I slide my index finger up my left nostril and wriggle it around. I can feel a sticky lump of snot in the highest corner. It is clinging on for dear life, not wanting to be stolen by my pointer. I scrape with my nail, trying to prise it free. It is a stubborn booger, this one.
But I will get it.
Always do.
Always have.
I am the nose-picking king.
The booger surrenders and is taken hostage by my finger. I pull it out and examine it. It is nice and green. Just the way I like it.
I give it the ‘stick test’ by rolling it between my pointer and thumb. Then I gently pull my fingers apart. It stretches beautifully, like a mini ball of tree sap.
But I am not going to eat it.
Never do.
Never have.
I am the snot-collecting king. I like to call it snot-piling.
I stop stretching the goo and roll it into a tight ball. My younger brother, Tommy, would eat the booger if he had the chance. He is always munching his own mucus. He doesn’t appreciate the sophisticated art of growing a prized snot collection.
But I do.
The bed creaks as I lean over the edge. I add the piece of gunk to the enormous booger ball stuck beneath the wooden slats that support my mattress. I press it firmly to the underside, building on three years’ worth of snot-piling.
By adding a little booger to the ball each day, I have created a masterpiece. The lump of snot is now bigger than a basketball.
I run my fingers over the slimy sphere of snot. I notice a few dry patches, so I will have to be sure to add fresh boogers in the coming days. Maintaining the correct moisture levels is super-important. Otherwise the giant ball will lose its stickiness.
But it moves.
My heart freezes.
Did it really just wriggle like that? Can giant balls of snot move on their own?
I lean further over the edge and peer beneath my bed. I spot an old sneaker, an empty can of cola, my missing surf magazine and a dead cockroach.
But there is no snot ball.
It has vanished.
I hear something squelch in my wardrobe. It sounds like a wet rubber glove expanding and compressing. Something is breathing inside my wardrobe.
‘Tommy, is that you?’
The wardrobe door is ajar. I can see two green eyes glowing in the dark. The eyes lock onto mine and narrow in pure hatred. It is not Tommy. It is the snot collection.
I slide off my bed and edge towards the wardrobe. Perhaps I can trap the gunk inside. But the door suddenly bursts open and the giant ball tries to bite my leg. I jump away just in time.
The bed booger snarls at me. It jumps at my head but I duck. It sticks to the wall behind me and screams in snotty anger.
My bedroom door is open so I dash outside and slam it shut as fast as I can.
I can hear the bed booger crashing around inside my bedroom. I have made it even angrier. It smashes into the closed door from the other side. I press my body against it to stop it from opening.
The handle starts to turn. I grab it with both hands and hold it as tightly as I can.
The bed booger is screeching in furious rage. What does it want? Why is it so angry? Why is it alive?!
It slams itself against the door one more time and then there is silence.
I press my ear against the door and listen. I can’t hear anything. Not even breathing.
Do I dare look inside?
I wait a few moments. It is still quiet in my bedroom.
I turn the handle and slowly open the door.
The bedroom window is open and the curtains are blowing in the breeze. Has the lump of snot escaped outside?
A window breaks upstairs and there is a wet thump on the floor.
‘Tommy, get out of the house!’
My brother doesn’t respond. Last I checked, he was in his bedroom, which is next to mine. I hope he is safe.
The bed booger is sloshing and bumping around upstairs. It stops directly over my head. A tiny dollop of green snot drops between the floorboards and lands on my face. Before I can do anything, it scurries across my cheek and darts into my nostril.
I try to pick it out with my finger, but it has disappeared too far inside my nose. It feels like it is biting the inside of my head. It is attacking my brains.
‘Ouch! Help!’
The bed booger hears my cry and bumps quickly over the floorboards to the top of the stairs. It looks down at me with furious green eyes. It roars in rage.
‘Leave me alone!’ I yell.
The inside of my nose is aching. The bed booger stares at my nostrils. It wants to get back inside my head. It wants to eat my brains out.
I clench my fists. ‘Go away!’
The booger moves quickly. It jumps down six stairs in a single, slimy leap. It lands with a splat and lets out a wicked laugh.
I turn to run.
I can hear the booger ball raging after me. It snaps at my feet.
It trips me over.
Spinning and cartwheeling, I land flat on my back at the end of the hallway. It has me cornered.
The bed booger sneers and jumps onto my chest. It presses against my ribs. It is hard to breathe.
A slimy arm extends from the ball and points at my nose. It slithers like a python, ready to pounce on its prey.
The arm slides cruelly into my nostril and snakes its way towards my brain.
Munch!
The beg booger shrieks and the arm retreats out of my nostril.
Munch!
It shrieks again and retreats from my chest.
I raise my head off the floor and see Tommy standing over the booger. He is chewing greedily and licking his lips. ‘Delicious!’
The booger is cowering away from Tommy, but he picks it up in both arms and takes another bite. ‘Yum!’
I want to puke.
I knew Tommy liked eating his own boogers, but this is ridiculous. He is saving me from certain death by eating my boogers.
My brain suddenly stops aching. A small piece of snot escapes out of my nose and races along the floor, but Tommy traps it with his foot. ‘I’ll save you for later,’ he says, biting the main prize again.
Eventually, Tommy sits down next to me, cradling his bulging stomach. ‘What a feast,’ he says.
‘You are one hundred per cent disgusting,’ I say. ‘But I owe you. You saved my life.’
Tommy burps. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’ I say.
‘Of course,’ says Tommy. He puts his pinkie finger into his ear and jiggles it around. He retrieves a small piece of earwax and examines it. ‘I don’t like this stuff. Never have.’
He flicks it away and it rolls underneath his bedroom door.
There is a low rumble inside his room. The door creaks open and two yellow eyes glow angrily from inside. A giant earwax ball is staring out at us.
I stand up and help Tommy off the floor.
‘What do we do now?’ says Tommy, looking nervously at the wax lump.
‘That’s easy,’ I say. ‘RUUUUUUUNNNNNNN!!’
