are you doing this, Steven?” she cried. “Tell me right now. Tell me how you are doing this. You are totally freaking me out.”

“You’re
freaked out?” I shouted. “What about
me?
I’m the one who is freaked out, Ava. You did this to me. You and Courtney.”

“Are you
crazy?”
she cried. She tightened her fingers around me and lifted me off the floor. She swung me up and sat me down on the edge of her green table.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she studied me. She poked me in the stomach with a pointer finger. “I … don’t believe this,” she murmured. “Steven, it’s really you? You really shrank?”

“I — I — I —” I sputtered. “Stop poking me! I’m not a doll.”

She lowered her gaze. “Where did you get those black plastic shoes? And—and … what are you wearing, Steven?
Doll
clothes?”

I swung a fist in the air. “Ava, I swear, if you laugh at me, I’ll
kill
you!”

She laughed. “Steven, you couldn’t kill a
flea!”

“STOP LAUGHING!” I shrieked.

She stopped. “Sorry. It isn’t funny. It’s … frightening.”

“Yes. Frightening,” I agreed. “I don’t think
you’re listening to me, Ava. It’s your fault. It’s totally your fault.”

She squinted hard at me. She brought her face closer. Her head was as big as my whole body. “My fault? Why are you saying that? How could it be my fault?”

“That drink you and Courtney g-gave me,” I stammered. “It shrunk me. You did it. You gave me those chemicals, and they shrunk me.”

“But, Steven —” she started.

“You’ve got to help me,” I said. “Tell me what those chemicals were. Tell me what I drank. Maybe a doctor will know an antidote. Maybe —”

“Steven, listen —” She brought her face closer.

“Just tell me!” I screamed. “What was in that drink?
Tell me!
“

She sighed. “Okay, okay. Stop screaming like that. I — I’ll tell you.”

The window curtains flapped in a strong breeze. I could hear the TV from the den. And I could hear every pounding beat of my heart as I waited for her to speak.

“It was vinegar,” she said.

I stared up at her. Her words didn’t make any sense to me. It was like she spoke in a foreign language.

She frowned at me. “That’s all it was, Steven. Just vinegar.”

“Vinegar,” I repeated the word. My mind was spinning. “You mean—?”

“Just vinegar and water. No chemicals,” Ava said.

“But you said —” I could barely choke the words out. I was totally stunned. “You said you went to the chem lab. You said you mixed up a bunch of chemicals.”

Ava shook her head. “You believed me? That was all a lie,” she said. “Courtney and I
wanted to pay you back for being such a jerk. I wanted to pay you back for dropping those eggs on my head.”

“Vinegar,” I muttered. “Vinegar.”

“That’s all it was,” Ava said. “No chemicals. Nothing bad. Just vinegar from the bottle in our kitchen.”

“Then how did this happen to me?” I cried. “Why did I shrink?”

Ava studied me, thinking hard. “Are you allergic to vinegar?”

“No! No way!” I squeaked. “I’m not allergic to vinegar! Ava—look at me. I’m, like, six inches tall. I’m wearing doll clothes. That’s not an allergy. An allergy doesn’t shrink you down to the size of a chipmunk!”

“Okay, okay.” Ava clamped her hands over her ears. “Stop screaming. Your squeaky voice is hurting my ears.”

“Well, what am I going to do?” I asked. “What if I start shrinking even more? What if I shrink till I’m out of sight?”

Ava scrunched up her face. “It’s weird that you’re a magician. I mean, you like to make things disappear. And now you … well …”

“It’s not weird,” I said. “It’s terrifying. Ava, you’ve got to help me.”

She jumped up. “I’ll get my parents. They’ll freak when they see you. But they can take you to our doctor. Maybe he can help.”

“Thanks,” I said. Sitting on the edge of the table, I crossed my arms over my chest.

Ava turned back at the door. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the hall.

Don’t go anywhere? Was she joking?

Where could I go? I was on top of her desk. The floor was about ten miles beneath me.

I climbed to my feet. I started to pace back and forth across the table. The laptop screen was about my height. The words on the screen looked as big as newspaper headlines.

I walked back and forth, trying to calm down. Mr. and Mrs. Munroe were nice people. They were like family. I knew they would take good care of me. They would contact my parents and —

A strong gust of wind nearly blew me over.

Carried by the wind, the window curtains flew at me. The curtain swept under me. Swept me off my feet.

I tumbled onto my back on the smooth fabric.

And it swung me off the table.

The curtain flew high, carrying me with it.

Another strong burst of wind swung the curtain higher.

I grabbed on to it with both hands.

The curtain flew into the room, then pulled back to the window. Then it swung back out, floated for a while, and swung back.

I held on with all my might. But it was swinging too hard.

The wind battered me. Blew so hard I could barely breathe.

It pushed the curtain and me forward, then back.

My hands slipped.

The curtain swung back to the open window.

I squeezed harder. But my hands ached. My arms throbbed in pain.

