What’s that? A weird, gurgling noise is coming from the shower. I walk over to the clear-glass door and open it. Everything looks okay. I don’t smell anything, either.
I bend all the way over until my face is next to the drain, and that’s when I pick up just a trace of something—
CLAAAANG!
The drain cover flies off. Before I know what’s happening, long, spaghetti-like tentacles explode through the hole and wrap themselves around my head! Instinctively, I lunge backward, but they tighten and force my face to the floor. I feel them squeezing me, cutting off the circulation to my brain. In a desperate move, I put my hands on the floor and do the longest, most painful push-up of my life. The tentacles stretch, and an instant later, my head is free. I rocket backward, collapsing against the shower wall.
But just when I think it’s over, four small, smelly creatures crawl out of the drain.
They’re disgusting. I mean really disgusting. They look like squishy bowling balls with party streamers for legs. I jump to my feet and try to run, but a web of spidery tentacles clutches my kneecaps. There’s a sudden yank, and I go crashing against the side of a tall wooden cabinet, toppling it to the floor. The creatures swarm me like bees.
Quickly, I reach behind me and feel something cool and dangerous—Big Joe’s hammer. I swing wild, but get lucky. The hammer head connects with one of the jelly-beasts, sending it flying against a laundry hamper.
“Sully! Sully!”
It’s Big Joe. He’s pounding on the bathroom door, but the overturned cabinet is wedged against it. Before I can say anything, a squish-monster attaches itself to my face. Ewwwwwww! It smells like the inside of a bait bucket. I pry it loose and fling the thing into the sink. Then I bring the hammer down.
Unfortunately, the sucker is as quick as it is ugly. It moves, and I whack the shiny, chrome faucet instead. A tall stream of water gushes into the air. Swatting like an insane carpenter, I chase the three remaining creatures back into the shower.
The silver hammer is nothing but a blur as I take out two showerheads, some Italian tiles, and an innocent soap dish. I must have broken a couple of pipes because water is flooding the bathroom floor. Everywhere I look, there are bouncing blobs and tentacles striking at me like snakes. I lose my balance and fall through the shower door, shattering it into a million pieces.
“Sully!”
That’s weird… I hear Big Joe’s voice, but it seems strange and far away. Everything does. It’s almost as if the world outside this room has disappeared, and nothing is left but me and the squishees. I don’t know, maybe it’s the fear, or the anger, or my possible concussion, but all of a sudden I feel different—like someone just connected a loose wire in my brain. Without thinking, I snatch a floating screwdriver out of the water and hurl it through the air. It spins a dozen times before nailing one of the blobs to the wall. I snag a second creature in a bath towel, and slingshot it against the ceiling.
That means there’s just one monster left—and it’s streaking right toward me. Moving on instinct, I roll out of the way, grab the toilet plunger, and bat the thing like Babe Ruth hitting a homer. The blast splatters it against the back of the toilet, and it ricochets into the bowl.
Quickly, I slam the lid down, and leap on top of it.
A few seconds later, the overturned cabinet scoots across the wet tiles, and Big Joe and Izzy come bursting through the door. I don’t know what they’re thinking, but I know what they see: spewing water pipes, broken fixtures, shattered glass, and a crazed thirteen-year-old standing on a toilet seat with a bath towel cape and a mighty plunger raised in triumph.
“Smile,” Izzy says.
Then she points her phone, and clicks.
