Chapter 5

“Maybe he’s homesick.”

It was five minutes to ten o’clock. The moon let off a hazy glow behind a curtain of leftover storm clouds. Spencer found Daisy in her backyard, leaning against the rickety tool shed in the dark. He had succeeded in sneaking past the Gates family dog, which usually came at him like it had missed a few meals.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered. “My dad’s in the car just down the street. Walter’s waiting for us at the school. We should hurry.”

“Spencer.” Daisy’s voice sounded small in the large, dark yard. “I think something’s wrong with Bookworm.”

Besides the dog, Daisy had another pet. Bookworm was a Thingamajunk—quite literally a walking heap of trash with a mind of its own. Bookworm had followed Daisy home from the hidden landfill when she had showed it a bit of kindness instead of trash-talking it like everyone else. Bookworm had saved Daisy’s life and become resolutely loyal to the girl.

Spencer knew that Daisy kept her Thingamajunk in the toolshed. Her parents probably knew too. Mr. and Mrs. Gates knew all about Glop and Toxites, but their involvement was a secret Daisy had shared only with Spencer.

“What’s the matter with Bookworm?” he asked.

Daisy pulled open the door to the toolshed and stepped inside. Spencer knew this might make them late for their rendezvous with Walter at the school, but Bookworm was important to Daisy, so Spencer followed her in.

Daisy reached onto the workbench and flicked on a battery-powered lantern. In the dim light, Spencer saw a formless heap of trash lying in the middle of the shed. This was strange indeed. Usually Bookworm took a humanoid form, with gangly arms and legs. The pile of trash before them looked like someone had upended a dumpster.

“He used to jump around and say hello whenever I’d come out to the shed,” Daisy said.

“He says hello now?” Spencer didn’t remember the Thingamajunk speaking the slightest bit of English.

“Well,” Daisy said, “it sounded more like gharba-harba-blarba. But I thought it meant hello.”

Spencer stooped to examine the pile of garbage. It didn’t smell pretty, and he was reluctant to get any closer. “When did this happen?”

“He’s been getting slower for a while,” Daisy answered. “But today he hasn’t moved at all.”

“I don’t know, Daisy. Are you sure he’s still . . .” Spencer couldn’t bring himself to say alive.

“Bookworm,” Daisy addressed the mound of trash. “I’m going to be very sad if you’re dead.” She put her hands on her hips.

In response, the pile of garbage began to stir. Spencer stepped back as something lifted out of the mess. It was the Thingamajunk’s head, comprised of a dented lunchbox and a moldy textbook dangling down like a sloppy jaw.

Bookworm attempted his trademark smile, textbook covers parting to reveal stubs of broken pencils arranged like teeth in the yellowed pages. Spencer was relieved to see that the pale worms that had inspired the creature’s name were finally gone. A pink retainer was wedged among the pencil teeth, a simple gift from Daisy that had changed the Thingamajunk’s entire nature.

Bookworm managed his smile for only a second; then his head collapsed out of sight under the trash.

“Maybe he’s homesick,” Daisy said.

Spencer couldn’t imagine that anyone would want to go back to that Glop-saturated landfill. “Or maybe he’s tired of being caged up in this tiny shed,” Spencer suggested. “Do you take him for walks?” Taking the garbage out for a walk? It sounded ridiculous! Spencer couldn’t believe he had just said that.

“We used to run around the yard at night,” Daisy said. “But Bookworm kept trying to eat our dog, so we had to stop.”

A quick car honk sounded from down the street. Spencer was surprised that his dad would risk it at this time of night. But Alan was obviously anxious to move forward on the information they’d gathered from the Manualis Custodem.

“We’d better go,” Spencer said.

Daisy reached out and patted the stinky garbage. “Hang in there, buddy,” she said. Then the two kids slipped out of the toolshed and ran across the dark backyard, janitorial belts jangling.