I started to slip down the smooth fabric.

Struggled to grasp it. Struggled to hold on.

Slipping … slipping …

I can’t hang on!

The curtain flew out the window.

“Whooooaaaah!” I uttered a hoarse cry as I slid off it and went sailing into the air.

I flew into the night sky.

From inside the house, I heard Ava’s shout: “Steven? Where are you? Where did you go?”

The wind carried me higher. I heard a loud flapping. Wings?

A heavy blast of air swept over me. A gigantic, feathered head appeared. Two glowing black eyes. A curled beak as big as catcher’s mitt.

An owl.

The wings flapped hard as the creature dove toward me. The beak opened. And
snap!

The bird clamped the back of my jumpsuit collar.

“Hey!” I thrashed my arms and legs helplessly.

The owl made a warbling sound deep in its chest.

The big wings flapped hard above me. I could feel the breeze off them as we started to sail higher.

“Please! Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!” I shouted. I shut my eyes and tightened my body, holding perfectly still.

The owl held me prisoner and swooped higher into the night sky.

Where was it taking me? To its nest?

To feed its young?

I sailed high over the rooftops of houses. The street looked like a narrow black ribbon beneath me.

Please don’t drop me. Please …

The wind battered my face. I dangled in front of the owl, swinging in the stiff gusts.

I crossed my arms tight in front of me. I tensed every muscle.

We flew over my block, then the next.

Please don’t drop me. Please …

The houses ended in the next block. Deep woods began just past the houses. Dark trees reached up to me as we began to fly lower over the last of the houses.

I knew what was happening. I had guessed right. The owl was taking me to its nest. It had captured its prey. And now it was dinnertime.

I heard a frightening screech.

A dark creature flew toward us. In the dim light, I saw it was another owl.

The intruder swooped at us, opened its beak—and made a grab for me.

It missed.

The round black eyes went wide, as if surprised.

My owl turned and darted lower … lower … trying to escape with me, its prey.

The second owl spun in the sky and made another stab. Its open beak jabbed inches from me.

My owl opened its beak and let out a sharp squawk of protest.

And I fell free.

I fell free and dropped like a rock to the grass below.

I landed on my stomach with a hard
thud.
The impact sent my breath whooshing out. I choked and gagged.

Finally, I managed to sit up. I was okay. The fall had been short. The owl had dropped me close to the ground.

But where was I?

I gazed around. The dark woods started to my right. To my left, I saw houses with their lights on.

I swallowed hard. I still felt dazed from the wild flight—and the fall.

I stood up. I gazed at the houses. I recognized the one across the street.

Of course. Of course.

Mr. Pinker’s house.

I stared at the yellow light in the front window. The lights were all on.

Yes. My piano teacher’s house.
Mr. Pinker must be home,
I realized.

Mr. Pinker will help me.

I started to push through the tall grass toward his house.

How lucky,
I thought. The owl had dropped me so close to his house. So close to someone who might help me.

It was my first lucky break of the day.

Now, if I could make it to his house without being grabbed by a worm, or a spider, or a bird, maybe … maybe I could get help.

Could I do it?

I stared at the glowing yellow light in his windows. They seemed to grow brighter as the night sky darkened.

The street was silent and empty. I darted out from behind a parked car and ran across it as fast as I could.

I kept gazing all around. Gazing up. Gazing down.

I knew that danger could come from anywhere. So I kept alert as I ran up Mr. Pinker’s gravel driveway. The gravel seemed as big as boulders, and I kept stumbling and slipping, banging my knees on the sharp edges.

I was surprised to see a pet door down at the bottom of Mr. Pinker’s front door. He didn’t have a dog or a cat. Maybe the people who lived here before him had a pet. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get in.

I took a deep breath and lifted the little metal door. I peeked inside.

The front hall was brightly lit. I saw a stack of sheet music on a table opposite the front closet. I heard music from a back room. Classical music.

The air smelled sweet. I realized Mr. Pinker must have baked another batch of cookies.

I slipped through the door and then stepped into the hallway. Then I tiptoed to the living room. Empty. The piano keyboard cover was down. I saw a stack of CDs on the piano bench.

I started toward the hall. “Mr. Pinker?” My voice came out tiny and high. I knew he couldn’t hear me.

I heard a sound. “Mr. Pinker?”

No. Just a creak of the house.

I turned the corner into the back hall. I began walking toward the kitchen.

No. Wait. I’d turned the wrong way.

I stood at the door where I’d glimpsed the tiny dollhouses. The door that Mr. Pinker had chased me away from.

Was he in there?

The door was open a crack. I leaned my shoulder against it and pushed.

It took all my strength to budge the door enough so that I could squeeze inside. The ceiling light was on. I stared at the dollhouses that filled the room.

The houses were taller than me now. Big enough to walk into … big enough to
live
in.

I took another step into the room. “Wow.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

There had to be twenty or thirty little wooden buildings. Narrow roads were painted on the floor. The buildings faced the roads.

