Stork Eaters, Moa Weevils, and Monster Ants

“DO YOU REMEMBER yesterday when Doctor Proctor said first ‘sock thief’ and then ‘speech impediment’?” Lisa asked during recess. She and Nilly were standing on top of a snowdrift in the schoolyard and gazing down at the other kids, who were excitedly discussing Hallvard Tenorsen and Funny Voices. “And yesterday my parents said ‘teasher’ instead of ‘teacher.’ And ‘vee’ instead of ‘we.’ Doesn’t that seem like a speech impediment?”

“That could just be a coincidence,” Nilly said. “Maybe they just couldn’t quite make the sounds right for whatever reason. Like they were having an off day or something, you know.”

“But think about it,” Lisa said. “Haven’t you noticed that in the last few days, almost everyone has started saying ‘sh’ when they should be saying ‘ch’?”

Nilly thought about it.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, “actually, my mom did ask me to pick up some ‘sheddar sheese’ at the store. And my sister called me a ‘chrimp’ instead of a shrimp.”

“But that’s the other way around.”

“My sister isn’t normal.”

“And one other thing,” Lisa said. “Do you know what they said on the news last night?”

“That in a global poll, women had selected Nilly as man of the year?” Nilly suggested helpfully.

“No. That people have been losing more socks than usual.”

“Oh no,” Nilly said. “Sock thieves. You think . . . ?”

“I think something’s happening, Nilly. And I think Doctor Proctor knows something he’s not telling us.”

“Quit scaring me, Lisa.”

“I can feel it, Nilly! That thing with the missing O on the school banner, the wet sock footprints. What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to have to tell an adult.”

“But the adults are the ones talking about ‘sheddar sheese’ and traveler’s ‘shecks’ and ‘sharitable’ contributions. Can we really trust them?”

Nilly scratched his burnsides. Sorry, his sideburns.

“Doctor Proctor,” Nilly said. “He still says ‘cheese’ the normal way.”

“And whenever we ask him what’s going on, he talks his way out of it,” Lisa sighed. “Nilly, we’re going to have to figure this out by ourselves. Let’s start at the beginning, with the invisible thing that tracked wet footprints into school.”

“Hm,” Nilly said. “Maybe it’s time we did a little research. And of course the place to start whenever creatures are involved is A.Y.W.D.E., Animals You Wish Didn’t Exist.”

Lisa nodded. A.Y.W.D.E. Animals You Wish Didn’t Exist. That was the title of a six-hundred-page book that Nilly claimed was largely written by his grandfather.

AFTER SCHOOL, NILLY and Lisa raced back to Cannon Avenue.

“I have the book up in my room,” Nilly said, turning around when he sensed that Lisa had stopped following him and was just standing out there on the front steps.

She had just realized that she had never been inside Nilly’s house, even though they lived right across the street from each other.

“Come on,” Nilly whispered.

She hesitantly stepped in the front door. She assumed Nilly was whispering because he wasn’t actually allowed to have people over, and although she’d never asked him, that fit with the sense she’d always had. She supposed that was probably why she’d never bothered to ask. She had never wanted to come over here either. Nilly’s mother and sister were creepier than your average family. Lisa looked around and inhaled the scents. All homes smelled like something. Well, aside from her own, of course. But that must be the same for everyone, she thought. You just can’t perceive the scent of your own home. And Nilly’s house smelled like . . . well, what did it smell like actually? Cigarettes and perfume, maybe? It certainly didn’t smell the way Nilly smelled. He didn’t smell like anything, just a little like Nilly.

She took off her boots and followed Nilly on her tiptoes. She saw the living room—a TV and a sofa with a big picture of his sister and mother hanging over it. Then she darted upstairs after Nilly. She ducked into his room. The walls were light blue, covered with pictures of every superhero she’d ever heard of, plus a few she hadn’t heard of. A model of a glider was hanging from the ceiling on a string. Nilly was already lying on his bed, flipping through a book with a worn brown leather binding. It was almost as big as he was.

Lisa flopped down next to him.

“Let’s see,” Nilly said. “Sock thief.”

He browsed past the animals that started with M and N and O, and Lisa watched him flip past descriptions and drawings of animals she definitely wished didn’t exist. True, she wasn’t that sure they all did exist either. If Nilly’s grandfather really did write this book, it was possible that he was a little like his grandson in that he didn’t take the truth too seriously if it wasn’t funny enough.

They’d made it quite a way through the S entries. To “stork eater,” an animal that looked like a brick building with a mouth like a chimney, which was clearly meant to lure storks.

“Nothing about sock thieves in here,” Nilly said. “Let’s look up ‘speech impediments.’”

But there wasn’t anything listed under “speech impediments” either.

“Hm,” Nilly mused. “That’s a little disappointing.” Then he lit up. “On the other hand, if that creature isn’t an animal you wish didn’t exist, it can’t be that dangerous, can it?” He moved to close the book.

“Wait!” Lisa said. “Doctor Proctor said one more thing. He didn’t say the whole word, but it started with ‘moon.’” She concentrated so hard her hair curled. “Moonka something! He said ‘moonka.’”

Nilly flipped to the M entries.

“There’s an entry for ‘moa weevils,’” he said. “And ‘monster ants.’ But nothing about moonka.”

“Right there!” Lisa said, pointing to the entry after “monster ants.”

Nilly spelled his way through the creature’s long name: “M-O-O-N C-H-A-M-E-L-E-O-N.”

Lisa read aloud, as she felt her curly hair straighten itself right out, “Chamaeleonus lunaris. Habitat: The moon (and hopefully only there). Eats: Anything with meat on its body, preferably humans. And preferably in waffle form. Drinks: Blood and freshly steeped tea. Appearance: Unfortunately, there are no known descriptions, pictures, or sketches of this gruesome creature, because anyone who has seen a moon chameleon, well, it was probably the last thing they ever saw. But it is said that you can recognize the sound of a moon chameleon approaching. It is supposed to sound like a soft, dragging sound, like socks on a wood floor, and—”

“Shh!” Nilly interrupted.

They listened. And heard it. Something outside the door was approaching. A soft, dragging sound of . . .

“Get under the bed, quick!” Nilly whispered.

Lisa moved as fast as she could and as she darted underneath, she heard the door being flung open. And a voice barked, “I’m hungry!”

Lisa held her breath. Then she heard Nilly’s voice: “I’m just going to finish my homework first and then I’ll get started on dinner.”

And then a scoffing sound: “Homework? You know what happens to people who do too much homework? People just give them more homework!”

“I’ll be there soon, Mom. Just go back to bed, okay?”

“And no fork holes in the potatoes today, or you won’t get to have a birthday party.”

“I never get to have a birthday party, Mom.”

“Whatever.”

The door closed again.

Lisa waited and waited until she was sure the mom-monster wasn’t coming back. Then she crawled out. Nilly was lying on the bed, still with his turned-up nose buried in the book.

“Well?” she asked.

“It doesn’t look good,” Nilly said, without looking up from the book. He looked serious, more serious than Lisa had ever seen him look, more serious than a cemetery—no, than two cemeteries.

“Yeah, I heard,” Lisa said. “No birthday party.”

“I’m not talking about a party,” Nilly said, pointing at the book. “What’s at stake here is whether any of us will ever have another birthday. Or Christmas, for that matter.”

“Not . . . not Christmas,” Lisa repeated, hearing the tiny little tremor in her voice. Because even though Nilly joked around about a lot of things, he would never joke about Christmas. No matter what.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean that we’re looking at the end of the world,” Nilly said.