“Stay in the back room,” hissed Mrs. Mushpit to Kat and Levi.
Both Mushpits shuffled to the door and opened it.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Mushpit.”
“Hello, Braxton. Walter. Marybeth,” said Mrs. Mushpit. “To what do we owe this visit?”
Kat crept to the side window and peeked outside.
“Can you see anything?” whispered Levi.
Kat went pale. “Uh, nothing,” she said quickly. “Just some neighbors.”
Levi peered over her shoulder. He saw three people on the Mushpits’ front walk. His heart jumped as he recognized Mr. Lowe and Mrs. Palmer. The third was a man who looked vaguely familiar.
“I told you already,” Mrs. Mushpit was saying, “they’re our grandchildren. They arrived last night.”
“You said they arrived this morning!” barked Mr. Lowe.
“If so, I misspoke,” said Mrs. Mushpit. “Regardless, they’ve been with me and Emmet the entire time. They most certainly are not your home invaders.”
“We still must speak with them,” said the vaguely familiar man.
“Can’t,” said Mrs. Mushpit. “They’ve gone back to Nagspeake.”
The man pulled some papers from his briefcase. “Fine. But that’s not the only reason we’re here.”
“Oh? Well, I hope you’re not after my famous apple coffee cake. Emmet polished that off last night.”
“We’re here on behalf of the Cowslip Grove Homeowners’ Association. As president, it’s my duty to inform you that you’ve violated several bylaws. Let’s start with your yard. The plants—”
“Lovely this time of year, aren’t they?”
“—do not meet our standards. There’s a list of plants acceptable for yard display. These include tulips, marigolds, and three types of tasteful shrubs.”
“Bah! Bush league!”
“And your house,” said the man. “It’s an eyesore. It’s covered in ivy. Again, a clear violation of HOA guidelines.”
“We’ve lived here long before those blasted guidelines were set in place by dull-witted suburbanites with too much time on their hands!” ranted Mrs. Mushpit.
The man was still calm, but his face reddened and filled with terrible anger. “Mrs. Mushpit, you don’t have a choice.”
Levi recognized him now. He’d seen him just yesterday—chasing Kat across his lawn, screaming threats and curses.
“Remember,” continued Mr. Bombard, “that I’m also the County Representative and Town Supervisor. Follow the rules, or you’ll be evicted.”
“It’s our home!” sputtered Mr. Mushpit. “You can’t evict us!”
“Legally we can,” said Mr. Bombard. He closed his briefcase and turned to leave, adding, “You have two weeks to get your property up to code.”
Mr. Lowe and Mrs. Palmer nodded approvingly and followed him back to the road.
The Mushpits closed the door and shuffled back inside.
“We try to open their minds,” spat Mrs. Mushpit, “help them see the real world beyond their yards, and for what? To be attacked and belittled!” She suddenly looked impossibly old and tired. “It’s no wonder the Boojum can live among them and snitch their children without them even noticing. And Braxton Bombard is the worst of them all. A cruel, shallow bully.”
Levi watched Kat from the corner of his eye. She had her arms behind her back to hide her trembling hands.
“Let it go, Olga,” said Mr. Mushpit.
“No, I will not let it go, Emmet! We were better off when the world was wild. The old monsters knew how to keep people in shape.”
“Olga, please!”
“Let the Boojum take ’em all! Especially that two-faced warthog Braxton Bombard!”
Kat turned, stalked across the room, and disappeared out the back door.
“He’s her father, Olga. Remember?” said Mr. Mushpit quietly.
“Ah, yes,” said Mrs. Mushpit. “Seems my tongue is looser than an eel in a stork’s gullet.”
Levi stepped out the back door. Kat was sitting on the porch, picking at the splintered wood.
“You okay?”
Silence.
Somewhere in the overgrowth, a cicada trilled.
He sat down beside her and drummed his fingers on the wood.
In the garden, a katydid rasped.
“Getting chilly,” he said. He’d noticed Kat’s arms were shaking. He pulled off his jacket and offered it to her. “I don’t need this. I got a sweater underneath.”
Cicada trilled.
Katydid rasped.
Kat took the jacket and slid her arms into it.
Levi plucked at a vine that was twining up from between the wooden planks. “I’m sure your dad’s a nice guy once you get to know him.”
Cicada trilled.
Katydid rasped.
Cricket chirped.
“I haven’t seen my dad for a long time,” he added. “Don’t even have his number.” He twirled the stray vine around his finger and wondered how far the Boojum’s power reached. Would his dad remember him? Did it matter?
The back door squealed open. Levi jumped, and the vine between his fingers snapped.
“Are you kids hungry?” asked Mr. Mushpit. “We’re making sandwiches.”
“Thank you,” said Levi, tucking the severed vine into his pocket before Mr. Mushpit could see it.
“Wait,” said Kat when Mr. Mushpit turned to leave. “We never talked about our next step. How do we fight the Boojum?”
Mr. Mushpit paused. “The next step is getting you two as far from Cowslip Grove as we can.”
“That’s your big plan?” said Kat. “To run away? But our families are here!”
Mr. Mushpit’s face quivered. He was struggling for words.
“Mrs. Mushpit is right,” he said at last. “Perhaps the world needs monsters. But the Boojum . . . there’s something not right about the Boojum. The way it takes people, leaves no trace, no memories.
“Perhaps that’s less painful than the alternative. But sorrow, grief . . . that’s part of what makes you human. Taking it all away, it’s like plucking the wings off a butterfly and setting it free again.” He sighed. “I guess that’s why Olga and I want to do something. We just don’t always know what that something should be.”
Cicada trilled.
Katydid rasped.
Cricket chirped.
A stomach growled. Levi wondered if it had been his own stomach.
“We’ll talk more over lunch.”
Mr. Mushpit shuffled back inside.
Levi and Kat sat on the porch a bit longer, listening to the insects and watching the garden.