They were carefully painted. Most of the roofs were red. I saw white houses with green window shutters. And a gray post office with a tiny flag on a flagpole out front. Next to it—a red fire-house with little fire trucks in the open door.

An entire town. All built of wood and arranged in city blocks.

I moved around the side and saw a market with carts of tiny fruits and vegetables. A butcher store with a pink ham hanging in the window. A gray library with narrow columns in the front.

A row of white and yellow houses had garages at the end of black driveways.

“Totally weird,” I muttered. “Why didn’t he want me to see this?”

I came closer and looked inside one of the houses.

“NOOOO!” I uttered a gasp of horror.

Through the window, I saw tiny people. Tiny people—about my size—living in the dollhouse!

I froze. And stared in shock into the window.

“Who’s in there?” I shouted. “Who are you?”

No one moved.

I peered into the house. I could see a boy about my age. He had a round face and straight blond hair.

Behind him, I saw a girl with curly red hair.

“Hey! You in there!” I shouted. “What are you doing in there?”

They both stared straight ahead. Their eyes were glassy. They stood perfectly still. Like zombies.

My heart started to pound. This whole little town was so completely weird. Why did Mr. Pinker build it? Who were these strange kids in that dollhouse?

“Oh, noooo.” I uttered a long moan as I stepped closer.

“I’m losing it,” I muttered. “Totally losing it.”

My mind was so crazed. I was
seeing
things.

I could see clearly now. They weren’t kids.

They were dolls.

Pinker had dolls in the houses. Boys and girls.

But they were so lifelike. So real.

I stepped up to another house. The roof loomed over my head. I had to go on tiptoe to see inside the open window.

Two dolls—a boy and a girl both in jeans and checkered shirts—were leaning against the back wall. A table held a little tea set.

I stared at the dolls, and a thought flashed into my mind:
Maybe I should trade clothes with that boy doll.

No. No time, I decided.

I had to find Mr. Pinker.

I couldn’t worry about my clothes. Or what this town of dollhouses was doing here.

I was six inches tall. I needed help right away.

I squeezed out of the room, back into the hall. Then I ran to the kitchen.

“Mr. Pinker? Mr. Pinker?”

I found him in the kitchen. He stood over a white counter making balls out of dough and putting them on a big metal baking tray.

The kitchen was hot from the oven. The sweet smell of chocolate filled my nose.

Mr. Pinker had his head bent, concentrating on the cookies. The bright ceiling light made his
eyeglasses glow. He wore the gray suit and red necktie he always wore. He didn’t even take off his suit jacket to bake cookies!

Classical music poured from a speaker under a cabinet. Mr. Pinker hummed along with the music.

I spotted a blue step stool on the other side of the kitchen cabinet. It had two steps. I pulled myself up onto the first step.

“Mr. Pinker!” I shouted. “It’s me — Steven!”

He hummed along to the music as he dropped dough balls onto the cookie tray.

“Mr. Pinker! Mr. Pinker!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. I waved my arms wildly above my head. I jumped up and down on the step stool. “Mr. Pinker! I need help. Can you hear me? Mr. Pinker?”

No. No way. He couldn’t hear me over the music and his loud humming.

I pulled myself onto the top step. I waved and jumped and shouted.

I heard a phone ring.

Pinker wiped his hands on a dish towel. The towel looked as big as a bed sheet to me!

He picked up a phone from the counter and began to talk into it. He wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder. And he continued to drop cookie dough onto the tray.

“Mr. Pinker!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and screamed his name.

I reached up on tiptoe and grabbed the countertop. Using all my strength, I pulled myself up. And scrambled onto the counter.

He had his back turned to me.

I had to get his attention. But how?

I took a deep breath and started to shout again. “Mr. Pinker! Hey, Mr. Pinker!” I jumped up and down and waved my arms frantically above my head.

“Mr. Pinker! Please — Mr. Pinker!”

No. He couldn’t hear me over the music from the kitchen speaker. He had the telephone clenched tightly between his shoulder and chin. And he was arguing with someone on the other end.

How could I make him see me? I had an idea.

I jumped onto the cookie tray.

I squeezed carefully through the rows of raw cookies.

“Mr. Pinker! See me now? Mr. Pinker?”

I tripped over a cookie and went facedown on the tray. Two or three globs of cookie dough broke my fall.

I climbed up. I had chocolate and dough stains down the front of my jumpsuit. I rubbed a smear of chocolate off my forehead.

“Mr. Pinker? Mr. Pinker?”

Moving carefully, I made my way to the front of the metal cookie tray.

Pinker had his back turned. He was shouting
into the phone. He was bargaining with someone about buying a piano.

I waved and shouted. He
had
to see me there on the cookie tray.

I took another step toward him—and stopped.

I stared at the cookies all around me on the metal tray. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

The strong aroma of chocolate was making me dizzy.

A wave of cold horror rolled down my body.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

Why did it take me so long to realize?

How could I have been so stupid?