Don't Close Your Eyes! (9 page)

“Get him!
Get
him!”

Tara's shouts woke me from my sleep. I jumped up, gasping, my heart thudding in my chest.

I saw Inkweed rising up on the kitchen wall. Pushing my chair away, I dove for the toilet paper rolls.

Without a word, Nicky, Tara, and I rushed at Inkweed. And we began wiping the toilet paper over him. Dabbing frantically, wiping hard, rubbing the inky figure.

“It's working!” I cried. “It … it's
absorbing
him!”

Inkweed tried to dodge away. His wet, inky body slid one way, then the other against the wall.

But the two ghosts and I had him trapped.

I dove to the carton and tossed Nicky and Tara
more rolls. Then I leaped back to the wall and wiped furiously, wiped a whole roll against Inkweed's chest. Absorbing him … absorbing the hot, smelly ink.

We pressed roll after roll against him. The black ink soaked into the paper quickly.

We had to keep diving to the package and tossing more rolls to each other.

Inkweed squirmed and thrashed, ducked and dodged. But he couldn't escape.

We soaked him up. He never made a sound.

It took two dozen rolls. But the wall was clean.

No ink. No Inkweed!

Gasping for breath, Nicky, Tara, and I dropped to the kitchen floor. I gazed around. The floor was littered with ink-soaked toilet paper rolls. I had ink all over my hands, my arms, my clothes.

“We … did it,” I choked out in a breathless whisper.

“We absorbed him,” Tara said. She raised her hand to slap me a high five. But I was too weary to slap back.

I heard the ceiling creak above me.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “Someone is moving around upstairs.”

I jumped to my feet. “Quick. Help me carry all this toilet paper to the trash cans behind the garage.”

We tossed the inky rolls into a garbage bag and dragged it out to the back. Then I slumped into the kitchen, yawning.

“You saved our lives, Max!” Tara declared. “I'm so proud of you. You did it. You really did it.”

To my surprise, she threw her arms around me and gave me a hug that almost knocked me over.

“Yeah, thanks, dude,” Nicky said after Tara backed away. “We owe you one. Big-time.”

“You can thank me some more in the morning,” I said, yawning. “I'm going to bed now. And I'm going to sleep for hours and hours and hours.”

I started toward the kitchen doorway, and Mom burst through it in her bathrobe. “Max!” she cried. “You're up early!”

“Yeah. Well—” I started.

“And you're already dressed. Great!” Mom exclaimed. “Here. Take these eggs. Get some milk. You can help me make breakfast.”

She smiled at me. “Big day in school today? Is that why you're up so early?”

For the first time in my life, I didn't have an answer.