It was 6:45 p.m. Lewis was on the porch and trading stares with an oak. The air was warm, a chorus of crickets was chirping, and the fumes from a barbecue were making him faint with hunger. All in all, the atmosphere was tranquil, but he was feeling … lousy.
Never mind that Ms. Widget had kept him after school and had forced him to write five hundred lines on the board — “I apologize for my rude and ungrateful behaviour.” And never mind that Mrs. Gibson had cooked a ghastly meal — meat loaf and potato peels — as a quick peek in the kitchen had revealed. It was really the silent phone that had him down in the dumps.
How was it possible? he kept asking himself How could lightning strike a household twice? First, his mother had vanished without trace, and now his father had fallen off the face of the planet? Was fate bent on wiping the Castormans out?
A curtain stirred. Mrs. Gibson. She had been looking very anxious all evening, while Mr. Todrey had gone walking to settle his nerves.
Lewis sighed. He would wait until 7:00 p.m., at which point he would report his missing dad to the police. How would they respond? Would a car appear with a pair of detectives who would ask lots of questions and search his dad’s belongings? Would the neighbours stand outside their doors, the parents clutching their kids, and shake their heads in consternation and mutter they had always known there was something weird about that house? And would a hard-faced woman knock at the door, drenched in Grumpel’s Number Four Perfume, and conduct him to an orphanage now that both his parents were missing?
His chest felt hollow. His tongue was all shrivelled. Would he be forced to leave? Would he see Alfonse? And what would the two tenants do?
The phone rang. His heart exploded. Racing inside, he pounced on the receiver. “Hello?”
“Are you watching the news?” Alfonse cried. Adelaide was playing the piano in the background.
“I’m waiting for my dad to call,” Lewis groaned. “He still —”
“Turn the TV on! Go to Channel 14!”
“I’m going to phone the police —”
“Hurry! You’ll miss it otherwise!”
Hanging up, Lewis engaged the TV. He gasped when he saw his face filling the screen.
“Is it true,” the reporter from the bank was asking, “that you opened a vault with a paper clip, wire, and a stick of chewing gum?”
“Yes,” his TV twin replied, “but it was no big deal.”
He had been so worried about his father that he had forgotten the bank. How odd he seemed in front of the camera, with the firemen and cops scurrying all over. His pride quickened. That was him on TV — Lewis Seymour Castorman! How many locksmiths, let alone kids, could open an XPJ using such basic equipment? He was pretty smart, wasn’t he?
“Where did you learn to pick locks like that?”
“My dad’s a locksmith. He taught me lots of stuff.”
At this mention of his father, Lewis instantly deflated. So he had opened an XPJ — big deal. His father was missing. Something dreadful was wrong. As the reporter jabbered on about Lewis’s great achievement, he frowned and switched the TV off. It was time to call the police, no matter what, even if it meant sleeping in an orphanage that evening. His hand reached out to pick up the receiver when the phone started ringing a second time.
“Alfonse,” Lewis said, “I can’t speak now —”
“Is this Lewis Castorman?” a low, commanding voice inquired.
“Oh. Sorry. This is Lewis. Who’s speaking please?”
“This is Ernst K. Grumpel, CEO of Grumpel Chemicals.”
Lewis was thunderstruck. Ernst K. Grumpel? Why would he be calling? Elizabeth must have told him about his stunt with the chairs. It wasn’t enough that his father was missing, but now he was in trouble with the chemist, as well!
“Are you there?” Grumpel rasped.
“Yes, sir. And about this afternoon, I’m afraid your daughter and I —”
“Yes, quite,” the chemist rumbled. “An accident, I’m sure. Now see here, Lewis. I saw your story on TV, and to be frank, young man, I’m deeply impressed. Your work today was, simply put, outstanding.”
“In fact, I was telling your father —”
“My father? You saw my father?”
“Of course. He’s been working here these past few days, and I was telling him —”
“Can I speak to him?”
“Unfortunately, he’s tied up now. But why don’t you visit me in New York City tomorrow? I have a proposition to make, and afterward you can talk to your father.”
