30 - It Came from Beneath the Sink

Before my brother and I found the strange little creature under the sink, we
were a normal happy family. In fact, I’d have to say we were very lucky.

But our luck quickly changed when we pulled the creature from its dark hiding
place.

The sad, frightening story begins on the day we moved.

“Here we are, kids.” Dad honked the horn happily as we rounded the corner
onto Maple Lane and pulled up in front of our new house. “Ready for the big
move, Kitty Kat?”

My dad is the only one who can get away with calling me Kitty Kat. My real
name is Katrina (ugh!) Merton, but only the teachers call me Katrina. To
everyone else I’m simply Kat.

“Definitely, Dad!” I shouted. I jumped out of the station wagon.

“Rowf! Rowf!”
Killer, our cocker spaniel, barked in agreement and
followed me out onto the sidewalk.

Daniel, my goofy little brother, is the one who named the dog. What a dumb
name. Killer is afraid of
everything.
The only thing he kills is his
rubber ball!

Daniel and I had biked past the new house plenty of times already. It’s only
three blocks away from where we used to live, on East Main.

But I still couldn’t believe we’d be
living
here. I mean, I always
thought our old house was pretty great. But this place is awesome!

Three stories high, sitting up on its own little hill, with butter-yellow
shutters and at least a dozen windows. A wide porch wraps around the whole
house. The front yard must be about the size of a football field.

It’s not a house—it’s a mansion!

Well,
practically
a mansion. Enormous—but not exactly fancy. What
Mom calls “a comfortable old shoe kind of house.”

Actually, today it really looked messy and old. A few of the shutters hung
crookedly, the grass needed mowing, and the whole place seemed to be covered
with an inch of dust.

But as Mom said, “Nothing that can’t be taken care of with a good cleaning, a
coat of paint, and a few bangs with the hammer.”

Mom, Dad, and Daniel climbed out of the car, and we all stood staring
excitedly at the house. Today, I’d finally get to see the inside!

Mom pointed to the second floor. “See that big balcony?” she asked. “That’s the room where your father and I will sleep. The
next room over is Daniel’s.”

She gave my hand a little squeeze. “The little balcony—that’s outside
your
room, Kat.” She beamed.

My very own private porch! I leaned over and gave Mom a big hug. “I love it
already,” I whispered into her ear.

Naturally, Daniel started whining immediately. He’s ten years old, but most
of the time he acts as if he’s about two.

“How come Kat’s room has a balcony—and mine doesn’t?” he complained. “It’s
not fair! I want a balcony, too!”

“Get a life, Daniel,” I muttered. “Mom, tell him to be quiet. Don’t I get
something
for being two years older?”

Well, almost two years older. My birthday was in four days.

“Quiet, kids,” Mom ordered. “Daniel, you don’t have a balcony. But you are
getting something neat, too—bunk beds. So Carlo can sleep over whenever you
want.”

“Excellent!” Daniel shouted. Carlo is Daniel’s best friend. They’re always
together—and always bugging me.

Daniel is okay—most of the time. But he insists on being right. Dad calls
him Mr. Know-It-All.

And sometimes Dad calls Daniel the Human Tornado, because he runs around
like a whirlwind and makes unbelievable messes.

I’m a lot more like my Dad—sort of calm and quiet. Well, usually calm. And
we both have the same favorite foods—lasagna, really sour garlic pickles, and
mocha-chip ice-cream.

I even look like my father, tall and thin with a lot of freckles and reddish
hair. I usually wear my hair in a ponytail. Dad doesn’t have much hair to worry
about.

Daniel looks more like my mother. Straight, light brown hair that’s always
falling in his eyes, and what Mom calls a “sturdy” build. (That means he’s
chunky.)

Today, Daniel was definitely in Human Tornado mode. He ran up onto the big
green lawn and began spinning around in a circle. “It’s huge,” he shouted. “It’s
gigantic. It’s… it’s… it’s super-house!”