“Great!” Lewis cried, his fingers shaking with excitement.
“Excellent. A car will pick you up at 8:00 a.m. And don’t worry about school — I’ll arrange everything with Mr. Winbag. All right?”
“That’s fantastic! I mean, thank you very much. And tell my dad —”
But the chemist had hung up already.
For a moment Lewis was at a loss — a minute earlier there had been no hope, whereas now … He whooped and turned a cartwheel in the living room, scattering a pile of books in the process. Mrs. Gibson hurried in from the kitchen and asked if he had been in touch with his father. Turning another cartwheel and upsetting a plant, Lewis explained that his father was fine and that Mr. Grumpel had invited him to New York City. With one final cartwheel, which knocked a picture off its hook, he ran to the phone to tell Alfonse the good news.
Mrs. Gibson reached it first. With a cry of panic she ripped it from the wall. A moment later she was scrambling all over, closing windows, locking the front door, and drawing curtains that hadn’t been dusted in ages. And as soon as she had bolted the door in the kitchen, she returned to the living room with a spatula in hand.
“I knew something was wrong,” she said. “But this is worse than I imagined!”
“You don’t understand,” Lewis explained, not knowing what to make of her behaviour. “Mr. Grumpel said my father’s —”
“He’s laying a trap! Your life is in danger!”
Lewis laughed. “That’s ridiculous! Why would Grumpel —”
“He’s after something! Believe me, I know!”
“Let’s discuss this over supper,” Lewis suggested, even as he cringed at the smells in the kitchen. “As soon as we’ve eaten, you’ll feel a lot calmer.”
“I’ll make you understand!” she announced in a tone that was different from her normal way of speaking. She raised her hands, and in one brusque motion snatched her bright orange hair away — so her curls had been a mop all along! As Lewis’s mouth dropped open in shock, she pulled a rag from her apron pocket and gave her face a couple of scrubs, wiping off the talcum powder to disclose a greenish-brown and scaly skin beneath.
As hard as Lewis tried to speak, not a word would come out.
She wasn’t done yet. Biting down on the finger of one glove, she removed its rubber to reveal a … flipper. Her gloves off, she wrestled with the ring on her neck until it loosened with a sucking sound and her face collapsed and was no longer human. Long it was and saggy and brown, as if she were … an oversized frog!
Lewis ran for the door.
“Lewis! Wait!” the creature pleaded, plodding after him.
The thermal lock — why wouldn’t it open?
“Lewis! Please! Let me explain!”
The giant creature was three feet away, with a long tongue dangling between its jaws. As it tried to grab Lewis, the thermal lock jumped open and he rolled past the door with half a second to spare. Scrambling across the porch, he jumped to his freedom.
Only to knock into a lurking figure.
“Mr. Todrey! Run!” he yelled, crashing into the tenant, who dropped an armload of books. “That isn’t Mrs. Gibson, but —”
“Gibiwink!” Mr. Todrey growled, spying the creature. “What’s going on?”
“Just run!” Lewis cried. “Wait! Did you call this creature Gibiwink?”
Mr. Todrey grabbed Lewis and hurled him inside. Dropping him onto the living-room couch, he seized “Gibiwink” by the apron strings. “What’s going on?” he thundered.
“Grumpel called!” Gibiwink whimpered. “He’s invited Lewis to New York City.”
Mr. Todrey’s mouth dropped open, and he let out a shriek. An instant later he was leaping around the house and checking that all the doors and windows were locked. In his panic he didn’t duck when he drew near the kitchen, and there was a painful crash as his head struck the lintel. The impact shook his moustache free — the skin beneath was brown and scaly.
Mr. Todrey was an alien, too!
Despite his panic, Lewis struggled to his feet. “Mr. Todrey” was sprawled on the floor, and “Mrs. Gibson” was leaning over him. Neither of them noticed as Lewis stole to the door, fiddled with the lock, and —
“Lewis!” Gibiwink cried. “Todrus is bleeding! Could you get me a cloth?”
“Oh, my head,” Todrus moaned. “Is it bad, Gibiwink?”
“Bad enough. Lewis, please, we could really use that cloth.”
Lewis studied them from his place by the exit. Despite their strange, horrific appearance, he couldn’t help but notice how gentle they seemed. In fact, far from being scary, both were shaking with terror. Against his better judgment, Lewis entered the kitchen. With a trembling hand he took a towel from the dish rack, soaked it in water, and approached the pair.
“Here,” he said quietly, shuddering as he took them in — wartish, slimy, and dumpy they were, with close-set eyes, enormous mouths …
“Thanks,” Gibiwink murmured, pressing the cloth against Todrus’s skull.
“That’s better,” Todrus sighed. “Now if the two of you could help me to the couch …”
Feeling he had no choice in the matter, Lewis helped Todrus to his feet. It wasn’t easy. The tenant weighed four hundred pounds and was reeling still from the effects of his collision. When they dropped him onto the couch, all three of them were panting.
“I’m sorry if we startled you,” the former Mr. Todrey said, the towel pressed against his cut. “Let us introduce ourselves. I’m Todrus, and he’s Gibiwink. He’s a male, like me.”
“A pleasure, Lewis,” Gibiwink said.
“L-likewise,” Lewis quavered.
Todrus sighed. “And you’re owed an explanation. You want to know what giant, talking frogs are doing in your living room, right?”
“Uh, well, yes.”
“You’ve heard of Yellow Swamp in Alberta, Canada?”
Lewis nodded. Who hadn’t heard of Yellow Swamp? It had suffered a chemical spill the year before and had been damaged beyond all hope of recognition. According to newspaper reports, the region was so strange and unstable that no one dared go anywhere near it. At the same time, a year before the spill had taken place, the Castormans had actually camped in Yellow Swamp. His mother had known about it because she had grown up in Alberta.
“We lived there,” Todrus said, “before the ‘accident’ happened. We were ordinary wood frogs then, tiny creatures that didn’t speak any English —”
“Until they came,” Gibiwink broke in.
Todrus nodded. “That’s right. One morning, without warning, three helicopters landed near Yellow Swamp. A group of big, masked men emerged — one look at them and we knew they meant serious business. An unmasked woman appeared, as well, and following her commands, these figures set to work opening boxes and taking things over.”
“The noise!” Gibiwink complained. “Before their arrival our swamp was peaceful, but they started digging trenches and laying pipes in the soil.”
“Days they toiled,” Todrus agreed. “Drilling, digging, cutting, welding, as if the swamp were theirs to treat as they pleased. At one point one of them just about killed us. He was drilling near our log and would have cut us to pieces. Luckily, that woman was watching him closely and saved us in the nick of time.”
“She fed us after that,” Gibiwink added. “Each morning she’d leave us crumbs from her breakfast.”
“And she was always singing,” Todrus mused, “from the moment she got up until late in the evening.”
A car passed and cast its lights in the room. Quick as thought, the frogs hit the floor. They hissed at him to hide, as well, but Lewis approached the window and glanced outside. “It’s the Pangettis. They’re coming home from work.”
“We’re jumpy since the accident,” Gibiwink explained.
“The accident,” Todrus groaned, regaining his place on the couch, “happened three weeks after their arrival. The woman had put on a diving suit and was inspecting the pipes that had been laid in the swamp. The masked men took advantage of her absence. While she was swimming beneath the surface, they climbed into the helicopters and abandoned her — the thugs!”
“One helicopter climbed above the swamp,” Gibiwink continued, his voice low and full of sadness. “A door slid open, and two figures appeared. Without wasting time they shoved a stone overboard — huge it was, about the size I am now, only brilliantly coloured and shaped like an egg. It plunged into the middle of the swamp. The other two helicopters sprayed a bright yellow dust, which hung above the swamp like an old, shabby curtain. That’s when everything started to change.”
“Change?” Lewis asked.
Todrus shuddered. “Yes. Just minutes after the dust broke out, the swamp turned orange and started to boil. At the same time a fog rose up — a red-brown gas you could have cut with a knife — and covered the sky as if it were evening. It was the strangest sight I’ve ever seen.”