He collapsed in a heap on the grass. “And this is the super-yard! Hey, Kat,
look at me—I’m Super-Daniel!”

“You’re super-dumb,” I told him, messing up his hair with both hands.

“Hey, quit it!” Daniel yelped. He pulled out his super-soaker gun and
squirted the front of my T-shirt. “You’re captured,” he announced. “You are my
prisoner!”

“I don’t think so,” I replied, tugging on the water pistol. “Give up the
gun!” I commanded. I pulled harder. “Let go!”

“Okay!” Daniel grinned. He loosened his grip so suddenly that I staggered
backwards—and fell on to the sidewalk.

“What a klutz!” Daniel snickered.

I knew how to get him. I zoomed up the porch steps. “Hey, Daniel,” I called,
“I’m going to be first in the new house!”

“No way!” he exclaimed, scrambling up off the lawn. He hurled himself at the
steps and grabbed me by the ankle. “Me first! Me first!”

That’s when Dad walked up the driveway, carrying an overstuffed cardboard box
with Kitchen written on the side. Two moving men followed, hauling our big blue
couch.

“Hey, stop goofing around! Mom and I really need your help today. That’s why
we allowed you to miss a school day,” he called. “Daniel, walk Killer—and make
sure he has food and water. Kat, keep an eye on Daniel.

“And Kat, clean the inside of the kitchen cabinets, okay?” Dad added. “Mom
wants to start putting the dishes and pots away.”

“Sure, Dad,” I answered. I saw Daniel rummaging through a box on the lawn.
The box was marked Cards and Comics.

“Hey, where’s the dog?” I yelled to him.

He shrugged.

“Daniel!” I frowned. “I don’t see Killer anywhere. Where is he?”

He dropped a stack of baseball cards. “Okay, okay, I’ll go find him,” he
mumbled. He stood up and made his way to the driveway, calling the dog’s name.

As soon as he disappeared around the side of the house, I hurried to the box
marked Cards and Comics and checked through it. Sure enough, the little brat had
stolen some of my comics.

I tucked them under my arm and walked inside to the kitchen to clean out the
cabinets. One quick glance made me groan.

Cabinets filled just about every square inch of the big bright room! Sighing,
I yanked paper towels and a bottle of cleaner out of the Cleaning Supplies box
and started scrubbing.

Spritz, rub, spritz, rub.

This could take hours!

After I finished a cabinet, I stepped back to admire my work. Then I knelt
down in front of the cabinet under the sink.

But something—a squeaky noise, like the sound of a footstep on an old
wooden stair—made me stop short.

What is that? I wondered, my heart beating faster.

I slowly opened the cabinet. Tried to peek inside.

I opened it a little wider. A little wider.

I heard the noise again.

My heart was pounding now.

I opened the cabinet door another inch.

And then it grabbed me.

A dark, hairy claw.

It wouldn’t let go.

I screamed.

“Daniel! You scared me to death!” I screamed. I pounded him on the back.

Laughing his head off, my brother yanked off the stupid rat costume he had
insisted on packing. “You should have seen your face!” he cried. “Know what? I’m
going to start calling you Scaredy-Kat!”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I replied, rolling my eyes. Did I mention that Daniel
also thinks he’s the king of practical jokes?

I suddenly remembered what my brother was
supposed
to be doing. “Dad
asked you to find Killer. Where is he?”

“I didn’t have to find him.” Daniel snickered. “He was never lost.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“I stuck Killer in the basement,” he said proudly. “While you were hanging
around on the porch, I ran in through the side door and hid under the sink.”

“You really are a big rat!” I exclaimed.

I heard a funny tap-tapping on the linoleum floor. “What’s that noise?” I
asked.

Daniel’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, no, it’s a real rat!” he shrieked. “Kat,
look out! Move!”

Without thinking, I jumped on to a kitchen chair as… Killer came
trotting into the kitchen.

Daniel let out a high-pitched laugh. “Twice on the same trick!” He was very
pleased with himself.

I dove at my brother, ready to tickle him. “Prepare to die laughing!” I
yelled.

“Stop! Help! No!” he gulped. “Kat, please. Stop, please. I… can’t… take… it!”

“Give up?” I asked.

Daniel nodded. “Yes!” he half-gasped, half-laughed.

“All right,” I said generously. “You can get up now.”

“Thanks!” he said. “Hey, what’s Killer doing over there?”

“No way. I’m not falling for another one of your tricks,” I declared.

But when I glanced over, the cocker spaniel did seem very interested in
something inside the sink cabinet I’d left open.

He pulled it out, then sniffed. Pushed it with his nose and gave a
head-tossing growl.

That’s weird, I thought. Killer
never
growls.

“What do you have there, boy?” I called to him.

The dog didn’t even look up.

Sniff, sniff, sniff… growl.

I leaned in for a closer view.

“What is it, Kat?” Daniel asked.

“Nothing much,” I answered casually. “Just an old sponge, I think.”

Sniff, sniff, sniff… growl.

It seemed perfectly ordinary—small, round, and light brown. A little bigger
than an egg.

But the sponge had Killer all excited and nervous. The dog danced around it,
barking and growling.

I snatched the sponge from him to get a better look. And my sweet dog tried
to bite me!

“Killer!” I yelled. “Bad boy!”

He slunk to a corner. And with an embarrassed howl, he lay his head down
sadly on his paws.

I held the sponge up close to my face, to study it better.

Whoa! Wait a minute!

I suddenly understood Killer’s strange behavior.

“Daniel—check it out!” I exclaimed. “Wow! I don’t BELIEVE this!”

“Huh? What is it, Kat?” Daniel cried.

I stared in shock at the tiny sponge.

“Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me,” I muttered. “It’s totally weird!”

“Come on, Kat,” Daniel insisted. “What is it?”

I studied the sponge some more. “Wow!” I gasped. My eyes weren’t fooling me.

The round sponge moved in my hand, gently and slowly, in and out, in and out
in a lazy rhythm.

As if it were breathing!

But sponges don’t breathe. Do they?

This one sure did!

I could even hear its little breaths:
Whoa-ahhh, whoa-ahhh.

“Daniel! I don’t think this is just a sponge,” I stammered. “I think it’s
alive!” I tossed it back into the sink cabinet. I admit it. I felt a little
scared.

My brother put his hands on his hips. “That’s a pretty lame joke,” he
snickered.

“But, Daniel—” I started.

“You can’t get me with that one, Kat. It’s an old sponge,” he insisted,
grinning. “A dirty old sponge that’s probably been here for a hundred years.”

“All right, don’t believe me!” I exclaimed. “When I’m famous for discovering
this thing, I won’t tell them you’re my brother.”

Mom walked by, carrying an armload of winter coats. I knew that she would
believe me.

“Mom!” I yelled. “The sponge! It’s alive!”

“That’s nice, dear,” she murmured. “Only a few more things to bring in. Now,
where did I put that box of silverware?”

My mother acted as if she didn’t even hear me! “Mom,” I started again, even
louder this time. “The sponge! Under the sink! It’s breathing!”

She ignored me and kept walking through the kitchen and right out the screen
door into the backyard.

Nobody
cared about my amazing find.

Except for Killer. He seemed really interested.

Maybe too interested.

Killer bent his neck down low, poked his head into the cabinet, gave the
sponge a long stare—and growled, deep in his throat.

Grrrr. Grrrr.

Why was he growling again?

Killer touched his wet nose to the sponge. He shoved it around, sniffing and
sniffing. He gazed up at me for a moment, a puzzled expression on his dog face.

Grrrr. Grrrr.

Killer opened his mouth and grabbed the sponge in his teeth.

“Hey, that’s not lunch!” I yelped, grabbing Killer by his collar and yanking
him out from under the sink. “That could be a very important discovery.”