“More important,” Gibiwink added, “that’s when we transformed. I mean, one moment we were wood frogs, small and stupid-looking; then a bolt of lightning struck and … everything made sense. I mean, both of us could think and even speak the odd word.”
“And we were growing,” Todrus said. “We’d tripled in size.”
The frogs swallowed hard.
Lewis cleared his throat. “What about the woman?”
Todrus gulped. “When she surfaced from the swamp and spied the bright orange water and the bank of fog, she was frightened and kept her diving suit on. She also screamed when she saw that the helicopters were gone. At the same time she was standing in this reddish foam — a lot like a bubble bath only it seemed to be breathing. As she tried to make her way onto the shore, these suds grabbed hold of her and … and wouldn’t let go.”
“We tried to save her,” Gibiwink moaned. “Even though the swamp was boiling, we rowed our log toward her …”
“But we scared her,” Todrus said. “We were five feet tall and growing still, and how could she know we wanted to help? We understood English, from having heard it spoken, but could barely speak a word just then. Eventually, with signals, we explained ourselves. When she finally grabbed our flippers, it was too late. As hard as we pulled, the suds wouldn’t free her. They were past her shoulders and —”
The frogs fell silent. They were clearly upset. To allow them time to recover their spirits, Lewis glanced outside and exchanged stares with the moon. He was thinking the world was … precarious. His mother was gone. His dad was in danger. Yellow Swamp had been turned into a wasteland. And now there were talking giant frogs to deal with. What was happening? Why was everything so upside down?
“Where were we?” Todrus asked.
“The woman,” Lewis prodded him, “she was trapped in the suds?”
“She realized it was useless,” Todrus continued, “and urged us to leave before the swamp sucked us under. At the same time she asked for one last favour. She motioned to a locket around her neck and begged us to take it to her son in Mason Springs — in the United States of America, she explained. We were to tell him and her husband how she had died in Yellow Swamp, and that … that she loved them both with all her heart. No sooner had we grabbed the locket than the earth shook violently and the suds —”
“No!” Gibiwink declared. “Before she vanished she managed to yell, ‘This is Ernst K. Grumpel’s doing! Be careful, or he’ll kill you, too!’ And then she was gone.”
“After that,” Todrus whispered, “we had various adventures, which I won’t go into. The point is, we left Canada and made our way down here, where we tracked that woman’s family down, disguised as Mr. Todrey and Mrs. Gibson.”
“Y-you mean …” Lewis stammered, putting two and two together.
“Yes,” Todrus said, “that woman was none other than your mother.”
Lewis’s head reeled. So his mother hadn’t simply disappeared. According to these frogs, she had been brutally murdered! All her love and kindness and wisdom — someone had deliberately smashed these to pieces!
No, not someone. Ernst K. Grumpel.
Todrus held up a golden locket. “Look!”
Seizing it, Lewis pried its cover open. Inside was a family portrait. Lewis instantly recalled the occasion: his family had been vacationing in Montreal and had stopped off in a photo booth where this picture had been taken. Blind to the future, the three of them were smiling.
“When your father heard our story,” Todrus continued, “he invited us to live with you. He knew Grumpel might otherwise hunt us down to keep his antics in Yellow Swamp a secret.”
Lewis nodded. Studying the picture, he felt hot and cold at once. He was the son of someone who had been ruthlessly killed, and this piece of information changed his place in the world.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” he asked in a voice that sounded like paper being crinkled.
“Who would have believed us?” Todrus asked. “It was our word against Grumpel’s, the world’s most powerful businessman.”
“We’d have wound up in jail,” Gibiwink added, “if Grumpel hadn’t gotten to us first.”
Lewis’s head was spinning. He had so many questions. Why hadn’t his father taken action against Grumpel? Why was he working for the man who had killed his wife? What was he supposed to do when Grumpel’s car drove him to the city the next day?
“That’s enough for now,” Todrus said, understanding Lewis’s confusion. “It’s late and we should eat something. Let’s discuss our plans over a nice hot supper.”
“Good idea,” Gibiwink said. “There’s nothing like my meat loaf to set a person’s thinking straight!”